author's note: hi there! I cannot believe I haven't been able to update for you in an entire month! Sorry about that guys, I'm treading deep waters with this story, and trying to convey each chapter for you with a time crunch n my own hands!

I love writing this story for you, especially when Jackson is a character (somehwat Tim Treadless is similar) that can be molded into different situations based on a small basis if their personality from novels or the film alone. Stay tuned!

Old conversations were the oil and gas of publicity. It began with a pushy sedan begging for a racer's attention, then cameras would zone in on the five-second moment, and the world of gas-guzzling common cars would have at.

How long had it been, an hour? He lost count of the steady rumbles under his tires. The awkward tension when she came in close, he shooed her away, the temptation was the last thing he wanted. He was in control, no one else.

The place had a ridiculous name, it tried too hard to sound extravagant. The building itself was no larger than a single storey house. Some diner it was, the place was closed, but the patio lot was open at his redeeming request.

It wasn't really a setting to look at, but she liked this stuff. Jackson didn't bring her here to dip her tires in caviar, but his sponsors were keen to presentation and etiquette. Rūūnes appearance alone was brave, she didn't have a true clue of what to expect, yet here she was, naturally dished. Her eyes caught sight of something that interested that wild imagination of hers, and she crept the board way with poise he wasn't sure he saw enough of.

A mature grace— the best she could muster— and confidence in her body language cued from her distance as her tires lacked their dainty frail she often came with. Her chassis was steady, and she rolled with elegance. She would likely do that nibbling of her lip as she chased down her desires. She did that kind of thing when she was nervous— better yet, all the time.

Instead, her lips parted in a circle, her eyes became ecstatic as she studied something impossibly interesting flopping in the waves.

Jackson fought the urge to interrupt her. She was too pure for her own good, she had the little things that told him what was left unsaid, actions that made more than just her paint glow.

The nearby ocean still kept the air chilly, and he could see her trying to play off her shivering. The rubber of her wheels squeaked and ruffled gravel whenever her cab rocked, the movement heating up her delicate engine.

Jackson could practically hear his agent now, congratulating him. The annoying accent was almost vivid as the race car narrowed down the cheap perks: green light for wins, amber for the Press, red for the fans— something like that. It was another go-to formula, one that was even more dull than the data Ray tossed for optimum racing lines. A ridiculous formula for life. He could shake the thought of chatting with his manager now, but it wouldn't be the last of hearing it.

Melise felt the nerves unprepared to relax. She was out of place, awkwardly left alone as the racer collected his muddled thoughts. She had moved out of line by touching him, she tried to keep her embarrassment at bay, he would have had her tossed out already if a kiss to the fender was that invasive. Nonetheless, it was out of character for her, and she couldn't seem to find the answers to heal her little heart.

It didn't help that the air was cold, the place was growing unexciting, but the eyes finally resting on her told another story.

Her mirror's adjusted, reflecting an unwavered, grey gaze her way. The race car was studying something fascinating that wasn't the ocean behind her. She turned abruptly, Storm's attention hardly shameful as he kept his gaze fixed on her, a slight curl on his mouth, his lids further relaxed. He was a natural when he was leading.

Melise blinked twice, she exchanged a glance with the water once, then rolled cautiously towards the racer. He was relaxed again.

"I think I saw a marlin," she mumured, a sweet smile grazed her lips.

"A what?"

"A marlin." she spoke louder.

Jackson nodded his hood once, "Huh, yeah, I guarantee watching a fish do nothing is really interesting."

His eyes almost completed a roll before her soft laughter caught him off guard, a narrow look of a stupor loomed her way from him.

"What?" he cut in.

"You're very… fickle," Melise replied, amused. "It was breathing, swimming, and living."

He raised a lid, some amusment in his stare, "What are you gonna say next? It has a family and a job, too?"

The convertible's tires settled, she twisted her tread into the gravel. She seemed to be pondering in thought, the same grin on her front. Jackson eyed her for an answer.

"Mister Storm, do—"

"Call me Jackson," he cued, "this isn't—"

"This isn't a job interview," she finished the sentence in gentle grace, looking to him, "I know."

"Then why'd you say it like that?"

He watched her pout her lips, she blinked twice, looking elsewhere as she thought about it. The simple gesture would easily replay in his head later.

"Maybe it's a respectful way of talking to a car I don't really know."

Jackson's eyes narrowed slightly, he seemed to find a challenge in her words.

"Then let's get to know each other," he replied, his tone assertive, nearly commanding. His wheels guided him away from the docks, back down the trail. She followed.

The convertible looked at the car beside her, his engine humming in an electrical ambiance as he rolled across the sediment. He had those familiar large racing tires on, his entire deposition collected and unwavered— ominous like his decals. His eyes blinked slowly, his movements unnerved as he suddenly glanced her way, feeling her attention on him.

Melise gasped, staring right to the rocky ground in shame. She wished the noise wasn't as bold. She couldn't let the nerves get the better of her.

She was quick to shoo off her embarrassment, tucking it away with some difficulty.

"I think I told you everything when I showed up… when I attended your party uninvited."

She watched him think, recalling the night. His mouth pursed then flexed.

When he didn't answer, Melise nibbled her bottom lip, taking the cue.

"I guess it's a draining feeling when you..."

She paused a moment, trying to find some descriptive words. Melise rolled her tongue, that conversation was old.

Defeated, she blew a soft sigh.

"Why do you always do that thing?" Jackson asked, he braked at the trail's middle, turning to face her.

Melise looked at him, confused, "What 'thing'?"

He checked her out for a second, "The staring thing," he replied.

She gazed at him, lost.

"You're doing it now," Jackson said simply.

Melise gasped, "Oh, I didn't realize!" she gathered herself, straightening her cab, "I zone out sometimes."

"You think when you zone out," he stated, watching her align next to him, "What do you think about?"

Her pale peach sparkled under the bright lamp post, she blinked twice, nibbling her lip.

"Too many things," Melise answered, she looked at the trail ahead, "Sometimes it's about life," she glanced to the race car beside her, "You know, what will it be like in ten, maybe twenty years from now."

Jackson stretched his axles, listening to her voice, it's octaves jumping up and down in soft waves.

"Other times, I think about whether or not we live with aliens, and—"

Jackson erupted in laughter, he shook his hood, grinning, "Wait, wait… what? If we live with... aliens?"

"Well, I mean, the theory is there, I figured what if?" Melise answered sheepish, she exchanged a smile with him, watching Storm continue to grin, leading the way.

Melise kept to the left, soon rolling beside Jackson again, "You're just weird." he said.

"I'm just Melise," she replied sweetly, "and you're just... Jackson," she said in a softer tone, her voice winesome as he looked at her again. A twee grin shined his way, pure and wholesome, she giggled.

"Your family owns a café, right?"

Melise lifted her tire, avoiding a large sediment of debris, she shot a surprised look Storm's way.

"Yes," she answered, her suspicisions obvious in her slightly jaded expression.

Jackson nodded, "You seem like the type to be working in a coffee shop."

"What do you mean?"

His tire reached the asphalt of the lot as they exited the trail. Storm didn't take much notice to the change in pressure, while Melise gave her axles a stretch.

"Milk shakes, cookies," he glanced about before turning back to her, "and you call your tires 'doughnuts'. I wouldn't be surprised if you drank cinnamon tea quarts all day long."

"That's the most you've said this entire time," Melise replied. She could see he was waiting for a genuine explanation. A hanging response to learn more without asking.

"The menu is simple, nothing really special besides maybe sprinkles on your cakes, or drink."

Jackson could see the Honda thinking again, "You don't know your family's own menu?"

Melise laughed nervously, "Ah, heh… Well, I've never really worked there, I just sort of roam around, sometimes I cleaned."

There was silence as Jackson listened to her pause, watching where he was going as she followed behind.

"When I was younger, I helped my mother carry a hefty deposit into the store safe. Does that count?" Melise said.

Jackson looked her way again, seeing the streetlights luminating her glossy brown eyes. She had a different expression, something of melancholy. She was all smiles just a minute ago.

"Not a fun place?" Jackson cut her thoughts.

The convertible exhaled, "It drove a wedge between us, and well, carsitters are expensive."

Jackson raised a lid slightly.

"My sister, she couldn't stand it anymore than I could. No abusive— nothing like that, just so much stress from a little coffee shop."

He hoped she wouldn't start crying, seeing her stretch her axles unnecessarily.

Before he could find a response, the Honda cheerfully piqued up again, "Things are better now, I just need to find my way in life."

"Kind of like you," she added, his glance casted her way.

"What are you babbling about now? Haven't I already proved to you and everyone else how successful I am?" Jackson replied proudly.

"Au contraire, you're still quite the Jackass," she said gracefully.

"Fine, you have your little joke, 'Jackson the Jackass', happy? does that make your engine warm and your mouth smile?" He retorted rolling his eyes.

"Yes," she laughed, "It sounds hilarious when you say it, like you've claimed it as your own title."

"You've got a nice little laugh, you know?"

He said, smirking.

Melise gasped, her front teeth biting her bottom lip as she blinked, the rose coating her hood.

"It's just a sound someone makes when they're amused, it doesn't mean anything,"

the convertible said sheepish.

"If you say so," Storm gazed over her features.

The two were silent again.

"I don't know what else to talk about," Melise whispered.

"Same here," Jackson replied.

"I'm glad I came here to see you, Jackson... " she murmured. He could hear her voice trail off, her murmur becoming thoughts in her mind, and she gazed off, smiling to herself, her graceful nature.

"There's the face again," Storm said, watching her close her mouth to a gentle smile his way.

His engine revved as he pulled close to her side, giving her an embrace. Melise felt her RPM's race as her cheek pressed against his fender, the cold alloy on his Lightyears chilled her out. It was ending again.

Another unfamiliar engine approached, and Melise opened her eyes to see the bouncer SUV, his shiny, professional finishing coat of black matte color reflected her small appearance.

"Sweet dreams, Peach girl," Jackson said with confidence, letting her go, gently. He focussed on his bodyguard, "Take her home."

\