flung his long arm up on the back of the seat and sighed in relief. His arm brushed my hair and I immediately broke out in goose bumps at his touch. The cabbie zoomed around the Oval, knocking me against J.'s side so that I was momentarily nestled in his arm. He looked down at me nuzzled there and smiled.
"Should I tell him to go round again?" he murmured softly.
The low rumble of his voice thrilled through me. I was close enough to him that I could feel his heat and smell the sun-warmed leather of his vest. I looked at it.
"What do the symbols on your vest mean?" The cabbie pulled up in front of the museum and screeched to a halt before he could reply.
I reached for my wallet, but J. had already flung the cash from his back pocket at the driver. "Keep the change," he smiled at the cabbie. The old man smiled a wide, gap-toothed grin and sped off.
"How much did you tip him?" I gasped.
"Dunno," J. shrugged.
"It was less than three miles," I protested.
He frowned. "Dude works hard. Trapped in that metal cage all day long in this hot weather. He looked like he needed a pick-me-up."
I felt something twist in my stomach. I hadn't even thought about the cabbie, only about how fast he was driving and how bad his car smelled. J. hadn't forgotten that he was a human being.
I couldn't help but reach out and touch his arm. "That was very nice," I said.
J. shrugged but didn't say anything. He looked up at the grand stairs in front of the museum. "You know," he said, obviously changing the subject, "I've lived here most of my life, but I've never been inside."
I was shocked. "Really?"
He nodded. "Only done what they're doing," he explained, pointing at some tourists who were running full-tilt up the stairs. When they reached the top, they all raised their arms and jumped up and down, posing for pictures in the Rocky stance.
I laughed. "Yeah, I think more people come for Rocky than for the art." I hesitated. "You want to go inside? My treat. Just to see what the steps lead to?"
He shifted. "Yeah, I think I kinda do."
My heart leapt. "Okay, but we have to go up the steps first, I guess."
"Wanna race?"
"Hell no, you'll beat me for sure. I got all this extra weight to carry around," I said airily. The thought of running up the stairs in front of all these people made me want to hide. My thighs jiggling, my breasts flopping up and down. I would make a spectacle of myself, especially running after J.
He cut off my thoughts with a dismissive wave. "Then we'll run together," he explained, reaching for my hand.
His palm was smooth and dry. I could feel the strength in his grip and the rough patches of callouses that came with hard work. He held my hand lightly but firmly. My stomach turned over and a spreading warmth moved through my veins. I fought to keep myself from stammering.
"Let's start slowly then," I begged.
Another sharp look from him let me know he heard the double meaning in my words.
"Ready?" he asked. We started up the first set of stairs. He swung my arms back and forth like a parent with a child and I laughed. When we reached the top of the first set, I paused. He squeezed my hand and said nothing, waiting for me to be ready. I looked down at where we had come from and then looked up to see how many steps we had to go.
"Let's run," I decided impulsively.
"Okay, but I'm still gonna hold your hand," he replied. He pulled me closer and I stumbled into his chest. I looked up at him in surprise. "Listen." His voice was low and I could barely hear him over the noise of traffic on the Parkway and the shrieks of the tourists around us. I had to move closer to hear him. He bent his lips to my ear, clutching my hand all the while. "I don't want to hear you talkin' bad about yourself again, got it?"
"What do you mean?" I couldn't look up at him but I felt his eyes blazing into the back of my head as I studied the ground.
He slipped his hand from mine and snaked it around to the small of my back. "You got this idea in
"Should I tell him to go round again?" he murmured softly.
The low rumble of his voice thrilled through me. I was close enough to him that I could feel his heat and smell the sun-warmed leather of his vest. I looked at it.
"What do the symbols on your vest mean?" The cabbie pulled up in front of the museum and screeched to a halt before he could reply.
I reached for my wallet, but J. had already flung the cash from his back pocket at the driver. "Keep the change," he smiled at the cabbie. The old man smiled a wide, gap-toothed grin and sped off.
"How much did you tip him?" I gasped.
"Dunno," J. shrugged.
"It was less than three miles," I protested.
He frowned. "Dude works hard. Trapped in that metal cage all day long in this hot weather. He looked like he needed a pick-me-up."
I felt something twist in my stomach. I hadn't even thought about the cabbie, only about how fast he was driving and how bad his car smelled. J. hadn't forgotten that he was a human being.
I couldn't help but reach out and touch his arm. "That was very nice," I said.
J. shrugged but didn't say anything. He looked up at the grand stairs in front of the museum. "You know," he said, obviously changing the subject, "I've lived here most of my life, but I've never been inside."
I was shocked. "Really?"
He nodded. "Only done what they're doing," he explained, pointing at some tourists who were running full-tilt up the stairs. When they reached the top, they all raised their arms and jumped up and down, posing for pictures in the Rocky stance.
I laughed. "Yeah, I think more people come for Rocky than for the art." I hesitated. "You want to go inside? My treat. Just to see what the steps lead to?"
He shifted. "Yeah, I think I kinda do."
My heart leapt. "Okay, but we have to go up the steps first, I guess."
"Wanna race?"
"Hell no, you'll beat me for sure. I got all this extra weight to carry around," I said airily. The thought of running up the stairs in front of all these people made me want to hide. My thighs jiggling, my breasts flopping up and down. I would make a spectacle of myself, especially running after J.
He cut off my thoughts with a dismissive wave. "Then we'll run together," he explained, reaching for my hand.
His palm was smooth and dry. I could feel the strength in his grip and the rough patches of callouses that came with hard work. He held my hand lightly but firmly. My stomach turned over and a spreading warmth moved through my veins. I fought to keep myself from stammering.
"Let's start slowly then," I begged.
Another sharp look from him let me know he heard the double meaning in my words.
"Ready?" he asked. We started up the first set of stairs. He swung my arms back and forth like a parent with a child and I laughed. When we reached the top of the first set, I paused. He squeezed my hand and said nothing, waiting for me to be ready. I looked down at where we had come from and then looked up to see how many steps we had to go.
"Let's run," I decided impulsively.
"Okay, but I'm still gonna hold your hand," he replied. He pulled me closer and I stumbled into his chest. I looked up at him in surprise. "Listen." His voice was low and I could barely hear him over the noise of traffic on the Parkway and the shrieks of the tourists around us. I had to move closer to hear him. He bent his lips to my ear, clutching my hand all the while. "I don't want to hear you talkin' bad about yourself again, got it?"
"What do you mean?" I couldn't look up at him but I felt his eyes blazing into the back of my head as I studied the ground.
He slipped his hand from mine and snaked it around to the small of my back. "You got this idea in
Similar Books
