There was time - the rest of the journey, the stop at the depot, the car ride to my place. And maybe I could ask him in when we got there ...?It was already calming me to watch him doing his job. He was obviously good at it, braking easily, manipulating the huge steering wheel with his strong, muscle-rounded arms, cheerfully greeting the passengers. There were only a few, as it was the lull between pub and club chucking out times. Then, a couple of stops before the end, two skinheads got on.The first was a weaselly looking guy, shaved bald, black bomber jacket over a tee-shirt with some band's logo in Gothic letters - 'Dikhed', or something like that. He wasn't aggressive, but he had a mean, dangerous look. He seemed really drunk, and was having a lot of trouble finding his fare. I watched Derek's profile as he watched the skin, calm but wary. God he was sexy! Eventually the weasel's friend came forward and said "Ere y'are, Jaz. I'll get these". This one was something else. He was. Her father just HAD to get himself into $300,000 in gambling debt with HIM. She considered what he had told her-to pay off his debt and keep his life, Bella had to marry Mr. Marchio’s son Devante. She combed her mind for anything she knew about Devante- he was 25, hot as hell, and the biggest man whore and party animal she had ever heard of. Anything she had ever seen on the news regarding Devante had to do with a scandal-what drug he did, whose party he crashed, what girl he slept with. He was the epitome of everything she hated in a guy, and he was going to be her future husband. Why, she was still not sure. But she knew she was not looking forward to finding out the reasoning behind this madness. She knew that for having to be required to marry him-something had to be awfully wrong. He was filthy rich and impossibly good looking. Sure she was disgusted by the things he did, but she knew she was in the minority. Beautiful women were throwing themselves at him daily. ‘Why me?’ she.
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