Short drive and a long search for elusive Silverlake parking, her fingers rubbed the top of the hand she was holding onto. Sometimes our bundled digits rested on her lap as she used her other hand to talk. Sometimes I was too distracted by her touch on my arm to listen as she guided me down the surrounding streets.
I remember at one point holding the top of her leg and then running my finger down the edge of her ear softly, only after her fingertips moved up my neck, into my hair; my path of least resistance.
My sighs for misjudging her car length for every potential spot hid also my urge to double park and kiss her. God she was torturing me in a good way, but still too drunk to realize how much so. I was too sober for the thoughts in my head and continued driving.
A perfect spot magically opened, we parked, and I was about to walk her up when her cell rang....