Driving Heat Read Free Page B

the talking points for her department that she planned to present at the meeting. But unless they included big brown eyes, juicy lips, thick fingers, and a smile, her attempt was not at all successful. Something this important coming up and yet her attention was on a man she wouldn’t see again? The dictation drought was worse than she’d realized. Dictation, the code word her friends used for sex, which combined a word describing what she craved with the word situation, had never consumed her. But getting moist at the touch of a stranger was proof that something must be done. Her friend Lisa was a regular Adam & Eve patron. Cynthia felt it was about time for her to visit the garden. Especially when her thoughts kept returning to him. Sexy eyes. Musky scent. Juicy lips. Thick fingers. She looked. He winked. Her body had the nerve to react with pitter-patter heartbeats and squiggles down south. Traitorous flesh!
    Cynthia turned her body away from the driver, determined to occupy her mind with something important, something that mattered. Something like making sure that a certain Margo-come-lately didn’t undermine two years of hard work and get the job that Cynthia felt she deserved.

3
    “What’s your name?”
    Cynthia heard him. Felt his gaze. But she’d been riding in the bus for ten minutes and had regained hormonal control. He could be talking to someone else. He wasn’t. She knew this, but played it off anyway. Working to look preoccupied, she found a name and began tapping the keyboard.

    You won’t believe where I’m at and what I’m doing! I’m—

    “Okay, you’re a newbie, so I’ll give you a pass and explain how this particular Metro operates. This is Byron Carter’s bus, and there are rules. Number one: Never ignore the person who is responsible for your safety, has travel information you just might need, and because of the unfortunate events of 9/11, can put you out at any stop no questions asked and police for backup.”
    The chance that she might miss the meeting immediately improved her hearing. She raised her head, glanced around, and then looked at him. “Oh, are you talking to me?”
    “He sure isn’t talking to me!” The gray-haired, pleasant-faced lady sitting next to the door, an obvious regular, had been chatting nonstop since Cynthia boarded. “I’ve been riding this route for going on fifteen years. Remember this boy from when he first got the job, but he was over on Slauson then.” She leaned over and whispered, so loudly that she needn’t have bothered. “Got so close to cars you couldn’t push a toothpick between them. I never prayed so much in my life.”
    Byron laughed. “That wasn’t a mistake. That was skills, Ms. Davis. Have I ever hit anything?”
    “Other than football players or your girlfriend? I don’t think so.”
    The other regulars joined Ms. Davis in laughter. Byron side-eyed her. “You know you’re wrong for that.” He shook his head, chuckled low and deep.
    The sound—smoky, beguiling—stirred something in Cynthia’s heat as the thought of that voice whispering commands in the dark popped up unbidden. A subtle headshake dispelled the thought. The garden. This weekend. Definitely.
    “I’m just kidding, baby. That’s a good man.”
    “Thank you, Ms. Davis.” At the next stop light, he again looked over at the side seats. “What is it?”
    “Cynthia.”
    “So you did hear me.”
    “I heard the question. I didn’t know it was aimed at me.”
    “Only because I can’t prove otherwise, you can stay on for a few more stops. But”—he paused to focus while he navigated a turn—“you’ve got to comply with rule number two.”
    “Which is?”
    “Smile. Can’t have anyone too serious riding my bus.”
    Curt smile and then Cynthia returned her eyes to the cell phone screen.
    “What brought you over to the south side?”
    A soft sigh helped quell her premenstrual/car broke down/important meeting irritation. A good thing, because “shut the