She was hot, smoking hot. If she was on fire, she'd burn.
She was out of my league, that much was certain, but I kept seeing her, the hot girl on the daily commute. In the mornings she'd often get on the express bus where I'd be sitting up the back, having boarded at the park-n-ride further out. Common sense meant those who got on first went straight to the back seats so the bus could fill quickly. When it was crowded, passengers would stand in the aisle, swaying back and forth, hanging from the straps.
Over several weeks I saw her waiting in the queue to board, sitting down nearer the front of the bus, standing when it was crowded. Once, and it only happened the once, she came up the back and stood in the aisle right next to where I was sitting.
"Would you like a seat?" I asked. I judge my courtesy quickly and nearly always get it right - many older women these days are willing to get an older man's look, and many younger women quite like the charm.
"No. No thanks, I'm fine. I can stand. The city's not far. But thank you, it's thoughtful to ask. People never do." Her voice was surprisingly low, even husky. I'd imagined a lighter voice.
She touched my shoulder - to reinforce her thank you, to give me a gift in return, I didn't know. But when a woman touches a man's shoulder, one remembers. I'm remembering now. She smiled down at me, then turned away to her phone.