The night was warm and clear. I drove, she took a taxi. We met for a late-night drink. Just one. A martini, cold and harsh in an empty bar.
We made small talk and allowed our legs to touch beneath the table. Her bare legs rubbed against the fabric of my pants and I saw spots of colour that had nothing to do with alcohol appear on her cheeks...a tinge of rouge colour on the pale, oval face framed by jet-black hair. She put her fingers on my forearm while we talked, then traced her lips slowly with a fingertip.
We finished our drinks and I eyed her slowly and asked if I could drive her home. She smiled demurely and said "of course". I touched the small of her back as we stood, and she stepped in closer and closer as we made our way to my car, alone in the quiet parking lot.
When we reached the car I stopped and looked her in the eyes while I traced the line of her jaw. I could see she wasn't quite sure what to expect...but she was flushed, curious....aroused.
Instead of opening the door, I took her hand in mind and drew a circle on her palm with my free hand. She watched with heavy eyelids as I touched her lips to quiet her and then put her hand on the hood of the car. I turned her gently so that she was standing with the front of her thighs pressed against the side of the hood, both palms face-down on the cold metal.