I’m waiting at a stoplight at Wilshire and La Brea and I get a ping. I think the app says the rider is 3/4 of a mile away on Hauser at San Vicente, but why ancient phone is acting up again as it has frozen up again, so I’m not sure. I’m tapping on it, trying to free it up, but the light just turned green, and the guy behind me is laying on the horn.

“Okay, okay,” I say as I hit the gas, but then I’m jarred by a police siren.

I look to my left and there’s an LAPD officer on a motorcycle next to me.

“Take a right on Detroit and stop,” she orders.

Fuck me! What did I do? A ticket is the LAST thing I need!

I pull forward and then take a right on Detroit and stop as ordered. The cop follows and parks her motorcycle behind me, and approaches the window. I roll it down.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” she begins, “the reason I stopped you is you were using your phone.”

“It was stuck,” I explain, “I’m an Uber driver and I was just trying to see where I needed to go.”

“Ma’am, you cannot touch your device while driving,” she monotones. “Let me see your license and registration.”

I sulk before opening the glove box to get my registration, and opening my purse to get my license. I hand both of them to her.

“Thank you, ma’am,” she says, “Wait here, and I’ll be right back.”

I watch her walk back to her bike through my side view mirror. Though I’m pissed off because this stop is totally bogus, I would be remiss not to notice that this cop is different - a dangerous mix of duty and... something else.

She’s tall with a nice athletic frame, dark hair pulled back, and beautiful hazel eyes.

She gets on the radio and reads info from the documents I gave her, and then catches me eyeing her.

She talks on the radio a couple of more minutes before signing off and walking back to me.

“It’s a good thing you’re record’s clean,” she says, “otherwise I’d write you up.”

“Okay,” I reply.

She takes a moment.

“But you can’t go just yet,” she deadpans.

“What? I don’t understand,” I say.

“There is something I need you to do,” she says.

“What’s going on?” I ask. “Am I under arrest?”

She smiles and then lowers her sunglasses and shows me her eyes.

“No no, just follow me,” she says.

“I don’t understand,” I reply.

A disquieting and thrilling heat pools in my gut.

“Just follow me,” she repeats.

“Why?” I tell reply.

Then she becomes total bitch cop .

“Listen ma’am, I can tell you, but then I’ll have to write you up. You should know that a texting while driving ticket is $162. Plus, your third brake light is out, so I could tack on another $75 for that, and I’m sure I could find a few other things wrong with your car to get your fines a lot higher if you want to keep arguing with me,” she says.

I don’t have $162 to pay a ticket. Hell, I don’t have $1.62 to buy whatever that will get me.

She’s got me over a barrel.

Her eyes also twinkle as her total bitch cop face gives way to a modest smirk.

“Alright look, if you repeat this, I’ll deny it, but I don’t want to write you up,” she says.“I hate writing people up. Most of the people I stop are busting their asses to make ends meet and most of the time all they’ve done is make innocent mistakes. I’d say you fit that description, am I right?”

“Yes, you’re right,” I answer.

Then she puts her hands on the car and leans in towards me.

“So why don’t you just follow me, and we’ll work this out?” she says.

*****

Find out what happens next, and read the other 19 erotica short stories in my book "Whispers in the Soot," available now on Amazon.

Thanks!

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0D4R6P9Y7