The act of hailing a cab with a whistle in New York City might not be in any danger of ever becoming obsolete. However, I have to wonder, with the growing success of Uber, if taxi service in California might not someday be in jeopardy of going extinct.

To passengers, Uber is essentially synonymous with taxis, except for some major differences—we know when and where, there is no need to exchange money, and the drivers are always nice.

The phone app that connects riders with a car service using GPS capabilities lets both the passenger and the driver know one another’s location. This, in turn, removes the question of when the ride will actually arrive, how much it will cost, and who is picking you up.

Crazy brilliant.

If I owned a car, I would consider applying for a job, since I might soon be unemployed.

“Less than five minutes,” Brooklyn tells me, tapping his phone.

In the distance thunder rumbles, but it’s still not raining here. The wind has picked up, though, and my guess would be the storm is moving this way quickly.

I nod, and wrap my arms around myself to keep warm. The buzz and the high of the vodka are slowly breaking down in the cool California night air.

Once Brooklyn slides his phone in his pants pocket, he shrugs out of his jacket and offers it to me. “Here, you’re shivering.”

“No, I’m fine. Besides, then you’ll be cold.”

He steps closer to me, his eyes two half moons, filled with a lustful need that I really want to satisfy. “I’ll be okay,” he says, and drapes the suit jacket around my shoulders.

We should talk about what just happened inside. We should talk about what is going to happen when we get home. We should…but instead I take his hands as he pulls the lapels of his jacket together around my front, and then get up on tiptoes to kiss him.

Just as our lips meet for the second time, the first spattering drops of rain begin to fall, and I honestly don’t care.

Outside in the light rain, we move our mouths inside and outside the lines with a chemistry I’m almost afraid to admit is off-the-charts. Open-mouthed, with our tongues clashing, his hands go to my hair, mine find their way onto his face, and like this, it’s impossible to deny the passion bleeding between us.

The kissing is at first soft and sweet, and then we start French kissing, which takes the kiss to a whole new level. And with this French kiss, Brooklyn is taking us all the way to the top.

Hot.

Intense.

Perfect.

Although our second kiss, it’s still a lot like the first time Ross kissed Rachel on Friends. Rachel was so overwhelmed with emotion that she crossed the room in a rush and planted a really good French kiss on Ross’s lips.

It’s so romantic.

But what Brooklyn and I have isn’t love, and it never will be. I might be confused about my life, but I’m not delusional. There will be no moment of realization for either of us because Brooklyn isn’t Prince Charming material. He’s a player, a manwhore, a bad boy, and obviously excels at being those things.

And for the first time ever in my life…I don’t care that the man I’m kissing will never be more…will never be my happily ever after. There is no way I’m casting him away as a frog.

Thunder booms loudly above us, making us both jump and forcing our lips apart. We look at each other and laugh.

“I hope that’s not a sign.” Brooklyn grins.

I move from foot to foot, still chilled, and knowing he must be too. “I don’t think Mother Nature cares what we do.”

That sexy brow of his rises. “True. That job belongs to your brother.”

There aren’t many people outside right now. It’s close to midnight, and the night is still young, so young in fact that I’d say the men inside are just getting started. And yet this man is out here with me, wanting me despite my woes, despite the fact that Cam is overprotective and will absolutely lose it if he finds out about us. “Shhh…” I put my fingers to his lips. “Let’s forget about Cam for tonight. Okay?”

With a nod, his tongue darts out to taste my skin, and the act sends shivers down my spine.

Headlights pull up beside us, so lost in each other we never saw them coming up the drive until the window of the black Jetta lowers. “You Brooklyn?”

Brooklyn takes my hand and steps toward the car. “Yeah, you Harry?”

The guy nods and then Brooklyn opens the rear door, stepping aside for me to get in and slide across the backseat.

There’s plenty of room for me to move all the way across, but I don’t. I stop in the middle, sitting on the uncomfortable hump, and not caring the way I did when I was little and my parents always put me between my brothers.

Brooklyn slides in after me, leaning back in the seat and wiping some raindrops from his face. There’s glitter there too, and when I move to wipe it away, he takes my hand and bites at my thumb.

Oh, God.

The driver lowers the radio as my body convulses. “So Laguna Beach, hah? Do you live there?”

Our knees bump when the car pulls out onto the main road. Brooklyn answers the driver’s question, but I’m too lost in looking at him to hear what he is saying.

Brooklyn has my hand in his and sets our intertwined fingers on my thigh. The driver is still talking, the conversation having turned to surfing. I listen intently to Brooklyn talk about the waves, his board, the thrill of the ride. The driver is just learning, so Brooklyn gives him pointers. He doesn’t seem to know who Brooklyn is, and I think Brooklyn likes it that way.

With each word he speaks, he caresses his thumb over my skin. My nipples are hard, and I can feel slick wetness between my legs, especially when our hands move up and under the hem of my dress.

He’s careful to be discreet. Talking, and not drawing attention to the fact that he has now let go of my hand and inched his fingers up to my panties.

I know the moment he feels how wet I am because his body stiffens and there’s a low intake of breath.

You know when I told you how much I liked Uber drivers because they are so friendly? Well, right now I don’t like that trait very much because this driver won’t stop talking to Brooklyn.

Streetlights cast bars of silver on my lap, but the jacket helps shield what he is doing, as much as the dark of the night.

Sweet tension curls in my belly. My breath catches and holds when he traces his fingers along the lacy edge of my panties. Teasing me over and over with light strokes until I feel like I might lose my mind.

Releasing a breath, I hiss out air between my parted lips and keep my eyes fixed on the front windshield, hoping my small moan of pleasure didn’t draw the driver’s attention.

Brooklyn is on cue, though, talking louder, as if their conversation is almost necessary to accomplish his task.

And maybe it is. This isn’t a cab. It’s someone’s car. And spending thirty minutes in the dark with his fingers between my legs might be noticeable without the conversation between them taking place.

So I take it back. I stick with my original proclamation that Uber drivers are friendly, and I like it.

“Isn’t that right, Amelia?” Brooklyn’s voice is warm, like honey dripping into tea.

“Yes,” I answer, with no idea what I’m agreeing to.

The conversation goes on, and I’ve done my part.

Lost in Brooklyn’s touch, I close my eyes and lean back against the humped seat, the heat of his hand branding the sensitive skin between my thighs. Then he cups me, the heel of his hand pressing against my clit on the outside of my panties, and I have to bite my lip to stop myself from moaning.

The sensation flows through my veins like fire, but I keep my eyes closed, unable to look at him for fear I wouldn’t be able to remain quiet once I see that overwhelming lustful desire in his eyes. That I will want to reach over and touch him, touch his erection that I know must be raging. That I will want to do so much more. So, instead I settle on curling my fingers around the fabric of his jacket and squeezing tightly.

My body jerks as his flesh comes in direct contact with mine, his fingers sneaking inside my skimpy panties to run gently over my folds.

There’s a low groan from his throat that he covers with a cough. That makes me smile, but when his fingers stop their teasing and glide up to caress my clit, I’m no longer smiling.

His touch spears me straight to my core, and I have to let go of his jacket with the hand not beside him to lay my palm flat on the leather seat in order to steady myself on this middle hump.

With my other hand, I grasp his pant leg.

Now anchored with support, I soak in the feel of his fingers dipping inside me, and then gliding up in my wetness to circle my tight nub.

Oh, God.

Each roll of the wheels of the car along the pavement causes my pussy to swell. I turn my head to the side and look at him. His face is beautiful in the moonlight. Between words, he glances over at me. And it’s there, just like I knew it would be—the full-blown desire, the promise of a wicked night, with hot sex, and orgasm after orgasm.

I can’t wait.

As we drive deeper into the night, everything becomes about this man. His hands. His eyes. His lips, which he licks when his fingers dip again inside the walls of my wet pussy.

This time when he rubs them over my clit, it pulses beneath his touch.

As if surprised, his body jerks with an excitement I’ve never seen in a man. Another promise in the dark of what is to come.

Breathless, aching, body burning for release, unable to focus on anything but the pleasure building between my legs, I feel myself starting to tip over the edge, but try to hold back.

I want to feel more of this incredible feeling…longer, longer, and longer.

More words come out of his mouth. More conversation with the driver, but then the driver’s phone rings. “Do you mind if I answer this? It’s my wife,” the driver says.

“Sure, no problem,” Brooklyn answers.

With the driver explaining to his wife about why he did something, Brooklyn settles his attention on me. Magic fingers work my clit, taking me higher and higher. There is no doubt I’m going to come on his hand, around his fingers; it’s just a matter of how long I can hold off.

His breath blows hot against my skin as he leans toward me to nuzzle my ear. “Let go, Amelia.”

And I do. While the Uber driver argues with his wife, I tune it all out. With Brooklyn’s name on my lips, I shatter beneath his touch, so hard that I have to bite my lip to stifle the cry that tears from my throat.

His fingers keep moving, and my clit continues to spasm over and over, each surge of climax stronger than the last.

As bolts of pure bliss radiate through my entire body, I shudder and jerk and find myself spiraling into a darkness filled with an endless amount of glitter. Losing control, my nails scratch thin lines on both Brooklyn’s pants and the leather beside me, to keep from shouting out. In silence, I ride out this wave of pleasure and find myself never wanting it to end.

Perhaps knowing I am having trouble remaining quiet, Brooklyn pulls his hand from my panties and wraps his arm around me, pulling me close. In the dark, he kisses my jaw and the side of my neck.

This close to him, I try to catch my breath. My body is limp and sated, but with his fresh, clean scent so close, I have to force the air in and out of my lungs.

If the driver is aware of what is taking place, he shows no sign of it. He’s too busy still apologizing to his wife over and over.

Brooklyn uses the hand that was just in my pussy to rub his fingers over my lips. It shouldn’t be sexy to say I can taste myself on him, but it is, and I can.

My pulse pounds in my throat.

Electrified.

Lost in the erotic moment, I find my own hand sliding up his pants.

“Hey, sorry about that,” the driver says to us.

Brooklyn stops me with his other hand. “Later,” he murmurs, and then replies to the driver, “No problem, man.”

And that promise of a night I’ll never forget is what I hear ringing in that word later. So while the Uber driver explains his situation to Brooklyn, I spend the rest of the ride thinking about what is to come.

And how I can’t wait!