The Street Racing Stig – Chapters 1 Thru 5

Chapter 1: Before the Night

“Ron, are you sure the car is ready?” I ask as I peak into Ron Malec’s office. He looks up from his desk, knowing what car that I am referring to. “You did go by Malcolm’s shop right?” Ron shakes his head yes.

“I did go by and trust me – she’s ready,” he assures me. “I checked everything and even changed the tires – you owe Malcolm – so you should be good to go tonight. But Jimmie – why do you do this?”

“Simple – the rush that it delivers and you know that all too well yourself. I’ll let you know how it goes. I wish that you could actually come.”

“Can’t leave any traces and everybody recognizes this pretty face now.”

“Yeah…I’ll see you around.” I then head off, knowing that I had enough time to head home and grab a bite to eat before heading out to Malcolm’s to meet up before heading out to the strip for the night.

Oh wait, you’re just finding me now – so you probably have a lot of questions just based on what you’ve read, huh? Allow me to explain on my way back to my house.

Everybody knows me – I mean, everybody should know me. I’m Jimmie Johnson. I’m a NASCAR Sprint Cup Series Champion – and not just a one-time champion. I also drive for some guy named Rick Hendrick.

Right – that’s the story that everybody knows and thinks makes up who I am. They think that I go out, win races, and come home to enjoy the winnings. By following me on twitter and tracking what I do based on what they say, yep – you think you know me.

News flash – you don’t.

There’s more to me than what meets the eye and that’s the story that I am about to let you in on. But ssssh, if I let you in on my secret, you can’t tell anyone. If anybody finds out – let’s just say there’s too many consequences that may apply – both career bounding and legal bounding.

Beyond the racing that I do on the track, I also do another type of racing – street racing. But sssh, I didn’t tell you that, okay? Each Tuesday night, sometimes on a Wednesday – I meet up with a bunch of people on some back dirt roads in North Carolina and welp, let it rip.

I know it’s not right to do – I know that I could get into serious trouble. It’s why Ron Malec, one of the few who knows, keeps questioning why I continue to do it. It’s simple – the rush. There’s nothing that replace the feeling of going through the gears, going from 0 to 60 in seconds and beating someone down a strip of pavement. It’s why I do it. Simple as that.

I have a certain car that I drive for it, too – a car that nobody knows that I own. A beautiful mint 1969 Chevrolet Camaro done up midnight blue with tinted windows so that way you can’t see inside the car.

See, that’s the thing. Malcolm and his buddy Will know as that’s where I keep the car and they help make things work – Ron knows because he helps work on the car. Though beyond that, nobody knows that it’s me driving that car on Tuesday nights.

On those backroads, I’m simply known as ‘The Stig’. Everybody knows of my car and knows that I have the best track record out of there – only being beaten twice in the past two years. However, nobody knows my identity and what I truly do with my life. Nobody knows that they’re really facing up against me. they just know based on the track record and the word on the street, they should watch their toes.

I’m Jimmie Johnson – the Street Racing Stig.

Stick with me and I’ll let you know how this all came to be and more about my friends and how they got me involved. Though for now, I got to work to do – I got to get ready for tonight so I am not late.

Chapter 2: Pre-Night

Pulling into the shop, I shut the car off and climb out as Malcolm comes into view, smile on his face.

“I was wondering when you’d get here,” he comments as I make my way over to the Camaro.

“Sorry – got stuck at the shop a little later than I wanted and stopped by the house to change and get something to eat,” I tell him as I glance over the new tires on the car.

“Ron said that the tread on the others was worn down and it needed some new shoes. You owe me.”

“So Ron told me.” I then hand the money, knowing the price off by heart. It wasn’t the first time that I had gotten tires from him and it wouldn’t be the last time. It was all part of the process in keeping this image up.

“So Billy says things start tonight at 9 and they’re going to run for a couple of hours as they feel they can keep that window free.” I shake my head, understanding. Normally that was the protocol. Find a start time after the sun went down and only go a couple of hours as by then, cops would know about it. Someone always had a police scanner, scanning for chatter and if there was any discussion about where we were, it was relayed and everybody was to escape as quickly as possible. It was something that worked as only a couple of people had been caught through the years – thankfully, not me.

“And you’re ready to head out then?” He shakes his head yes as he looks back towards his car. “You know, one night, I should honestly put you up to the challenge. I’m curious to see what that T-bird has for this beauty.” Malcolm had owned a beautiful yellow 1955 Ford Thunderbird since he was 16 – but this wasn’t your normal T-bird. She had her old stunning looks on the outside, but the internal workings of a newer Ford with the power that could match any car that you could put up against it.

This was a man who knew his cars inside and out. It was why a lot of people used his shop. It was one of the reasons that grew us and Ron closer together a long time ago. But, I’ll tell you that story later in how I met him. Remind me when I have a chance.

“You wouldn’t be able to keep up and plus, I know the rules. You don’t challenge the Stig because the Stig knows what he’s doing,” Macolm replies as I chuckle at those words as I lean back against the car.

I wasn’t always known as the Stig. That came with the wins. Once we started taking to the back roads of North Carolina and doing this, there were a string of wins that came once I got the car tuned as I wanted to have it. When they kept coming, one of the people who is there each week termed me as ‘The Stig’ since Malcolm wouldn’t let anybody else know my identity.

“You know, the nickname fits very well because it’s what we’ve been able to do for the past couple of months,” I tell him as Malcolm shakes his head in agreement.

“I’m just surprised that it has worked out without anybody even getting suspicious,” Malcolm comments. That was one thing that I was glad of, too. Nobody had bothered to learn more about me – but that didn’t mean there weren’t stories. Some people wondered if I was some international spy, while others though I was a wanted criminal or some celebrity. “Ron isn’t as sure about this as I am, though. I could tell that he is getting a little restless on this idea of ours.”

“Ron hasn’t been sure of our idea since we started it. He tried to talk us out of it, remember?” Malcolm shakes his head yes.

So I guess you’re beginning to ask more questions simply by the conversation.

Well, Malcolm, Ron and I all met each other during our late teenage years as I began to make my way up the racing ranks. Like I said – I’ll tell you that story later.

So everybody who knows me, knows that I moved to North Carolina for racing and Ron came with me. Malcolm didn’t come originally as he had a big deal with a off-road team that he wasn’t about to give up; he was enjoying that life. Though about three years ago, he contacted me about wanting to leave California, needing some new scenery, and asked about how North Carolina was. I explained the reasons that I enjoyed it and he moved out here. He bought himself an apartment and a small shop and well, the rest is history.

It was great having him out here with Ron and I as we all got to rekindle the friendship that we had before. It felt perfectly natural to have the whole group back together again and we spent a lot of time together, building and repairing muscle cars. It was how I got my current ride as we found it, bought it for cheap as it needed some TLC. A couple months later and let’s just say that she’s now the queen of the underground.

Being a custom car shop owner, Malcolm gets all kinds of people coming through here, and the one thing you have to understand about Malcolm is he can read the type of car person they are. With some 20 year olds coming in, wanting certain performance part and their car not being one that we’ve seen at Z-Dragway, there’s one of two conclusions – they have a spiffy ride that they show off, or they street race. Malcolm casually, jokingly brought up the idea to them and give it a couple days and he had the information that he needed.

He started heading out and enjoying the scene, bragging about it to me. Well, that got my blood pumping. As I said, street racing is all because of the simple thrill and rush that it gives you. It’s also a good way to forget about the serious racing that takes place on the weekends and being in the shop and the media. I brought up that I missed it as see, this isn’t my first rodeo. I had done some street racing with Malcolm and Ron back in California before – that was all Malcolm’s fault.

Malcolm caught my drift and came up with this whole plan. Tint the windows so nobody can see me and he is the dealer. He sets up the races with me and does all the talking to the person that wants to go against, while I simply do the easy work. Three months later, I can say that the man is a mastermind.

Of course, Ron found out about what we were doing and was he pleased? No way. He’s scared that I’m going to get caught and let’s face it – he has a good reason to be worried. If I was to get caught, could you imagine the implications? Beyond the simple legal side, my ride would be gone with Hendrick Motorsports for the simple fact of my reputation. Ron has known for about two months and he has gripped about it the entire time – to me, to Malcolm and to us both together. However, I know Ron and that he won’t tell Rick or anybody else so I let him grip to us and deal with it. Besides, somewhere in there, I know that he enjoys it as he always is asking how certain races went.

“We got to get Ron out there one night,” I then speak up as Malcolm looks over curiously. “He loved it before and one trip out there should rekindle that fire.”

“I can make his appearance there work – I have the magic abilities,” Malcolm states as he climbs in the passenger seat of the Camaro. “Ready to go hot shot?”

He doesn’t need to ask anymore as a flip of the key and the engine reving to life says all that needs to be said. We then pull out, ready to make the trip up and have some fun tonight.

Chapter 3: Race Time

Making our way on to the strip of asphalt, my eyes immediately begin running over the different cars that are sitting throughout the line-up. A glance towards each other and most certainly, this promises to be a fun night. There were a lot of potential in familiar faces that we recognized, as well as some new dudes that’d pose an awesome threat just by how they looked.

But as they say – looks are not what make the car goes. All that matters is what’s underneath the car and that’d be interesting to find out throughout the night.

Backing the car into its familiar parking spot along the strip, I throw a glance towards Malcolm as a smile crosses his face. It didn’t take words between us when we reached here as we both knew how this worked.

Popping open the glove department, he hands me a radio as he takes the other one. Placing a ear-plug in his left ear and holding the other end, a glance was all it took to say that he was ready for his duty.

Communication between the pair of us was key in making this work. However, we couldn’t let there be a chance of myself being noticed. That’s why he would wear the earplug and mic, radioing to me if a challenge was there or listening to what I noticed. My response would go through there, resulting in nobody having to see either of us.

With a thumbs up, he gets out of the car, closing the door afterwards as I lay back in the seat. It was only a matter of time now before the challenge came. Everybody was always up to challenge and see if they could tackle the top car on this strip of asphalt. Only certain challenges would be accepted – Malcolm mostly deciding.

With being the top dog, you have your choice in what you accept and what you don’t accept. Some young kids who thought they could or someone you had left in your dust before wanting another challenge – you’d turn it down, referencing some reasoning. However, legitimate challenges, those were answered on a nightly basis. Covering a couple challenges a night was the key and making each of those worthy was part of that.

I feel Malcolm lean against the car, simply waiting for who wants to walk over and open their mouth for that night. That was his normal stance as it seemed people always came looking – again, part of being top dog. Another reason to like our system was I could hear each of these conversations, throwing my two cents into his ear as I pleased to make sure that he kept up the attitude that we seemed to have going for us.

It wasn’t a huge attitude – but there was a sense of being tough and strong that was portrayed. It kept everybody off of our backs without curiosity brewing too much, probably because it fueled those rumors that I was an escaped criminal. It also kept Malcolm safe in knowing that others wouldn’t lay in attack, and everybody knew that we were serious and not here to play around with the little kids.

“Yo Malcolm, when you going to bring that T-Bird of yours?” I hear someone ask as they walk over, recognizing that voice immediately. It was a common voice as the man known as Moby (per Malcolm) always seemed to come around.

Malcolm explained to me that the guy was a friend of his, always coming by the shop for parts to put towards his next project. I had yet to race against Moby so I didn’t know how strong his equipment was, but he seemed to be a great guy – someone that’d probably find themselves hanging out with Ron, Malcolm and I working on cars.

“Perhaps I’ll bring it next week or the week after that – I’m not sure yet,” Malcolm answers.

“Yeah yeah, same answer that you’ve been telling me for the past three months,” Moby replies. “Scared that you’re going to be viewing tail lights the whole way down?” I let a laugh roll off my shoulders – same words that had been played against Malcolm since word began to spread about the T-Bird. If these people knew what was underneath that car’s shell, they’d be shivering in their steps thinking about the horsepower. The amount of horsepower under that car honestly scares me in thinking that he could actually beat me.

Sometimes I wondered if I should push Malcolm to bring the T-Bird himself – he could always follow me up with that car. I’d been wanting to see it make a pass up here and see what it could do against everyone as I knew what it was capable of. Plus, it was getting annoying hearing the words of people like Moby.

“Tell him that you’ll bring it out next Wednesday for sure – I’ll talk to you later bout the plan,” I inform him, confident in my thoughts.

“If you’re so certain that you can beat the bird, why don’t I bring her out next week and put her up against you?” Malcolm throws back at him as I smile. He was learning very well how to handle these situations.

“If you’re asking for a battle, then that settles it as I’m ready for a battle with you,” Moby accepts as I smile. “I’ll make sure to bring out the purple ice eater next week.” My brow fuses confused as I hear those words. Purple Ice Eater? First of all – what the hell was that for a name of a car? Second – what did he own? “Deal?” I can only assume that Malcolm shaked his head yes as I watch him disappear out of view.

“1971 Plymouth Barracuda. I’ll talk to you later about the specs.” Well, that made plenty sense now. Those cars were known for being bad to bone, and a lot of people did them purple. No doubt there was a reason to be worried on that level. But still, the nickname sucked.

Most people nicknamed their cars – I didn’t. I couldn’t think of the proper nickname for this car so I hadn’t called it by anything. Malcolm called his “Sunshine” because of the bright yellow color. What was I to call a 1968 Camaro that was midnight blue that wouldn’t sound cheesy?

Though can’t dwell on that as I notice another person walking in Malcolm’s direction as a smile crosses my face. This person looked familiar – two weeks ago familiar – as they had thought that taking down the Camaro would be a piece of work. Turns out – they were totally wrong as I beat him by the line by a good couple of car lengths. Needless to say, I took him to school just like that.

“The Stig in there?” The guy asks, pointing in the car and Malcolm shakes his head yes.

“He’s obviously in there because the car is here,” Malcolm points out. “May I help you?”

“He probably wants another challenge – ready to blame the other race on something stupid,” I predict. It was so easy to read people in why they were approaching. Some approached to challenge, some approached to ask Malcolm something in relation to his shop, while others kept asking if they could approach me.

“If you’re ready for another challenge, I suggest that you have your a-game because we’re not playing around. If you’re ready to challenge, again, we are willing to accept it and prove that it wasn’t a fluke.”

“I actually just came here to make sure that the boy was here,” the guy states as I sit back in the seat confused. “I can’t wait till someone takes that beauty car down and proves that this whole Stig thing is a bunch of shit.”

“Tell him that he should bring a real car and do it himself,” I dare Malcolm. Malcolm would listen to 80% of my requests of things to say, but sometimes, he didn’t. I can’t blame the guy as some of the things may not be the best to say towards a person’s face. “That’s if you want to antagonize him…” I let my voice trail off as I look towards my right, hearing the sound of a motor. The sound of a motor always drew my eyes to find the secret to the sound.

“Hope you’re ready for battle.” I guess Malcolm didn’t choose to say the words as the guy walks away.

However, that’s not on my mind. I’m totally focused on this beautiful car – letting the sound of the motor tell me exactly what it has under the hood. My eyes follow the car as it goes by me, following the slick lines that only a mustang can have. The silver just seems to pop as I immediately know where that car was born – Gone in 60 Seconds. Eleanor.
Chapter 4: Eleanor

Movie cars were some of the worst because people would make it like the movie and feel that they could be just like the guy in the movie. They puffed their chest out thinking they were cool.

This car was different, though, as you could tell by the motor that they had worked at tuning it and getting it right. No doubt whomever was the owner of this ride, knew what they were doing.

I watch it stop and the passenger gets out, eyes lying down on my car. A smile forms across my face as that only means one thing – the first challenge of the night. With how much I was foaming at the mouth, I knew that this would be a fun challenge.

“Accept the challenge – no other words spoken,” I tell Malcolm immediately.

“So this is the Stig?” The guy points and Malcolm shakes his head yes. I could tell by looking over the guy that he was new to the scene as I hadn’t seen him around here before. Based on his words, he had also heard about my ‘reputation’. Let’s just say that when you gain a reputation through street racing, it travels and sometimes you get some out of town challenges. “Playing games and hiding identity isn’t something that the street people like to have thrown around them. Ever heard of facing people like a man? Ever heard of standing behind yourself?”

“Scare tactics….real original. See if he’s willing to race.”

“I’ve heard about the wins and the reputation. It immediately started an interest for me to come down and take this kid down because it seems that he can’t show for himself.” Of course, anybody can run their mouth and sound like they know what they’re talking about and be cocky. How many times have we seen that from Kyle Busch or Denny Hamlin? How many times have they had to eat their words?

“Is that a challenge that I hear you issuing?” Malcolm questions. Finally!

“Keep pressing,” I encourage, intrigued by what this guy has said as my eyes are still glued to that beautiful 1967 Fastback Mustang. “Use the whole talk the talk, walk the walk line.”

“Why else would I have travelled cross town?” The guy asks as my smile widens. This just gets sweeter.

“Accept the challenge. Use the line, or tell him that anybody can run their mouth but what matters is how they run the streets.”

“My driver has said that he will accept your challenge,” Malcolm tells him formally. So much for playing the attitude.

“Real formal Malcolm,” I say sarcastically. “Can you please dish him some ice back?”

“Then I look forward to seeing you at the starting line,” the guy states.

“As will we. Oh – may I ask the terms of the race?” The guy pulls a couple 100 dollar bills out of his wallet.

“It’s all about reputation and bragging – but we’ll throw $500 to keep everybody happy.” The guy then walks away and gets back in the mustang with his driver, driving away, as Malcolm remains in his spot.

“If I beat him, you better use one of my lines – I don’t care if you attribute it to the ‘Stig’ well you do it,” I state to Malcolm as I can just picture him rolling his eyes right now. “Now let’s do this!”

“Keep your priorities focused on the driving and winning – I’ll handle the rest,” Malcolm replies before walking away. I can tell by that response that he’s annoyed with what I’ve said to him in regards to how to handle the ‘new guy’.

I can’t let myself ponder that right now as I start up the car, revving the motor a couple times as a smile crosses my face. Pulling out of my spot and heading up towards the top of the strip, I knew that this was going to be fun.

Let the night truly begin.

Chapter 5: Eleanor vs Midnight

Lining up at the line, there’s one thing that has my focus – those long, tan arms. The arms held nothing of particular interest to look at, except the fact that they were the start of this race. As soon as they dropped, it’d be foot down to the floor, set to go as fast as humanly possible. The key was to focus on the shoulder or elbow, waiting for any flinch in movement. As soon as it slightly started to drop, then make the move. Don’t flinch and don’t try waiting around – that’s how you get beaten, and that was something I didn’t let happen.

That’s why I found myself focusing in on the eyes of the individual before me, watching the attitude that they were taking. Malcolm had already insisted that I was ready, and the other guy had stated that he was ready. With that said, it was only a matter of time. Eyes focused on eyes, seeing the attitude in mind for the start. Once the arms go up, eyes focus there, waiting for that flinch of movement.

The same attention to detail, the same focus that amounted to winning races and being able to things that others would call crazy on Sundays was the same attention that led to winning here. Going through this, it had actually helped me improve my Sundays as I had gotten better at restarts, being good at anticipation. Who knew that illegal behavior could help in that approach.

Eyes on eyes – eyes on arms – there’s the flinch as the elbows drop slightly, sending a surge through my body as I mash the pedal down as far as it will go, taking off. The Camaro immediately responds, taking off from the line without a glitch of hesitation.

Letting the speed and revs come up, shifting through the gears with ease, focused on the road ahead was the plan. I never felt the need to glance to the side and see my competitor, for what would be a simple distraction from what I was doing. I knew if I focused on what I was doing – shifting, holding a steady wheel – that it’d be enough to accomplish the task that I wanted to accomplish.

The thrill instantly hits me as I speed down the stretch of road as the speed continues to grow, hitting over 100 in a flash. For that quarter mile, my focus was purely on what was at hand. I felt at home, feeling the speed through my veins that I craved. The rest of the world was forgotten as all that mattered was that single moment. As noted by Dominic Toretto, ‘nothing else matters as for those 10 seconds, I’m free’.

Keeping my eyes focused on the road, everything goes silent as the 10 seconds ends as soon as it seems to have just begun. At that point is when I take a glance to the side, looking for any sight of that silver 1967 Fastback Mustang. As my eyes dart to the right, all I can do is smile as there is no sight of car to be seen – besides a small edge of the front bumper even with my door.

Mark another win on the list for the Stig.

Driving back to the preferred parking spot, placing her there carefully, the smile doesn’t leave my face. Anybody can talk the talk, but only few can walk the walk – and I am one of those few.

Silence takes over as I bask in the current glory, glancing to the side as the guy returns, handing over the $500 with a look of anger on his face. The money didn’t matter – everybody knows I’m a millionaire, and this was solely about pride. However, to race here and not have something on the line would set off some alarms. For that reason, Malcolm always set a value – keeping the money that I was able to earn to put back into the shop. Consider my thank you for him helping to keep the cover solid.

“Not a bad little race there, not a bad car and perhaps not a bad driver,” the guy comments as he finishes dishing out the 50 dollar bills. At least he can admit to defeat – or is that only because he is eating his words? “Perhaps they are right about him being the undefeatable one on these streets. But as they say, anybody can be taken down in a flinch.” Malcolm just chuckles as he double checks that the money is all there, no doubt taking the same approach that I am. This guy doesn’t shut up, does he?

“Is that so?” Malcolm asks as he looks into the eyes of the individual.

“That is so. I’ll see you around – and don’t count on things being easy from here on out.” The guy then turns and walks away as I just roll my eyes. Another empty threat has been laid. I guess his driver being beat isn’t enough to teach him a lesson.

“Bring it on.” Malcolm then glances back towards the car – knowing that I can see him, yet can’t be seen. “Well played. You had him right from the drop of the arms.”

“It’s all about the start – mastering the timing will win you any race that you want,” I state as I kick back in the car, letting the thrill from those 10 seconds last as long as I can make it last. “If you want any shot next week with that ‘cuda, you better be ready.”

“Just because I haven’t raced myself for a couple of years doesn’t mean I’m not ready.”

“Sure you’re not rusty?” He then flips the bird as I just laugh. “You still owe me a race, too.”

“That’d just look great – me taking on you while I’m your street manager. Real smart.” Malcolm then takes the attitude of scoping out the cars, seeing who has all showed up.

It was an approach that I took from my seat – for what I could see – checking to see who was there. A lot of familiar faces – most I had raced and beaten through the couple of months – with a couple new faces sprinkled amongst the crowd. Without a doubt, there’d probably be a couple more races for the night, a couple times to satisfy the need for speed, with some more success to celebrate.

This was how a night normally went here at the strip, and it was a sytem that I didn’t bug me as it satisfied the needs that I had for the time being there.

“Excuse me, but are you taking challenges tonight?” I hear a female voice, immediately catching my attention as I look the source over.

My breath immediately catches in my throat as my eyes catch hers, thrown into a daze by the aqua tint that they are. I let myself look over the rest of her, taking in her blond hair, perfect beautiful lips, to the body that has all the curves in the right places. This girl looked like she belonged at a model shoot – not here! Did she get lost along the way?

“We do accept some challenges and know now to turn down a challenge,” Malcolm replies, somehow keeping himself straight to talk to her while I’m feeling lost and swallowed by her beauty. “Are you looking to challenge, or are you here on someone’s behalf? And you do realize that we don’t play games, right?”

I couldn’t believe that Malcolm was influencing that this girl was a racer. She couldn’t be – she was too gorgeous for that and clean for this world. This couldn’t even close to the truth. She had to be here with someone, perhaps their girlfriend, perhaps just here to model their ride. There were a ton of girls like that on these streets, showing off every body part that they could while stretching in all sorts of ways over cars.

“I’m looking for a challenge myself and trust me, I don’t take my racing lightly,” she tells him, right to the serious point.

“Please find out what ride is hers,” I beg Malcolm. “I can’t believe this.”

“May I ask which car here is yours?” Malcolm asks the requested question. I immediately begin to expect some ‘pretty girl’ car, or some fast car that she thinks she can drive.

She points down the strip a couple cars to a low-sitting, yet stunning in everyway possible 1971 Chevrolet Camaro. My jaw immediately drops as the car has the right attitude in how it is lowered to the ground and the perfect shine in the silver to make it gleam in the night light.

However, let’s face it – it was stunning on the outside, but would that win races? Remember – it’s what on the inside that counts. Just ask Malcolm and that T-bird that he has. It’s a classic ’55 T-Bird on the outside, but it has the guts of a mustang on the inside.

“You know that it isn’t the car that wins the race but the driver, right?” Malcolm questions, stealing the words out of my mouth. “You can’t just buy a fast car and immediately start winning.”

“Well played,” I compliment him, finally glad that he was starting to show some of the attitude that I wanted earlier.

“If you’re really seriously, though, perhaps we could entertain a race.”

“Are you serious?”

“If you think you’re worthy to take ‘The Stig’ and show that you’re serious.”

“You’re on,” she tells him, catching me off-guard. “You’ll be looking at my tail lights all the way down the quarter.” She then walks away, as my eyes land on her butt, seeing that the theory played true – she had the right curves in all the places, front and back.

“Damn….” I let out, surprising myself.

“Keep your eyes off of her tail and focus on what you’ve got to do,” Malcolm says, snapping me out of my dreamy gaze at her.


Candiss’ car


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