The leather of the passenger seat burns her thighs as she sits down. With the smallest of squeals she pops her legs up onto the dash, leaving only the tiny bit of her covered in denim to the scorching summer heat.
“If you were wearing clothes that wouldn’t happen.”
“I thought you wanted to see my legs.”
“I thought you wanted my eyes on the road.”
“I like living dangerously.”
His eyes drink her in. From her feet, precariously perched on the heels of her flip-flops, up and down and up and down again her legs, starting to bronze from the early summer sun, though a far cry from her usual late summer ocher.
“Red light, darling.” She grins, big and toothy. The car lurches to a stop, seat belts biting into both of their shoulders.
“Dangerous, you said.”
“Gonna make me eat my words?”
“I’m not even going to touch that one.”
The car hums again into motion. The sun beats down through the windows. The trees whiz by, one after another, a green blur. His hand finds the soft smoothness of her leg, which has finally drifted down into the seat proper. Their eyes meet the horizon.