Free Father Knows Best by Lynda Sandoval

baby girl up with a stone cold hottie for a driver! I wonder if he knew. Believe me, I wasn’t going to tell him. The guy looked like he’d had a choice between the NFL draft for one of the cute positions, like running back, but decided to become a chauffeur instead. Skin the color of melted chocolate, soft lips, wide shoulders, and ripped muscles.
    I don’t know if he knew what I looked like, but I shrank back against the wall and quickly flipped open my phone to write a text message to Lila (who made me swear I’d tell her everything good despite what was going on in her life). Meryl didn’t have a cell phone, so I started with, B sure 2 tell M: JUST saw my driver & he’s so hot, I don’t know if I can walk over and intro myself!!!
    I hit Send, then waited.
    Mere moments later, my phone made that telltale blip.
    Lila wrote: How old???
    Leave it to Lila. Just because I crushed on one way-old guy didn’t mean I hadn’t learned my lesson—sheesh! I texted back: Not Bobby old. Bobby as in Bobby Slade, my embarrassing older crush from last year. But hey, the embarrassment eased, we were friends now that he was recording music with my dad, and he’d gotten me this job, so I suffered that trauma for a good reason, at least!
    Then I added: Looks like way younger version of Taye Diggs. Way.
    Lila texted: Just go! And try 2 get a picture of him if U can.
    I blurted a laugh, then slapped my palm over my mouth. I glanced over, but he hadn’t seemed to notice me. So I keyed back: Right. Turn me in2 a stalker. Thanks. I hesitated, then added, how RU?
    Her response took a bit longer. When it came, it said: I still don’t know. Afraid 2 ask. I miss U.
    Me: Miss U2. More L8R. ciao.
    Lila:
    With a deep breath, I squared my shoulders and cut through the crowds toward my driver. I stopped in front of him. “Hi.”
    “Hello.” He paused, his eyebrows raising. “You Caressa?”
    I smiled. “That’s me.”
    He extended his hand, and I shook it, feeling all grown up and giddy and stupid all at once. “I’m Thomas.”
    “You’re my driver, right?”
    He laughed, this deep full sound that made you want to laugh right along with him. “I’m going to drive you to the Rosenthals’ house, yes. But, to clarify, I’m your bodyguard.”
    My jaw must’ve dropped. I don’t really know.
    Thomas goes, “Your dad didn’t tell you he’d hired a bodyguard?”
    After a sec, I remembered to answer. “Nuh-uh.”
    He laid a hand on my shoulder. “Well, don’t worry. I promise not to cramp your style, but those shows you’re working on end pretty late at night, and Tibby Lee didn’t want his daughter hailing cabs or hitting the subway.” He winked. “I’m just here if you need someone to run to, okay?”
    “Oh. Okay.”
    Cue in the romantic music.
    Mr. Thomas the Hot (and too old for me—I know, I know, I know!) was going to be glued to my side all summer long. I think I might’ve sighed, which was so inappropriate. I didn’t care, though.
    Glancing around, I saw a savvy-looking grandma-type from Somewhere Other Than New York standing against the wall near us. I held up a finger to let Thomas know I’d be right back, then approached her. “Ma’am?” I said.
    She pointed at her chest as if to ask, “Moi?”
    I nodded, bestowing my winningest smile. “Can you do me a favor? I’m in New York for the summer to work on a Broadway show, and I just arrived. Would you mind taking a picture of me and my bodyguard? For posterity?”
    “A Broadway show! Why, how exciting,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “I’d love to, dear. And when you’re famous, I’ll tell people I took your photo in LaGuardia Airport.” She pushed away from the wall and took my camera phone from me, studying it.
    “It’s that button on the side.” I showed her. “Pretty much point and shoot.”
    “Alrighty.”
    I moved next to Thomas and faced the woman, smiling.
    He glanced down at me, confused. “What’s up?”
    “She’s going to