Driving Heat by Zuri Day

had lasted as long as yours, I’d let his pool cue sink an eight ball!”
    The conversation turned silly then, with each woman talking about how they’d sex someone after a lengthy celibacy. Lisa’s foolishness made them forget about the question, but even after the call ended, it stayed on Cynthia’s mind.
    Byron wasn’t her type. His niece was her client, a potential conflict of interest. He was not a DHOP, her standard for potential liaisons. So if given the chance, would Cynthia have sex with Byron?
    Absolutely not! The idea in and of itself is ridiculous! Or was it? Time would tell.

9
    Cynthia had never gone to the restaurant that Byron suggested and had given herself plenty of time to get there. She arrived early. Byron had as well. He stood as the hostess brought her to the table, and helped her with the chair.
    “Oh, thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”
    “Men like me don’t do what we have to do. We do what we want to do.” He returned to his seat. “It’s how I was raised.”
    “Well, compliments to your father.”
    “This is for you.” He handed her a medium-sized black box wrapped with a purple ribbon.
    “What’s this for?”
    “Really? Okay, since you feel most comfortable wearing your professional veneer, let’s say it’s a token of my appreciation for your working with Leah and keeping her out of the system. How’s that sound?”
    “I’m just doing my job, Byron, the same as I do for every case file that lands on my desk. I’m not sure accepting this would be appropriate.”
    “Then would you please be inappropriate and open the gift? Otherwise, you’re being rude to a client’s relative, which probably isn’t appropriate either.”
    Cynthia shook her head as she pulled on the satin ribbon to undo the bow. “You’re something else.”
    “I know.”
    The box was lined with purple satin that held two crystal flutes filled with silver-wrapped kisses.
    “These are gorgeous. Wow. Thank you.”
    “You’re welcome.”
    “You really shouldn’t have, and not”—her hand came up quickly, silencing the protest on his lip—“because of our professional relationship. You’re acting as if we’re on a date, and that’s not what this is.”
    “Oh? What is it?”
    “Two people meeting for dinner.”
    “And what’s a date?”
    “You know what I mean!” she said with more attitude than intended. His cool, confident demeanor was getting on her nerves. It was so sexy!
    His gaze was thoughtful as he looked at her and said nothing at all.
    Several more seconds went by, during which time the waiter came and took their drink orders. She felt best when their conversation centered on subjects held in common: kids, exes, home-owning, travel, less personal topics such as those they’d shared yesterday. She picked up the menu.
    “I’ve never spent time here, in Silverlake. The area is a bit unkempt, but the atmosphere here is nice. How’d you find this place?”
    “I basically grew up in LA, remember?”
    “That doesn’t necessarily mean one knows the city. When I first arrived I was shocked to meet young clients, native Angelenos, who’d never gone ten miles outside their neighborhood. Who’d never been to any of the landmark tourist attractions such as Hollywood, Disneyland, Universal Studios . . . even the beach! Visitors pay thousands of dollars to visit what is in their own backyard.”
    “One of my college buddies grew up in this area. His parents still live here. I used to come and hang out with him and his family. But you’re right. I know people who’ve lived most of their lives within twenty or so square blocks, maybe less. When your focus is on avoiding drug dealers and gang bangers, not getting pulled over by the police, or worse, trying to find food because your mom is an addict and your dad is in jail, there’s no time for Mickey Mouse.”
    Without thought, Cynthia shifted to counselor mode. “Is that how it was for you?”
    “No, not at all, thanks to my mom.