Overdrive
A/N: Thank you so much to all who reviewed, favorited, and followed this story! Your support keeps me writing! :D
Disclaimer: Transformers belongs to Hasbro. Avery is the only thing I own :I
I need an easy friend
I do, with an ear to lend
I do think you fit the shoe
I do, but you have a clue
I'll take advantage while
You hang me out to dry
But I can't see you every night free
-Nirvana, "About a Girl"
Chapter 3: Compensation
"Ah, ah, ah. No fingerprints."
The smugness in his voice drove the young racer further up the wall as she buffed and polished the perfect, gleaming chassis of the Aston Martin. Knockout had the nerve to monitor her every move with obvious disdain, as if she would damage his precious car by breathing on it. He had provided her with a list of requirements for surface-repair after she lost: no fingerprints, no perspiration near the paint job, and no uncovered hands.
"You got it…"
His ridiculous rules had her slaving over small smudges in her aunt's obnoxious Barbie-pink gardening gloves, fighting for her footing against three industrial fans threatening to blast them both away. It was absolute madness! Ten days had passed since the race, and already he had stopped by four times for minor detailing jobs on shallow scratches and marks—things a simple car wash could take care of!
He was using her and she knew it, but pride prevented her from beating him into next week with her tire iron. She had lost the race, but certainly not this game forming between them—a game that, with enough effort, she would win. Seeing her crack would only provide the flashy bastard with a sense of satisfaction. He would stop taking her seriously, and Avery most certainly planned on another re-match in their near future. For now, she would finish her work, return his banter, and keep small talk to a minimum.
In this charade, appearances mattered most of all.
"What do you meat-bags usually say…? Oh yeah! Put a little elbow grease into it. I want to see it shine. You didn't promise me a mediocre job, sweetheart." He grinned, catching her small twitch of anger.
Ignoring his odd use of the word 'meat-bag', Avery huffed and continued to buff harder into the paint. The delicate metal of the hood dented inward slightly with pressure and a slimy smirk twisted across her lips at Knockout's sharp intake of breath. She lightened up on the tool and the metal returned to normal; he took a threatening step toward her, hands clenched into trembling fists.
That shut you up, pretty boy. Don't test me.
"Chill out, dude. I'm doing the best I can," Avery said through her teeth, attempting to come across as aloof.
"What's with the attitude? You're lucky enough I let a—someone like you near my chassis at all."
"That's it," she said lowly, slamming her tool down onto the utility table next to her, "Who do you think you are?" So much for being aloof…
"Knockout: medical expert, automobile enthusiast, and street-racing extraordinaire," he practically purred, smirking condescendingly at her.
"That's not what I—! Oh, and now you're a medical expert too?" she quirked an eyebrow and crossed her arms together. "Somehow I doubt that."
"Why? I'm not just all charm and good looks. Primus. That's so shallow."
"So, you're a flamboyant street racer that collects fancy European cars and studies medicine in his spare time. What else do you do? Skydiving? Mural painting? Delivering food to the needy? Anything normal, or is that too boring for you?"
"Ever the skeptic, are we?"
"You can't possibly expect me to believe you're a street-racing doctor."
After a moment of silence, Knockout's eyes flashed. He stepped toward her, grabbed her hand and yanked off the glove. He smirked, holding it close to his face as he gestured to each individual bone. "Distal phalanx, middle phalanx, proximal phalanx," he read, gliding his soft fingertips over her calloused ones, "All held together by two interphalangeal joints and one metacarpophalangeal joint; the metacarpal bones are located here, and then the carpal bones below those function to aid the hand in..."
So he wasn't bluffing after all. Damn.
For a few seconds Avery could only stare, dumbstruck as he read off the bones in each part of her hand. For someone as vain as Knockout, medical knowledge certainly was a quirky area of interest. She hated to admit it, but her level of intrigue for him had just doubled. When she finally had the nerve to meet his gaze, his grin only widened at her expression. Heat flushed to her face at that look, but pride won over the better of her, and she yanked her hand out of his grasp.
The racer stepped backwards, creating a decent amount of space between them. "I was wrong about you. Your head is huge enough to store all of that information after all."
"If you're trying to insult me, it's not working very well," Knockout smirked.
Avery ran a tired hand over her face and focused on the wall—anywhere except him—and suddenly noticed the time. The clock read 4:55—her shift started in five, and she was going to be late! Again. She cursed, fumbling around for her keys and bolting for her grand am, throwing open the door and shoving the keys in the ignition. The engine flared to life, sputtered, and then died in less than 30 seconds. Her heart sank into her stomach just as a large black puff of smoke seeped out from under the hood. The scent of burnt motor oil and rusting iron filled the air.
"What's with the rush, Blondie?" Knockout asked as a string of very colorful words flew out of the grand am.
"I got a shift in five minutes and my engine's dead," Avery growled as she stepped out of the now-smoking vehicle.
"I told you that clunker wouldn't get you very far," he snickered. "Well at least now you can upgrade that pile of scrap into something better~"
"What planet are you from? It doesn't work that way around here. You can't buy a brand new European sports car after only a few shifts at KO burger. It took me a few years to save up for the grand am—which I'd appreciate you stop calling a clunker. It's got a decent make."
"Your point being?"
"If you want me to keep working on your car, I need supplies. Supplies cost money. No shift, no job, no money, no supplies," Avery said hurriedly. "I need you to give me a ride."
"No way," Knockout stated, putting his hands up in the air, "No can do. I'm not some little femme's personal chauffeur."
"Please," she begged, "It's just one time. I'll fix it when I get back. Right now I don't have the time to jump-start the engine and do a maintenance check! That'll take hours."
"I've got places I need to be just as much as you do—"
"There's nobody else I can call, and I spent a long time on your car. Pleeeease? Pretty please with diesel on top? My ass is so fired if I miss another-"
"All right, all right. Just once," he said sharply, cutting her off with a dismissive wave of his hand. 'Primus, why are flesh-bags so annoyingly pushy…?'
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" In a rush, Avery forcibly pulled him into a hug. Knockout stiffened, hands flaring out in the open air and away from her as if she had poisoned him. The blonde was too relieved to care; Pretty Boy could deal with a little human contact—she had just spent a good two hours shining his car, after all.
"So, where are we going, exactly?" Knockout asked, sighing in relief when she released him.
"KO Burger; it's on the other side of town, but it's the only fast food joint in Jasper. You can't miss it," she explained, yanking off the gardening gloves and grabbing her work uniform from the side utility table.
"A place after my own name; how…coincidental," he said, sliding into the driver's seat of the Aston Martin with ease. She always wondered how he made every movement and gesture look so fluid, so perfect; he seeped charisma and radiated confidence, and she envied him for it. He probably had countless women—and maybe a few men—falling over themselves at his feet to gain even an ounce of his attention.
"I always thought you named yourself after the local burger joint," she commented as she scrambled into the passenger's side, shoving those kinds of thoughts out of her head.
"Nope. I'm not exactly from around here," he replied, pulling out of the shed and onto the pavement. "If you couldn't already tell."
"Where are you from?" Avery asked. As much as she hated to admit it, she really was curious.
The car ride remained silent for a few moments before he glanced over at her, flashing his trademark smirk. "Just a tip, princess: never give away too many secrets. Keeps your audience interested."
Despite the quip, something about the way he looked at her sent chills down her spine. Avery cursed herself inwardly for reacting. She'd had her share of experience with pretty boys, and it never ended well. This guy was dangerous, obviously hiding something behind the cocky facade; to make things worse, she didn't even know his name. That alone had already spelled out 'trouble' to her from the start. And, judging from the way he'd flinched when she hugged him, he was far from interested.
Besides, with that wardrobe and attitude, he's probably gay…
"Let me guess; somewhere big. New York? San Francisco, maybe?"
"You didn't hear a word I just said, did you?" he sighed, "Figures. Femmes… and no, it's none of those places. You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Man, wherever it is, I bet it's great," Avery continued, staring off into space with a grin. "I've never been outside of Jasper, really. Las Vegas one time, but it's mainly just a bunch of people drunk off their asses looking for a place to empty their wallet-"
Knockout cut her off. "Why is it that femmes feel the need to spill their entire life story in casual conversation?"
"Girls like to talk. Besides, what's up with the way you talk? You use the weirdest words for things," she commented. "Aft, femmes, processor, meat-bags… You're a meat-bag too, you know."
The car was silent for another passing minute. "Like I told you on the first day we met, I'm one of a kind," he said vaguely.
"That's for sure," she snorted, glancing back at him.
He pulled to an abrupt halt by the burger joint, glancing over at her with mild annoyance. "Here we are. Now hurry up, I have somewhere I need to be."
Avery rolled her eyes, stepping out of the car. "Thanks for the ride, pretty boy."
"Yeah, yeah."
"Just remember, next time—"
Before she could finish her sentence, the door had slammed closed in her face. The blonde could only stare as the Aston Martin revved its engine, peeling out of the parking lot in a few split seconds. She stood there for a moment in disbelief, before rolling her eyes and heading toward the front entrance.
"What a jackass," she huffed under her breath, scrolling through a few text messages before walking into the building.
When she slid her phone back into her pocket, she noticed one of the employees—a high school kid named Jack or John or something of that nature—the kid with the fancy new moped—staring suspiciously in her direction.
A/N: Crappy ending, uneventful chapter… However, the next chapter will be action packed! Please leave a review, positive or negative critique please!
-KM
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