The Audi (fiction)

Craig let his mind wander as he deftly maneuvered through the traffic on Arbutus on route to his downtown office. Though it was only 8 o’clock it was already warm: it was likely going to be a scorching hot day. He smiled as he slid his hands along the leather clad steering wheel appreciatively, enjoying the tight, whisper quiet ride coupled with the jazz sounds emanating from his favorite radio station. He did not miss the days of the aged, sans-A/C Subaru, with its bouts of overheating and the shrill shriek it emitted if he was so stupid as to attempt to drive with his seatbelt unfastened (Craig had, at one point, endeavored to find the fuse responsible for that horrendous racket and pull it out and grind it under his heel, but there had always been something more pressing on his proverbial to-do list back then). He remembered the weekend that he and Karen had spent during their “let’s explore our own backyard” phase which was, in retrospect, really more of a “we don’t have enough money to afford a real vacation” phase. They had stayed at a B&B in Hope and had then traveled on to take the Hell’s Gate tram over the raging and frothy Fraser River. It had been hotter than hell that day and they had rolled all the windows down in the car as they sped to their destination, their speed having less to do with the destination itself and more to keep the airflow going in the car. When they had peeled themselves out of the vehicle they had both had sweat stains down their backs and under their armpits. Money might not buy happiness, but it sure came damn close.
As he turned right onto 16th Avenue his Blackberry gave a distinctive and discreet ring. “Hi,” he answered.
“Hi,” she replied. “Are we still on for tonight?”
“Yes,” he confirmed, feeling a stirring in his groin. She’d uttered one sentence to him and already in his mind she was half naked, and he was running his hands under her skirt along the satiny smooth skin of her thighs, pressing her up against the doorjamb and burying his face in the exotic scent that was found where her elegant neck joined her delicate shoulder, which was usually inaccessible due to her copious and luxurious hair. “I can be there by six o’clock.”
“Will you be hungry?” she wanted to know. He could practically see her seductive half smile: it was the one that she would sport when she, propped up on one elbow in bed and idly assessing him, asked him if he was ‘tired’.
He was getting an erection at 8:10am on a Tuesday in rush hour traffic. “I’m always hungry,” he answered. Her calls were a blessing and a curse. He loved her voice, he couldn’t wait to see her again, but he would have to as his day was only just beginning.
She gave a low, throaty laugh. “Alright. I’m sure I can find something to assuage your appetite. I’ll see you tonight.” And then she was gone.
His ambling mind was now more centred on something rather specific.

Naughty, isn't it? It's always those damnable accountant types...