NOT A SAINT (ENGLISH Steamy)
My grip tightened around the headrest in front of me.
I stretched forward, craning my neck past the windshield, my body practically halfway between the driver’s seat and the passenger seat.
If desperation had a shape, this was probably it.
“Damn it,” I muttered, my patience snapping thread by thread. “Why are there so many intersections and stoplights here?”
“Nothing we can do, ma’am,” the driver said, apparently deciding to continue his lecture. “That’s just how the city is, especially in places like this highway 28. If we were on highway 28 right now, it would probably be worse because of traffic—”