author's note:

I have much guilt making you guys wait so long for a REALLY GOOD chapter. I think it's important to build up each character, giving them a relatable and otherwise telling reason to be in front of you. Melise always reminded me of that girl who was beautiful in her own right, delicate but firm when she had to be. Gentle, but wise with her steps. Likewise, I imagine (and still do) that Jackson is more than an egotistical driven 'gashole' (as Armie Hammer described him amusingly so). I think he's lost, not so much seeking the limelight, but the prizes that come with it. He has some redeeming qualities, such as his determination, but also his ability to know what's wrong and right. Jackson is a frustrated quiet guy with good looks that's finally getting his limelight, and he picks who he wants in it.

That was long, but more or less, this story became a sort of "confusion" as I merged through writing it. I gave readers the impression that Melise and Jackson would be together often, but I let that promise fall short for many of you, which as we all know, brings annoyance, and boredom. I hope I can make it up to you, I really do intend to keep that promise in this long and detailed chapter, in fact, I think it might be the best one yet.

I'd also love to connect with some of you through art and interaction. Feel free to browse my Instagram: milkyteaway . I will follow back all fandom members as fast as Lightning! I love interacting with you guys!

When her rear-view mirrors flickered into the sight of Jonah slouching his way through the terminal behind her, Melise kept her sentence neutral.

"Jonah?"

He looked her up and down, a distasteful expression on his grille at the sound of her voice.

Melise reversed, her eyes concerned as she saw his hefty tow, "Are you alright? Would you like some help?"

The shimmering gold of his karat paint glared over agitated travellers' windshields.

"Normally, I'd have my bag boy here to grab these things for me." his statement was filled with pique as he eyed the tow, much of it belonging to Melise. Tires, polish, and Turo's instructions for success.

Melise scanned the busy airport, "Who?" she inquired, her lids raised, she looked perplexed.

"Bag. Boy." Jonah repeated, spacing out the words for her. "I was having a chat with him on the phone. He whines too much about carrying my tow for a small price, then you took it away from me. I bet you lost it!"

Her expression remained collected, as his unruly and otherwise pathological glare focussed on her.

"No, not at all. " Melise's voice was clear as she remembered. She quickly reached into her unhooked tow, seeing the device safe and sound beside her luggage.

"It's right here," she said, letting the phone slide itself onto her tread, the convertible gently placing the device into Jonah's eager tires. Soon seeing his expression cool down, he seemingly sought after something else to whine about, his eyes darting around without so much as a 'thank you'. This was a fashion icon, a mentor, a man who was likely respected in his career, but he behaved like a spoiled child. Melise didn't bother to chew her inner cheek at his remarks, she could sense his turbulence the moment he crashed into her life.

But he had her recipe for success in his treads, she would suck it up unless he went too far.

If only cars could change.

Jonah drove past her, "Remember who has all the information here, Missy," his flamboyant tone was patronizing as he rolled past towards the gate. He must've still been upset about his lecture onboard the plane.

Melise followed, keeping her laughter at bay. The way his voice cracked and harmonized on the word, 'Missy' was more amusing than hurtful. The rush was just too much. Lately, it was becoming easier to laugh than cry.

The X-ray alarm chimed loudly as Jonah scolded an officer about removal of his spinning rims.

Melise giggled to herself, excitement was one hell of a narcotic. One she couldn't ever miss.

The drive wasn't long, only a few minutes of warmed evening breeze, the view of lovely palm trees on the Avenue.

The bratty Bentley lead the way, his interests far from the convertible smiling at the view and cars she passed by. He was eager to get in some time during rehearsals to chat with some former protégée as he made his way into the tall modern Inn, leaving Melise alone outside.

She scanned her eyes up the height of the building, her suspension stretched, allowing her cab to view further up the towering structure.

"Watch it, please," a voice, male, articulate and stern, came. The convertible accelerated, turning to see a ravishing Jaguar give her a sly smirk from behind the safety of a large burgundy SUV.

"Am I in your way? Sorry... " Melise watched as he nodded his hood once, thanking her for moving herself from the center two entrance doors of four. The two cars drove inside, just as Melise caught a glimpse of her license plate, the pin reading 'JIN' as her glossy dark brown scheme with pink edges of paint glowed under the pot lights.

She was one of the other models, her entire existence screamed the words into Melise's circuits. She could practically hear Jonah's appraisal inside, his yips of delight as 'Jin' gave him a wide grin.

"Oh my gosh, it's Mister Dawn, hey!" her valley tone came in just as the two caught sight of each other.

Jonah's eyes lit up as if she were another fifty karats in front of him, "In the metal, my favourite model, Jin!" his voice was sing-song as she laughed loudly.

"Only a year ago we worked together, and now I have my own fashion line, what are the odds, huh?!"

Jonah chuckled, "With a car as good-looking as you, high!"

The two shared a series of laughter, ignoring Melise outside, escaping the commotion of cars along the street.

Either this was a very important modelling show, or there were many venues on this avenue. The familiar livery colors of Liquid Adrenaline was only next door. A carpeted entrance, guarded, and allowing a small group of next-generation race cars inside. Not a sign in place designated what was occurring inside, leaving Melise to her prudence. She wasn't invited to that event, it was none of her business.

Even if the odds of a talented advent were probable...

IGNTR was up to a lot lately, this was just a start for her.

She narrowingly avoided collateral confusion of cars left and right as she made it inside her event in one piece.

It was a hotel, the kind of environment all too familiar for her memories. She passed her partner with curious eyes of the world around her, his ostentatious conversation with the fellow competitor— Jin, audible, but ignored as her tires rolled her around.

Signage didn't direct traffic to their dressing rooms, and Melise opted to squeezed her way down a crowded hall, now tensing her nerves as she was surrounded by girls, dolled up and chattering.

For a moment, she wasn't sure this was the right place. The girls, several modern coupes seemed to take little note of her appearance. Some, specifically two, focussing their attention down the hall, where Melise had once been.

"I can't believe he still has his job..."

she shifted her pastel blue cab weight on her left side, the Benz emblem flickering under the incandescent lighting. Melise put her brakes on tight, stopping.

Were they talking about...

"Haven't five girls already reported him?" the girl next to her, a Camry with glowing chassis lights under her dark sparkling red cab replied.

Melise noted the grimace on her front. Jonah was that despicable? He was just rude and spoiled as far as she could know. She blew a soft sigh, accelerating past the two competitors. Yes, he was annoying, patronizing and rude at times— most of the time, but she had a place to be, he had likely left her luggage beside the vanity provided for her.

Besides, it was rude to eavesdrop, even if it was about someone she shared the same contempt for. Her brown eyes blinked keeping her hood as high as she wanted, she soon passed the girls.

"I feel bad for the car he's with," Melise hear the comment loud and clear, her eyes uncertain and unclear for a moment longer as she gathered her thoughts.

Why did everything have to change so quickly? Why was Melise always in the gutter? What did those coupes know about?

"Excuse me,"

The two turned to her soft voice, the Benz smiling at her twee.

"Are you talking about that man?" Melise slightly gestured her tire towards Jonah parked in the distance, not seeking to invite obscene name-calling.

"Ugh," the Camry's grille nearly folded in disgust, "Yeah, don't you know him?"

Melise thought over her response. Of course she knew him, in fact, she might have already gotten to know him better than she knew Storm...

"He's my mentor," she answered, a flat tone in her voice. The two coupes gave her a look of horror, quickly exchanging glances with one another.

"You know, that guy is a predator, right!?"

Jonah's sly stare coated the environment, searching for his amateur protégée. He couldn't miss that peach bumper down the hall with those bright little tail lights as they entered the large dressing room, following two female coupes.

The sound of the door slamming behind her caused her lid to twitch. Melise stared over the two young models, their expressions worrying her.

"We should've introduced ourselves before, but I don't want to be near that... thing."

The elegant Camry dragged her right tread along the carpet, dusting her rims off, "Emla, not 'Emma', but Emla."

The Benz shot Melise a sweeter smile, "And I'm Merina."

Melise presented the two with anxious 'O' mouthed stares, "Melise." she said with little emotion, her nerves running wild. She beckoned the question on her mind.

"You said he's a predator!?"

Why did she always have to end up in these kinds of messes? It was like she was still stuck inside a squall at the track.

Merina opened her mouth to speak, her eyes widening in terror as the gold Bentley pushed his way inside.

"There you are!" His tone was sing-song, causing Melise to glance in confusion. He was quick to defuse the conversation, recognizing the two trouble-making coupes.

He pushed her bumper, rolling her small frame away from her new found acquaintances. The two girls bit their tongues, Emla's grille crinkling again in Melise's rear mirrors.

Melise could see his cover, he knew his reputation.

"It's time to get ready, I'll have your paint buffered too."

She kept quiet, her throat was getting dry. Was this stuff really true? The other girls entering the room— she could see their grilles elsewhere, minding their own.

Jonah creeped in close, his breath on her window, "If you speak about anything unrelated to IGNTR, we'll be having a chat about you whoring yourself to Storm."

What? Her eyes narrowed, the urge to frown fought off. The one's that saw her heckled, they still thought she was trying to...

"Let's face it, you're not much here, not even with these Lightyears," Jonah continued his patronizing advice. His voice grew louder, indistinct engines falling quiet under his tone.

"This is all just a damn apology. An apology to you for breaking your damn light! For playing behind the tracks instead of with your little oil cans. For distracting sweaty race cars who have better things to do than talk to a Honda all day long."

Her hood was low, her chassis inches from the floor. Brown eyes were dull, lacking the life they once had. Jonah had no place to speak.

So that was it? An apology? Melise felt silly for ever doubting it. How could an industry as prime as Element Sleek Rims really want a commoner Honda? Or even IGNTR? For Chysler's sake, they had Jackson Storm.

But that was it. She earned this, even if it was a way to make-up for a headlight injury.

And Mr. Edison Turo, his warm smiles, his encouragement, the words meant more now than they ever could have.

She looked at her reflection, the space beside her filled with a forgettable heap of gold crap on wheels. If what those coupes said was true, Melise could easily believe it.

He wasn't going to let her win. He thought he broke her down, try to manipulate her back up. That cheeky stupid grin on his grille...

"Don't you dare... " her hood rose back to it's parallel height.

Melise shifted her weight, looking Jonah sideways, a glare from her own eyes instead of the ease through the mirror.

"I EARNED THIS." her tone was firm, loud and clear. A look of fear and uncertainty tainted his hood. She was yelling at him again.

"I don't care if this was all some sort of 'apology'," her voice mocking his tone on the subject matter, "I put up with you, fourteen hours a day to make it here!"

The Bentley began to reverse, the same look of unexpected surprise on his hood. She wasn't like the other ones...

"I don't need to demand any sort of respect from you," Melise hissed, her once sweetening face now sour. "I worked for this, through thick and thin. I didn't need to pull other cars down to bring myself up."

He was silent, letting the truth digest itself. Jonah searched her eyes for any sort of sarcasm, finding venom instead.

"You're of little help or decency," she said curtly, her tone softening back to its natural, "So you can go away."

The chatter backstage built up again, Jonah's grille hot and guilty as he headed out, tail tucked between his tires.

Melise breathed a nervous sigh, ignoring some prying eyes as she watched the door slam closed.

It wasn't always easy to stand up for yourself. She could still feel the stiffness on her axles, treads trembling slightly. She had never left the storm that started months ago, she had never truly stopped being pushed to the asphalt.

"Miss Melise?"

Her glassy brown eyes looked at the forklift wearily. The vehicle had white paint in tow, four racing tire, white ringed, much like Storm's stacked beside.

"Are you ready?"

"Absolutely," her warm smile returning once more.

He was sure to park beside IGNTR officials, but by the time he squeezed his way through spectator traffic, Jonah found himself blinded by the lights as the show began.

The girls moved in waves, each one having her own set of slightly changing instrumental for her themed sponsor. By the time sixteen coupes passed, Jonah had made enough judgement in his mind to fill a driver's manual.

The tunes fell into a sensual tone, piano keys and saxophones playing as Jin appeared in red hot pride, her glory, her might. Jonah watched her exaggerated movement of her trunk, in her slow swaying cruise of a dance. He could still hear her parents scolding her for spending time at his beach house. She wasn't much older than eighteen, but she was mature to him.

Were those white walls? His eyes followed her back bumper, hearing the pompous cheers of her parents merely lots away.

The protective bears; there they were, cheering her on. The Bentley took the cue to stay low, they were likely still upset about Jin's trade. Her good parts for his limelight. The trade was fair, just like the four other girls' exchanges. Some coupes just weren't cut out, and that's where Jonah had the recipe for success. His time for theirs.

It was only fair.

Briefly, her father, his large Suburban frame turned to scan the audience as his daughter made her departure backstage. He soon caught sight of the fashion icon under his shimmery gold finish. He must've been looking for ages; each show he came to.

"You! You're the damn guy that's been talking to my daughter!?" his Boston accent was brash as he pushed his V8 engine through reversing cars. Jonah's eyes went wild, his gold couldn't save him this time around.

Collective gasps filled the air as he pounced the Bentley, IGNTR officials reversing in horror. Loud subwoofers kept the show going as wagons rolled the runway, sponsor's tires engraving their elegant tires, others painted in glowing aesthetic to match N20 Cola, Combustr and even SynerG.

The genre of booming music changed with a swift intermission. Soon enough, softer pop tunes hymned, and her angelic, white frame rolled onto the stage.

Jonah halted his scuffle, eyeing her with great interest. She was beautiful, innocent, fresh...

It was Rūūnes. Turo's angel get-up was too perfect. He knew too well how to turn hoods, even if the angel was sitting in venom merely minutes ago.

Melise's tires were weak, her glowing ringed racing rims heavy and sore on her small axles. She didn't smile, she wasn't supposed to. She could hear some breathes of awe as her engine hummed taking her along the gradient. Her eyes glassy and doll-like as she kept her confidence quiet and humble. A starry-eyed loom for the audience.

A hefty sucker-punch to a golden grille took the attention away, the pair scuffling again. Melise could see the Jaguar from earlier, her screams of protest as she raced out toward the only exit ramp at the end of the catwalk. Her engine growling as she approached the Honda head-on. Melise reversed instinctively, pulling her treads out to brake.

Her back tire slipped, and she wasn't quick enough.

She never was.

The crash of her metal to the foreground was inaudible under Jin's screams and the loud speakers to match. The Jaguar fought her father for Jonah, squeezing herself between the two like a child saving her favorite toy.

This was it, Melise looked on from her not-so-familiar spot on the cold ground. She didn't hear an engine peep as she straightened herself, driving slowly, as she gazed at the mess Jonah caused. The instant karma almost dripping. She maintained her composure, straightening herself with little emotion on her front, all her screams of embarrassment discreetly harmonizing inside.

What was the feeling? She didn't know it. Maybe it was carefree, acceptance, indifference. She watched as security cruisers zoomed past her, officials pulling and pushing cars from the growing crowd of tension.

Melise cruised onward. It was different this time. Truly different. She knew, she could feel it, she lived through it.

The bickering continued in the background as she felt relief trickle in. Melise wasn't done for, she wasn't back to square one. Her heart didn't hurt, no longer did her circuits fuel rage, resentment, or scorn. No tears welded up in her eyes.

Security was there to pull the all-terrain giant off the Bentley, minor dents on his karat roof, hood and trunk.

"Are you alright, Ma'am?" a security sedan asked, her did a once over her frame, seeing no dents or bruising.

"I'm fine," Melise answered, watching her 'mentor' being roughly escorted from the building, the family he fought with reaping in hastily insults as their daughter whined.

Jonah may not be the wisest or the most humble car she had the honor of meeting, but he was still her teammate. She huffed in a breath, pushing aside her pride and following his exit from the show. IGNTR officials seemed to vanish in support on cue.

He was a fool.

The Bentley sucked in fresh air though his grille outside. He wasn't expecting to get roughed up. He winced through the dents on his mental, turning to the soft hums of Melise's approaching engine.

Jonah bowed his hood, she was gonna let him have it again... Not this time.

"Are you okay?"

He raised a lid in stupor. Was she blind?

"DO I LOOK OKAY?!" his words cut the air, she reversed back slightly taken aback.

"HE RUINED MY STEEL!"

Melise gave him an inquired look. A suggestion of lacked astonishment.

He glared at her, ready to accuse, "THIS IS YOUR FAULT!"

She squished into a defensive position, assuming he was ready to attack her. Instead, the dented car accelerated in kicked up burning rubber, speeding away down the street.

Melise blinked twice, the scent burning her engine. That was it for Jonah-Dawn, gone as fast as he came. Rightfully so. She didn't speak a word this time.

Adjusting her mirror, Melise caught sight of the two coupes from earlier, their grilles poking out from the interior corner to watch their predator flee. She was glad to have witnessed some sort of solace.

"Hey, are you okay, Ma'am?"

The bouncer's LED headlights scanned her white paint, her racing tires.

"You some kinda race car fan? That's coincidental... "

He had come from the building intricately lit next door.

He watched the road, seeing the Bentley nowhere in sight, "Just because I think that paint you're rocking looks sweet on you, I'll let you cool off in here," He lead the way to the red rope.

"You're letting me... inside?" Melise asked. He gave her a once over smiling with a nod of his hood. Those white ringed rims couldn't have come from anywhere.

The sound of police sirens echoed down the street, and Melise took her opportunity, making her way inside with a quick thank you.

Her eyes blinked, a neutral expression on her hood. She was sick of the ups and downs. Now she could just catch her breath.

Maybe it was the bright lit room, perhaps the array of guests standing tight and high on their suspension. Expensive taste— oil champagne from rich Dubai, flavorless with a tinge of shock in each sip. Not a single car was a commoner. Not a single regular coupe, or simple sedan. Each and every, colorful engines revving pride, others keeping the RPMs steady with captivating spoilers, glowing chassis edges, pure silver rims to match their attitude.

It was nice, deserving really. Jackson knew he belonged here, here at his seasonal victory event. No pushy cameras, no rude fans tailgating— at least what he could see from it. No distractions.

The racer arrived an hour late, keeping his admonishment of IGNTR's chief executive, West Gearley, at bay. The maroon Lexus was likely hanging around this important party, that, or he was making kissy-face deals to bring IGNTR more money.

The races were won, he had it in the bag. The Cup was earned, wasn't that enough cash for IGNTR?

Always about the money. More money, and more, and even more.

Jackson felt the good vibe around this place, ignoring the thought. There was respect— cars calling him 'Mister Storm' as if he were some veteran racer with a renewed life insurance premium. The talking was okay, as long as it lasted for a few seconds, and it was something good to say.

None of that nonsense comparing him to McQueen. The guy was retired now.

Storm was in good tires here, peering from his darkened table isolated from the world. He could think away from the chatter, loud subwoofers, and ignore guests that tried to join him— as far as he could tell, this was a blind spot in the room, no one should be able to see him. A blind spot, the perfect place to relax until they called him up for his toast, a toast he would forget later if Ray didn't record it. Too bad Reverham wasn't in tow behind him, even chiefs needed their time off, he deserved that much.

Guests were eager, drowning in the gasohol they could fit in a quart. Jackson wouldn't bother with them, they came to him, he didn't need to go to them. Wholeheartedly, it was a point to worship him now. These vehicles wouldn't have treats to guzzle their tanks in, not a place to be more interesting if not for his wins. Jackson was V.I.P, he was the only one— not even Racelott and his little entourage were worth a second glance across the dimmed flood lit floor.

The server forklift came around again, this time Jackson raised a tire in halt, protest against refilling his cup.

"Nah, don't bother," the race car's sonorous voice was clear as his grey glance moved from the floor to the bottle in tow.

The forklift's amused face shook into a look of confusion on Storm, "Give 'ya less? Huh? You in the wrong party, Jay?"

His grey eyes traced a scandalized line from the server's forks lit by small headlights to his windshield, "No more. Go to another table."

The race car watched the forklift briefly study his decals as if he was speaking to someone other than Jackson Storm. The luminous blue strobe lights reflected in his now scornful eyes.

"Here," Jackson stated, watching with a calculating eye as the tossed tip landed on the forks, flashing lights revealing the twenty dollar logo engraved on it's edge.

The server paced his own reaction, gauging the gesture occuring right after the racer's blunt demand. A crooked smile coated his mouth as he pushed himself past the champion racer.

Too easy.

Jackson settled on his treads. As soon as this night of praise—praise he deserved— blew over, he could get back to what really mattered, winning, as per usual. Nothing else really mattered, as long as he kept himself at the top— simple deeds. he could call it, no one mattered more than him being the breadwinner. No McQueen, no Treadless, no pesky little convertibles in designer tires.

Just him.

The small group, their bright decals glowing with the noise of excited guests. They couldn't miss the signature 'S' decal, the blue ringed tires, the darkened paint in the shadows of the corner table.

"You think it matters if we say 'congrats'," Chase asked, eyes scanning the racer's solitary.

"It's IGNTR's season ending party," Ryan stated matter of fact. His tone suggesting the idea of commend was mandatory courtesy. He turned on his tires to face Hollis, "Jackson won over seven races this season... damn..." his eyes narrowed as he thought about the inevitable. Blinkr would be idiots to dump him for some other guy, at least he hoped.

The trio had decided to show, free drinks was a good way to cool off. Hollis had hoped to meet some more groupies. When he entered the semi-formal party, he was pleased with the reception, but the female guests were as rare as a sight of Storm himself.

N20 specified that a rim decal gala was occuring next door in the hotel. He would've showed up to greet the cute girls had he not needed to deliver sportsmanship to the livery race car in solitary confinement. The lif of a sensentional race car had its ups and downs.

The guy was pleased in his corner, keeping cars and sociality alike, far away. He wasn't a troublemaker, not an angry and bitter bystander. Jackson was a guy who loved his own company. Ryan took the moment to think about the possibilities of their interaction, unable to waver any scenerio.

He was also too mysterious. His crew chief, Reverham, seemed distanced away from his personal life as well. Chiefs could be like family... if Jackson ever wanted to be included.

His deep blue eyes suddenly caught on the sparkling cream paint of a girl submissive on her axles, moving slowly, cautiously, through the encases of cars left and right. She had a timid interest on her beautiful hood, racing tires that looked oddly familiar in design, abstract in color. When she turned his way, her eyes still scanning, the race car shifted, focussing on his friends, oblivious of his prying, chatting with one another.

Melise did little, shimmying her way through cars moving in disorganization, some taking second glances at her Manufacturer's servant get-up.

She was thankful for the darkened lights, no one could see or recognize her in white paint either. She needed to park herself, the weight was practically dragging her treads.

Melise's eyes scanned the floor, making a soft bee-line towards an empty table away from the madness. No dishes, no skid marks present. It wasn't her own, but she could at least rest.

Her tires came to a halt, watching two next-generation race cars pass in front.

There was no way... He was definitely...

She could see the decals from her discreet seat next door. The enlarged 'S' for Storm, the bright blue, the 2.0 on his side.

She blinked twice, the act instinctive as she trailed her eyes to the side, climbing them up, seeing his face... she couldn't forget those grey eyes.

What were the odds? Likely.

Melise felt a knot in her throat. He was merely meters away, his nonchalant gaze of his own venue told a story of boredom she heard once before. Eyes scanning slowing over the mass of uninteresting cars.

There he was, Jackson Storm, right to the table next to her, oblivious and uncaring under the dark-lit dancehall.

A smile didn't contour her lips, not a shake of her stiff axles. It was only a little over a month and a half, but it felt as if it were eons.

His mouth flexed into a slight curve, he relaxed into his lot, breathing a deep sigh and closing his eyes.

Melise's lower lip quivered, her nervous tick to bite it kicking in. He had to have forgotten about her existence.

Her heart sledgehammered her cab, keeping her movement awkward and clumsy. This was all because of him? He was the last car on her mind merely minutes ago.

It took a few determined tries for Melise to put her weight on the hefty Lightyears, causing the sharp shock of discomfort to rattle her. Jackson's grey eyes shifted, noting the scuffling beside him, hearing the clanking utensils.

Her heart sunk into her stomach. The strobe lights flickered, luminating her face for him every other second.

His stare was momentary, he seemed to be calculating, prying her big brown eyes, minor surprise on his sleek hood, "Well, well. 'That you, Peaches?"

His question was rhetorical as he looked her cab up and down, his stare on cue. He would recognize that twee face anywhere.

She looked different. Mostly.

What was she doing here? What were the chances? He could easily play off her surprise appearance as something uncanny.

His bold eyes studied her tires, smaller and colored different from his own. Here was 'Miss IGNTR', her little racing tire get-up and all. Was she actually wearing racing tires? This had to be a joke.

Melise's eyes were stiff, the stare locked in place as her throat was dry. Jackson watched on, seeing her form an 'O' on her lips. She was shaking in a ball of shock.

He waited for her interesting response. Seeing her voice locked away somewhere inside.

Instead, he got a sudden squeak of several spaced out yips, or hiccups. She covered her mouth with her treads, unable to emulate the unique quips again for their sheer originality. Her cheeks were reddened.

Jackson raised a lid, his expression stoic and reasoning, within seconds a laugh erupted from him. What the hell was that little chittering sound she did?

She hung her hood in shame, listening to his chuckles dying down, her face displaying some sort of forced determination. Her bottom lip pouted out as she straightened out.

She couldn't win this. He got right to the point.

"Doing another photoshoot in my tires? Huh?"

His words were clearly a stab, hardly a greeting.

"Uhm... "

Jackson's eyes were looking her up and down, his gaze dim as he paused.

"You must be hungry, right?" he said confidently, Melise was caught between words, unable to get what he was doing.

"A little car like you should be eating portions like a race car if you're gonna pretend to be one."

"Hey!" Storm waved a tire to the forklift previous, watching him soon traverse the distance.

"What do you eat? Fries with a coolant milkshake, huh?" He smirked, watching her seem to fall in submission.

She had to have known that she was taking some of his thunder. She wasn't stupid.

The forklift approached the pair, his eyes interested in the champion race car beside the young lady.

"Yes, Mister Storm?" the race car let the words repeat in his mind a second longer with pride.

"Get this girl," his grey eyes looking her demure form over again, "get her all the goods on a kid's menu."

The forklift's expression contoured some amusement, still ignoring the girl for a celebrity's attention. He headed off, quick to please.

Melise kept her composure, her eyes down as embarrassment creeped up her hood. She reversed awkward and slowly back to her empty and borrowed table.

"Where you going?" Storm asked taking his spot on his table, his lot, his expression neutral as he gave her yet another once over, "Park yourself here."

Her RPM's raced, she followed his poised command, driving up to his opposite end, parking herself after a moment. Her eyes were far away.

To Melise's content, he didn't seem to ask any questions, but she could feel his solid, yet seemingly invulnerable eyes on her.

She let him look on, her white paint wasn't going to go to waste now, someone could see her angelic costume Edison and Reyna worked on.

Jackson didn't feel so much as a rush of coolant— nothing too jumpy, to his circuits. She appeared out of nowhere, her engine was quiet and modern, allowing quiet and prude cars like her to sneak up on him.

No one should do that, not even Gale.

He watched her bite down her bottom lip, she did that once before if he could remember.

She looked nice, the snow white paint and all, even the tires. Their size sweet and small in comparison to his real working size. Her hood was full of that rosy blush, all too common with her. He'd be lying to himself if he didn't find her nervous spells to be delectable. She had the most interesting faces on that hood of hers.

Too bad her eyes didn't want to see the Champion in front of her. Her nervous bundles keeping her cab miles away. She could talk, Jackson would let her, but soon enough, today, she'd better find some answers to his questions.

"Your French fries and cookies, Ma'am," the forklift's sudden appearance caused Melise to jump in popped anxiety. She watched as he placed a large basket of crisp fries in front of her, a glass bowl of warm chocolate chip cookies next to them. Storm eyed the edibles with disinterest, tipping the waiter's glowing grin as he soon sped off.

Melise watched as his eyes bore into her, Jackson looked pleased to be feeding her, some sort of pleasure to play mind games and make her feel like a child. The starry-eyed doll stare from her end became stern, she looked down at the appetizers, the smell of crunchy V.I.P fries for a child wasn't an opportunity she was going to let Jackson poke fun at her for.

She couldn't let those cookies go to waste either...

Her treads caught a scoopful, and she pushed the fried potatoes into her mouth, chewing with decency as Jackson's mind seem to be at a red light.

Melise's gentle stare clotheslined his moment to embarrass her with a load of junk food. She was actually eating the fried, and with a delicate efficiency he didn't know existed.

"Thank you," Melise said, her sweet voice muffled as she enjoyed the crunchy treats.

Jackson watched her with his mouth slightly agape, his eyes calm, keeping his wonder in check. She was never a dull moment, even when she crossed the line.