Drive Me Crazy Read Online Free

people called me Driver.
    Outclassed, I raised my palms and got ready to move on with my life. Women were like Newton’s third law in reverse. When faced with a powerful force from without, like a man coming on too fast and strong, they gave the same amount of opposing force, got turned off.
    She asked, “Giving up so soon?”
    She posted up on a wooden barstool. I moved down a barstool, sat next to her.
    I told her, “Just getting started.”
    She winked. “I’ll let you buy me a drink.”
    Her voice sounded older than she looked, either from hard times or a street life, but she didn’t look like she was from either world. Clear fingernails, simple diamond earrings, expensive watch. She had a mild accent, the kind that let me know she spoke another language.
    Pedro came over, put down two napkins. “What can I do for Beauty and the Beast?”
    I looked at her. “I think he just called you ugly.”
    First she laughed. Then Pedro laughed. I joined in the next chorus.
    She ordered a Seven and Seven. I’d only had one beer. I asked for my friend, Jack Daniel‘s, on the rocks. Then she changed her order, said she’d have what I was having.
    Pedro dropped our drinks, then he left so I could try my luck with this dime.
    I asked, “Where’d you learn to shoot?”
    She ran her palm over her hair again, did that over and over like it was some sort of a nervous tic. I smelled the sweetness of her perfume and the freshness of her shampoo.
    She answered, “Wherever I could. Used to hang out at this pool hall in Sherman Oaks a couple of years ago. Before that I got my game on out in Riverside and San Berna-zero.”
    San Berna-zero was a nickname for San Bernardino. That was east, about an hour in no traffic. Add three hours to that drive if it’s on a Friday. Add another two weeks if it’s raining.
    I asked, “You grow up out in the Inland Empire?”
    “Maybe. Maybe not.”
    “You a stripper?”
    “AmIastripper?” She laughed hard. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”
    “You’re pretty and have the body for it. How you take that is up to you.”
    She shook her head and sat straight back, legs crossed at the knees, did that like the gate to her paradise was impassable.
    Arizona asked, “What’s a guy in an Italian suit and nice shoes doing in FUBU World?”
    “Come stronger than that.”
    She laughed. Her nose was small, her lips full, eyebrows arched.
    I said, “We all go where we feel comfortable.”
    “Guess Bible study was filled to the brim.”
    “I’m agnostic.”
    “Between Bible pushers and the atheists live the agnostics. So you’re on the fence.”
    I nodded. “An independent. You?”
    “Buddhist, non-practicing.”
    Her expression remained unreadable. She had small eyes, straight teeth, and a heart-shaped face. Her breasts looked like they hadn’t been offended by time and gravity, not yet. When you were getting old, all young women start to look good. Youth was an aphrodisiac. Old women reminded you that you were old. Nobody wanted a mirror, especially in L.A.
    She asked, “How old are you?”
    I paused, trying to decide if I was going to lie, but didn’t. “Forty. You?”
    “Twenty-three.”
    She gave me a sideways smile, one that told me she didn’t give a fuck about the chronological difference either. My answer was a smile that mirrored hers.
    She said, “You could’ve at least said I looked like an aerobics instructor.”
    I shook my head. “Telling a woman she looks like an aerobics instructor is played out.”
    “Your whole conversation is played out.”
    “No, it’s retro, baby. Straight throwback.”
    Her laugh ended with a nice smile, the kind that created crow’s feet in the corners of her eyes. “Throwback. Okay, I can roll with the old school.”
    My sleeves were rolled up and my cuff links were off, exposing my arms up to my elbows. She motioned at my tats, asked, “What you do time for?”
    I closed down for a moment. Those memories had a way of stopping me,