“You’re gonna cause an accident.”
“Not if you keep your eyes on the road.”
The ramp descended into a warren of bridges and buildings. “At least fasten your seat belt.”
“In a second.” She tugged and wiggled the dress to her waist. Skinny straps exposed her bare shoulders and that bra. Red, God have mercy.
“You just flashed a cabbie.”
She huffed and lifted her butt off the seat, smoothing the full skirt over her lap. “He drives a cab. In Chicago. I’m pretty sure he’s seen more exciting things than my underwear.”
He pulled around a delivery truck. In the seat beside him, Anne reached behind her back, performing some complicated female maneuver before yanking the bra off and out the neckline of her dress.
The traffic lurched around them.Stop. Go, go, go.
She wadded up the bra and dropped it to the floor of the truck. Reached under her skirt and wriggled out of her jeans.
Joe dodged a bus and turned left under an L platform, all the time aware of Anne digging out a pair of sandals and strapping them around her legs. She flipped down the visor.Fussed with her hair. Bent over again to fish in her bag and apply lipstick.
“Your destination will be on the right,” said the voice from the dashboard.
Anne sniffed at her armpits.
He bit down hard on a smile.
She glanced over, coloring. “What?”
“Relax. You’re fine.”
She rolled her eyes. “Thanks, Joe. That’s totally the look I was going for.Fine.”
“You look…” Eyes shining, cheeks shining, bright red hair and black tattoos against that pale, freckled skin…“Very nice,” he said gruffly.Stupid word.“Pretty.”
She beamed. He felt the jolt in his chest. Like it was a starlit night six years ago and he’d complimented her on her prom dress.
He pulled under the lit canopy past the gold dragons and fancy planters, sliding his shitty old truck into line with the Audis and Lexuses and Cadillac SUVs.
He lifted out her suitcase, ignoring the looks from the valet stand, and set it on the curb. “You’ll be all right now?”
She nodded. “You?”
“I’m staying with a friend. The one I’m doing the job for.”
“Good, that’s good.” She glanced toward the entrance, her mind already skipping ahead. He’d lost her.
“Text me if you need to,” he said.
“Why would I need…?”
“Ride home Sunday.”
“Yes. Right.” She refocused on his face. “Thank you.”
“Good luck,” he said quietly.
The attendants swung open the hotel doors.
She smiled and squeezed his arm. “Thanks,” she said. To him? To the doormen?
