Author's note: This is going to sound strange, but I never pictured Melise as a person. She was a character I pulled up mostly building on some of my interests (Hondas being everywhere in North America, convertibles being a rare vehicle to see around the town I live in, and always seeking adventures), but quirky in her own sense. I prefer not to usually re-imagine cars characters as people because it (to me anyway) removes the unique aspect of them being vehicles from the picture. As odd as it sounds, I can't really picture any of the characters as people, just talking cars with unique models and sizes.

On another note, Melise is not my real name, nor is Rūūnes (pronounced Ruh-OON-es). I was bored months ago, and made a list of my favourite names, and Melise was soon added.

I sketched a random photo of Storm sleeping from the last chapter, and I thought I would share iit with you all but I'm not sure how

And once again, thank you for all the reviews.

Chapter 15: New Experiences

Sharp sun rays in the early morning were something most cars couldn't stand. Sunlight reflecting off the windshield created a glare that was a universal cause of concern on the freeways and streets alike. Ray had himself parked in the Wheelsworth Inn's lounge, as orange beams of sunlight streamed through the curtains surrounding the vacant room.

The pick-up truck used his time of peace to run over Jackson's status before and after races. Each crew chief was handed paperwork regarding any concerns The Piston Cup Series noted of racers. Naturally, Ray assumed IGNTR would be keen to send Storm a physical trainer to keep him up to par, but the race car insisted that it was a waste of time when he had his simulators. Ray could still recall Jackson's reaction to the idea proposed by his crew chief months ago.

'You're racing abilities are flawless, Storm, but we should start getting your tires dirty, not just asphalt and computers. Physical training'

'Are you telling me the track, wind tunnels, treadmills and your crap riddles isn't enough physical training, Gus?' Jackson replied disparagingly, as he raised a lid.

Ray had let out a deep sigh, 'Expecting promising results from simple drills isn't an automatic win towards the Piston Cup series.'

'Look, you told me to be the best Jackson Storm I can be, I do the drills daily, I make it out on top daily. I'm not a quitter, the Piston Cup is practically waiting for me.' the young racer spun his tire off the floor, raising it up to let the wheel rotate in the air like a yo-yo.

Ray didn't think it was likely in the beginning, but Jackson was right, he was physically prepared for the racing world already. With the drills, the simulators and the track all practiced under his hood, Storm's transition into the racing world was fruitless. Through the long hours of drills, he had attuned and increased his learned winning formula. Ray was proud of him every step of the way.

The slow approaching sound of rolling tires on the floor pulled Ray from his day-dream, and he met the friendly glance of a silver Prius towing a series of envelopes, papers and some other items towards him.

"Reverham? Good morning, nice to meet you Sir," he said, as Ray gave him a nod of his hood.

"We cannot hold onto this overflowing bin any longer for Mister Storm," he gestured the tow behind him with the point of his tire. "Here is his souvenir and bulk fan mailer bin." He released the tow, allowing the metal tug fall to the floor.

"Fan mail? Huh, I'll get it to him, thank you." Ray replied, noting how many papers were in the crate. The silver car nodded, and drove out of the sun lit lounge.

Ray tossed his paperwork into his trunk, and Jackson's goody bag. He left the lounge, driving through the hall leading to the main lobby, and outside. It was refreshing to navigate without fans and cameras blocking the way, and it was an even more beautiful dawn sunrise.

When Ray caught sight of a gazebo surrounding a small park at the side of the hotel, he glanced through the grove of trees to see some trailers quarantined off from local traffic inside a roofed lot. Gale was nearby chatting with another truck colored in purple and orange, the Octane Gain semi.

"...What are the odds of finding that one car speeding on the freeway at night? One hundred percent." the purple truck said, his voice gruff and monotone. Gale nodded her hood in agreement.

"You'd know it hauling out in the busy highways of the west," she said, "racing on a track is one thing, roads are another." She briefly studied his purple coat as Ray approached.

"You know, you'd look good in black," she smiled, as he chuckled, both trucks turning to greet Reverham.

"Mornin' Chief," the male truck said, briefly exchanging a friendly glance with Ray, then Gale, before reversing into the space of the shaded lot to give the two privacy.

"Up early, as usual," Gale smiled, she took a quick once over of Ray's haul before giving him an inquisitive look.

"Jackson's fan mail basket," Ray said, answering her stare. "I had no idea the hotel was allowing mail in."

"That's a lot of mail," Gale said, studying the load. She could see some hubcaps and tires buried among the letters. The sudden immediate thought of the events from last night clicked as she saw the mass of random letters. If the rumors about 'Storm's girl' were true, then there was no doubt some of those letters– hopefully none, had something to say about it.

"I'll be leaving it in his trailer, Gale," Ray said, waving his tire in front of the trance-like state her windshield displayed. She snapped from her day dream back to reality.

"Uh, sure, I'll make sure he gets it, let me open it up for you," she stuttered, making a U-turn into the VIP lot, Ray on her tail.

'Crap, crap. oh crap' Gale's eyes darted towards Jackson's trailer, thoughts racing through her roof as she hoped for the best. "Here," she opened the ramp with the input of a password only she, and Jackson knew. Ray reversed inside, unhooking himself from the load, and allowing it to sit in the corner of the dimmed trailer. Once out of its interior, Ray noted Gale's faraway look.

"Gale? Is everything alright?"

Her eyes darted down to see a concerned look on Ray's front. She relaxed on her axles voluntarily, trying to minimize her tension.

"I'm fine Ray, just a little... hyped today."

His face didn't change, "The last thing I need is for you to jump off the road and tumble into a ditch. Try to relax."

"I'll be fine, Ray," she said, breathing a sigh.

"Alright, take care." he headed out of the parking lot, back towards the Wheelsworth's main entrance. Gale breathed another sigh as the Octane Gain semi pulled up beside her,

"How do you think you'd look in purple?" he asked.

Gale glanced at him, and breathed a sigh.

"What kind of name is 'Grid'?" the red car decked out in his lucky 95 stickers asked. The grey car dressed like his idol, Bobby Swift turned to face him, an incredulous look on his windshield.

"It's better than some boring common name like yours, Preston, never changing it," he said, smirking. "Grid Swift. Imagine that."

"Sounds like you're married to him-"

"Shut up!" Grid shouted to the red car, quickly lowering his voice in the quiet atmosphere of the hotel's minimally full lounge room. He glanced towards the washroom as Tony came out, headed towards them.

"Looking at youself in the mirror before you go see Melise, huh?" Grid snickered. Tony gave the two of them an incredulous look.

"She's a weirdo, not a Dinoco girl," Tony replied, "but I figured, I should say sorry for bugging her when we were leaving Copper Canyon."

The two began following Tony from the lounge to the hallway connecting to the main lobby. "Sorry for making a joke?" Grid asked, chuckling.

"Yeah, she overreacted, but she's still team you know," Tony said as Grid and Preston exchanged amused glances with each other.

"Yeah, sure," Grid smiled, "That's totally the reason why." Tony shot him an annoyed look.

"She's not my type bro."

"Never said she was. She's not your type, but... " Grid trailed off, laughing, as Tony shook his hood smiling.

"Guys look, lets just squash it, alright?" Preston said, attempting to be the new voice of reason, "As far as I see it, I know nothing, and so do you unless you want your mufflers on fire."

"Okay, okay," Tony said, the grin on his front still alive, "where is she?"

"Probably in her room," Grid said, stretching his axles as the three reached the hotel's elegant lobby.

"To her room then," Tony said, leading the way up the ramp, Grid and Preston followed as other cars watched what must've been Lightning McQueen and Bobby Swift's biggest fans tagging along behind Tony. The glow of their decals and rims occasionally reflecting off chandeliers and rear-view mirrors.

When the trio reached the the floor Piston Cup staff shared, Tony idled in the hallway, looking upon rooms elegantly accented with purple curtains flowing through the ceiling, and down each archway to create a fancy and elaborate cruise way for passing vehicles.

"What's up?" Preston asked, as Tony squinted his eyes at each room number.

"I don't even know what room she's in," he answered.

"She's an oil runner too, so maybe beside ours?" Grid replied, sarcasm dripping off his tone. Tony rolled his eyes, accelerating to the room next door to 302, room 304. Listening briefly to hear if there was movement inside the suite.

"Knock, knock?" Grid suddenly gave the door two firm raps, as Tony shot him an annoyed look.

"There's somebody coming!" Preston said, listening to the sound of tires rolling towards the door. He began reversing.

"Later, bro," Grid said, accelerating away with Preston nervously on his tail. "You're welcome!"

"Hey! Aren't we doing this damn apology togeth–" Tony stopped his whining as he met the stare of their female collegue in front of the opened door.

Melise's eyes soon widened as she saw who was in front of her.

"Hey," Tony said, watching her eyes calm down to a soft glare that made her appear more adorable than menancing. "Look, that wasn't me banging on the door, it was Grid."

"Grid?" Melise repeated, her voice calm and inquiring. "I don't remember your names."

"Yeah, he's the guy in the grey with Swift stickers," Tony replied, keeping his voice confident, briefly glancing at her autographed fender.

She glanced down the hallway to see her two fan boy co-workers smile then wave their tires at her. Grid's hood sporting a smile that seemed reasonably annoying to Melise.

"What would you like?" Melise asked, her voice sounding genuine, her expression blank.

"We– I just wanted to say sorry," Tony said, catching his words as he heard Grid snickering down the hall. "I can come off as a dickhood sometimes, and... yeah, sorry about that."

Melise's eyes became docile and warm, she seemed to search Tony before she presented a smile, "I appreciate that you're sorry... But I don't understand why you were that way at all."

Tony cringed slightly. He couldn't tell by the tone of her soft voice that she was still stand off-ish to him.

"I know I must've overreacted, harmless prank I'm sure." Melise replied, seeing Tony's loss for an explanation.. He began to relax on his axles.

"Well, thanks– but it's mostly Grid's fault," Tony chuckled as Grid's mirrors perked up, shooting him a glare, "He acts up sometimes, around girls." Melise gave Grid an awkward half smile. "And nice autograph, I wish I got an autograph from Storm."

She glanced to her fender before sucking her bottom lip in, looking to the ground, then back up to Tony.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Tony," Melise said, her voice sounding somewhat flat to his hearing. "But some may say a better apology would be to do your job so I don't have to."

Tony's cabin felt like it had been dosed with cold coolant. His two pals down the hall's eyes widdened in confusion. Melise's tone was so soft with her comment wiping the floor, that it didn't sound much like an insult at all, rather a request.

"Uh, okay... yeah," Tony began putting words together. Melise's blank expression became a concerned look.

"I don't mean to come off harshly, but I really do mean it," she said, "we are a team after all."

Tony and the others' expression cooled down as she explained her thoughts.

"Well," Grid began, approaching the two, "glad you're not holding a grudge... So are you from here?" his question came out suddenly.

"No, I'm not from here. I came from a small town." Melise replied, as Tony gave her a smile while she exchanged glances with the two cars in front of her.

"Cool," Grid replied quickly, "So we're going to the track later, wanna come?"

Melise's front immediately contoured a confused expression. "The track?"

"Yeah," Grid continued, "the Speedway of the South, you know, where we are?"

"I know, but I mean, why are you going there?"

"To race." The three answered in sync, quickly glancing to each other in surprise.

"Umm, I don't know," Melise replied, "perhaps I will."

"Bummer, but have a good rest of the day," Preston replied, flashing his lightning bolt sticker mimicking Lightning McQueen's authentic one. Melise squinted her eyes in the glare.

"'Kay, well that's all," Tony said reversing. "See ya, later."

"Wait," Melise suddenly said, Tony turned quickly to face her, while Grid and Preston soon followed.

"Is it just me, or is everyone behaving strangely?" her front looked worried and confused.

Grid raised a lid, "In what way?"

"The staring and–" Melise sighed, feeling stupid about what she was rambling on about. "Uhm, nevermind, it's nothing."

Grid's expression remained blank while Tony squinted in deep, chosen thought, Preston glanced between Melise and the others.

"Well, uh, see you later," Tony said awkwardly, turning to continue his cruise away as his pals followed.

The three began heading off as she watched them cruise down the hall, obviously discussing how their talk went down, before closing her room door with a slight frown.

She had never stood up to someone before, and the adrenaline was coursing through her circuits as she was nearly wobbling on her shocks.

Melise wasn't sure if it was the right thing to be so blunt about it, but she hadn't ever given anyone a reason to taunt her the way Tony and Grid did.

She rolled towards her window, staring at the bright Motor downtown under the sunshine. Besides resolving any conflict with her co-workers, something else didn't seem right, the random and quiet attention she was receiving seemed odd, as if a Jackson Storm signed fender was the most important piece of artwork in 2017. Melise would laugh about it, had she not used some of the extra polish her mother gave her to cover up the autograph– if she wasn't still receiving stares with its presence now hidden.

Leaving her suite was an expeience Melise was itching to do, but the onlooking made her uncomfortable. Thank goodness for room service.

Ray had to be honest with himself, he didn't like getting the calls from IGNTR about parties and events for Jackson to attend. More or less, it was convincing him to go to these gatherings and stay for some time that was the toughest another win in his corner, IGNTR was sure to make the call sooner or later.

'Gale said I need to relax,' Ray thought, shaking his hood. 'With the amount of attention Storm is getting each day, good luck.'

The pick-up truck breathed a sigh in his single suite, glancing to see a 12 pack of IGNTR: Liquid Adrenaline with four extra Lightyear tires in the corner of the room. The day had gone by quickly, and it was nightfall already.

There wasn't much else to do when Jackson wasn't racing. Naturally he spent most of his time on the simulator, attempting to beat his previous record. IGNTR seemed proud enough to have a talented rookie marketing them, then sent Jackson juice as gifts weekly with 'proud to be serving us' letters. As much as Jackson was glad to be where he was now, he didn't seem to brag as much as he once did, it was almost as if he didn't give two tailpipes about the attention.

The juice was another story. Jackson seemed to be prideful of his sponsor, treating the essence of IGNTR like it was a Piston Cup. He'd tell them to phone him up whenever they wanted a commercial to film, and often gave packs to his lesser known pit crew. Ray thought the display was quite interesting, knowing Jackson's sociability with other cars wasn't top notch.

Ray took a quick tug of the plastic sealing the cans of Liquid Adrenaline, and pulled the plastic wrapping the straw inside the product free. He wouldn't tell the other crew, but he was curious of the flavour of this energy fuel.

When the liquid touched his taste buds, Ray spat out the straw instantly, as an icy cold surged though his gas tank, with a bitterly sweet flavour escaping the carbonation. It wasn't a bad experience, but it sure did fit it's name.

He pushed the can back to the corner with the rest, and headed out of his suite to the hotel training facility, no more juice, and Jackson should have been back in his suite by now with a call from him confirming it.

When Ray entered the high-tech building, much of the facility was dark and empty, minus the computerized glow of a single simulator running smoothly with Jackson steadily picking up speed.

Ray took little time entering the comfort of the racer's space, hoping not to startle him. As the truck's tires rolled across the flooring, the hums of Jackson's engine reverbed quietly in the room.

"How long have you been here?" Ray asked, seeing Storm not losing a second of focus.

"Don't know, is it dark outside?" Jackson asked, not taking his eyes from the virtual track.

"It's nearly ten PM," Ray announced, Jackson's lid raised up.

"Then it's been a while, I've been training since it was bright outside." he said simply.

An email message suddenly popped up on the simulator's screen, causing the training module to pause, and Jackson's tires to lock in place. He let out a grunt as the machine's pressure pinned his wheels.

"It's another party," Jackson said, reading the first few lines silently: 'COURTESY OF THE MOTOR SPEEDWAY AND STAFF ALIKE AT THE WHEELSWORTH INN, WE CORDIALLY INVITE MISTER JACKSON STORM TO ATTEND OUR CHAMPION'S GATHERING TONIGHT'

"You already know the expectations," Ray said, watching Jackson roll off the simulator.

"And before I forget, there's letters from your fans in the trailer, too." Ray noticed Jackson's interest perk up as he mentioned the fan mail.

"So fan mail, or an overrated party?" Storm weighed the two option with little decision.

"I'll take my mail any day," he answered, "those cars at the party can mope about something else while I'm praising my fans from the comfort of my trailer. Good night, Ray."

Storm cruised out of the facility as Ray looked on blank expressioned. Ray was going to breath his infamous, lengthy sigh that Jackson seemed to love when the two first met, but was suddenly interrupted by the chiming of his personal cell phone. He didn't waste a second answering the call with a firm 'hello'.

"Hello there, Reverham, I'm Porter, with IGNTR: Liquid Adrenaline; nice to meet you."

"Good day to you, Sir," Ray replied, already knowing why they were calling.

"Well, the Wheelsworth has informed us that there is another venue tonight, and we hope to see Jackson Storm attend."

"He's been training before and since the race in Motor City–"

"This time, we ask that he attend for the full two and a half hours, and socialize with all guests."

Ray couldn't help but become annoyed by the blatant request. Jackson had worked hard to get where he was, and if he wanted to spend a night reading his fan mail with an oilshake, he should.

"Listen Porter, Storm is exhausted, and he's headed to his room for R&R. Give him at least one break, because as his crew chief, I'm giving him a break." Ray hung up the call with a good-bye, and a thump of his tire on the red phone icon. He turned to see the paused simulator.

Without further idling, Ray powered off the machine with the press of a key on the adjacent computer recording Jackson's stats, and headed out of the facility.

Jackson found his trailer to be a comfier sitting than the exsquisite VIP suite he was given. It was cool, but not as laid back as his dimmed down trailer, housing his tunes free to blast whenever he liked.

Unlike those days, Jackson was relaxed in the confined space as he spilled some of the loot of fan mail across the floor in front of him. Envelopes, some with sketches of IGNTR's symbol and others, blank folded sheets turned into makeshift parcels to arrive to him. He couldn't understand why cars even sent letters in physical form, when they could just send him pictures on social media, why not advance?

"To Jackson Storm," he read aloud, "wonder who that legend could be?" he shredded the envelope open, and unfolded the paper with his tires.

'Dear Stormy

You're so fast, like Lightning McQueen. I watched you win the Dinoco 400 at Copper Canyon speedway in my state, and it was crazy awesome. Maybe when you were young I bet you dreamed to be fast like Lightning is. One day I'll be as fast as you and him, and I'll win a Piston Cup.

from: Ralphie'

Jackson stared at the amount of times Lightning McQueen was mentioned, and wondered if his mail got mixed up with the veteran's.

'Cool letter nonetheless.' he thought, placing it to the side. Jackson's eyes caught the attention of a saucer-like object in the loot on the floor. He used his tire to hold down the object, and the other dragged against the floor to pull the wrapping off.

A spinning silver rim, shimmering under the dim lights. Jackson's expression became a surprised state of interest. He slid the rim over to the pile with his opened letter, noting there were three more identical packages waiting.

Jackson grabbed his tire on a random letter stapled into a makeshift envelope, and neatly pulled it apart, unfolding the paper to lay flat.

It was a sketch of a car decked out in the racing number 2.0, a mile ahead of the rest of the cars on a track. Jackson noted McQueen was nowhere in the picture, and enjoyed it for its creativity, laughing at the way his wheels were drawn in proportion to his giant cartoon frame.

He teared open another envelope, and unfolded the intricately detailed paper underneath, and read the writing in the corner of the picture of him, taken from the grandstands.

'There's a Storm Rolling By'

The look on his face as he zoomed past the checkered flag seemed surreal being merely a week ago. A look of determination as McQueen and his pals were awestruck behind him. His face was stern and void of any excitement, but Jackson remembered the glorious feeling of winning on his first try.

Studying the high definition photo, there was a clear view of 'Peaches', or Melise as she was named, with a look of excited awe in the distance, her flushed cheeks were even visible from afar, as she had cheered him on. Those big brown doe eyes chasing him down the track. One of those other oil cars, the one in red, beside her, mouth gaped open in wonder as others seemed surprised and confused.

Storm's mind trailed off, wondering where she was. Knowing how weird she was, Melise was probably watering flowers outside the Wheelsworth Inn. Jackson wasn't sure why, but she was so different, and weird– bu at the same time, talking to her felt defeating. She never seemed to back away from adventures, and she was going to explain herself each roll of the way. It confused him, but intrigued him at the same time.

The racer extended down his ramp, and rolled out of his trailer, soft revs humming from his engine as he yawned, glancing around the dark lot. Outside, the breeze ruffled through the leaves, and accompanied the sound of engines echoing in the distance with some hooting. He turned to the direction of the noise, seeing the Motor Speedway several blocks ahead. Storm didn't waste much of a second accelerating at a moderate speed towards the track, an anticipated expression once more on his front.

Tony yipped and hollered as he sped past Preston for a third time, watching an annoyed frown appear on his hood. "Gotcha again, dawg!" he laughed doing doughnuts. With a peer of his eye, Tony glanced up to the grandstands, seeing the peach convertible watching ever so often with some interest in their amateur Piston Cup race, and shot Melise a smirk as he sped back to the checkered flag line.

"See if you can ge your RPM ready this time, bro. I bet with some practice Storm could be as fast as me," he teased Preston, as the red car lined up beside him, a determined look on his front.

"Ready, set," Grid raised a makeshift green cloth, and shouted, "Go!" from the in-field. Laughing as Preston began hollering as the two sped down the track, teeth baring in the workout.

"I'm as fast as– no! I'm faster than McQueen!" Preston hollered as his 95 flag attached to his left tail end fender danced in the winds.

A sudden rumbling was felt beneath the treads, as Grid continued laughing, nearly missing the speeding car zoom past him with an echo of the confidence soaring through his engine.

"Screw you, I'm faster than Jackson Stor-"

Tony nearly rolled over on his side as the race car sped rigorously past him, blowing the 95 flag from Preston's frame to dance in the air, before falling to the ground. The loud roars of the IGNTR racer's engine filled the empty arena, as Tony and Preston began exchanging glances, lips quivering in sudden fright.

The noise was menancing, and Melise's eyes widened as she watched the race car zoom past Preston and Tony a high speed, it almost seemed like they were hardly moving. Storm's engine rumbled like a crash of thunder beside their ordinary cylinders.

Grid's face became a pale shade of fright, and it seemed like an instant click when he looked at Tony, who had began slowing down in awestruck fright at the sudden scare. Before Jackson could pass them on a second lap, the three male cars had bolted out of the stadium, not turning a headlight back.

After his second lap, Jackson slowed down, his expression a mix of confusion and a smirk. "Hey, where'd the other racers go?" he laughed, glancing around the track, and soon hearing the quiet hums of Melise approaching the fenced off grandstands behind him.

His smirk didn't leave his front end as he acknowledged her, "Oh hey, Peach, long time no see."

"That wasn't very kind," she smiled, turning her eyes to look at the exit the boys had cowered through once more, before she looked back to Storm, his smile still gleaming from headlight to headlight.

"Why are you up there? Afraid of a little competition?" He asked, raising a lid.

Melise began driving along the infamous 'Wind Zone' beside the fence as Jackson followed from the track, keeping his cool expression as he waited for her response.

"I'm not very fast, so I watched instead," Melise replied, watching Jackson present her a confused look.

"Neither were they," he said simply, "good thing they don't have chanting fans or they'd be disappointed."

"They were having fun," Melise giggled, "and you scared them."

"All but one," Jackson said, giving her a smile, as her eyes stared back in content. He closed his eyes suddenly, and reversed to face the in field.

"Ever raced before? Once?" he asked, not turning to face her. Melise's front became her blank, usual, innocent expression once again.

"During track and field in elementary school, I never won anything except participation ribbons."

He scoffed, and she began giggling, his front became confused before he could make another smart comeback. Jackson was almost certain she was either completely unphased by his comments, or she was mocking him, either one brought about some sparks of ignition in his engine, and cloudiness in all his thoughts.

"Why don't you come down here, and we'll see how fast you can race against me?" Jackson raised a lid, and Melise seemed unwilling, looking to the ground and back while thinking it over, as he briefly glanced over to gauge her interest.

"Race you?"

"Race me."

Melise idled for a moment longer, before reversing from the fence, and headed around the stadium's corridors, long and wide to easily accomodate a single car passing through vacant trails of traffic under the floodlights. Storm passed by, rolling slowly through one of the archways, he braked and glanced to see her approaching him at track level.

She always looked so lost with that doe front end, and those wandering glossy eyes. But everytime she opened her mouth, she was always certain of her place in the world. He caught a glimpse of his autograph on her fender, it had reappeared. Jackson watched her cruise at a low speed ahead of him after she smiled in her greeting.

"That speed will get you first place for sure," he remarked, seeing her mirrors perk up to his smirk behind her. She began accelerating to a speed around 70mph as Storm sped up after her. Catching up to her taillights with ease.

"There's nothing to crash into, Peach," Jackson said, noticing her trembling as she sped faster than usual. She turned to face him, a heavily blushed hood of embarassment as Storm chuckled at her sheepishness.

"No need to be a weirdo, just take it easy."

"Did you get over this that quickly?" Melise murmured, gasping as she rolled over some track marbles. Jackson's shot her an immediate blank expression, that quickly became a controlled look of confusion.

He was stumped, suddenly out of words. Melise stared back, perplextion on her on windshield. She took the cue of the moment, and sped as fast as she could down the track, squealing and swinging as she tried to straighten her line, soon reaching a speed just past 100mph, as Jackson looked on staring blankly with widened eyes as Melise came around the corner, her tires squealing ever so often as she tried to maintain her speed miserably along with her line. Jackson realized too late that Melise had closed her eyes in terror as she began spinning, and slowing down. Her right fender bumped against into his own as she let out a short yelp, the weight of his fame halting her spins.

"I'm sorry," she reversed quickly, feeling a burning sensation by her right light. She began glancing to see no dents on Storm, as he looked between her right headlight and her eyes with his usual cool demeanor. "You cracked your headlight." he stated, as she flickered her lights on and off a few times, seeing no difference besides a slight sting when she opened her jaw.

"But I did it," Melise said, cringing her mouth as she spoke, "I raced." Jackson's front showcased a look of practical amazement.

"You spun out, nearly wrecked yourself, and you're still all cheer-y?" He asked, watching her smile through her obvious pain, there was always something new with 'Peaches' around.

"It was terrifying, and my cheek hurts," Melise murmured, "But I did it."

Jackson raised a lid, scaning her over once.

"I crossed the finish line before Jackson Storm." his front became an amused expression within seconds, as he glanced at her crusing alongside him.

"If this were a real race, you'd be smoked out, and stuck in a ditch in the in field," he stated, matter of fact. He turned to see her smiling through the pain.

"But I still beat you," she giggled with her mouth pursed closed. and squeezed her eyes shut as the stinging increased. Jackson stared back, awestruck for a moment.

"Yeah, right." he replied in a flat tone.

"Mm-hm,"

"I don't lose,"

"You just did," she whispered.

"I don't think so, Peaches."

"I do, Jackson."

The mention of his first name alone as if he was a casual car on the road, sounded geniune coming from her mouth, as if she didn't realize the champion racer in front of her. Jackson couldn't understand how some one could be so calm and collected around him, being used to only his pit crew remaining sane when he was in the room. Melise was another story, she practically treated him like he was a random car she was glad to know. It felt, different and good.

"You should get that checked out," he said suddenly, glacing to her broken light. Melise felt the stinging increasing with each second, she slowed down as a sharp surged of pain spread across the edge of her mouth.

"there's some fluid," Storm began, as Melise wiped the oil trickling down her lip with her tire. she gasped behind pursed lips as her cheek began to visibly swell.

"Come on," Jackson suddenly said, Melise looked to him, seeing his casual face contoured to a look of concern. "There's bandages in a box in my trailer."

Melise seemed hesitant at first, but soon regained her traction as Jackson looked over her wound once again, and cringed slightly. It hurt more than it looked, and she was lucky he didn't have her hood on a platter.