Chris stood by his cock-sucking fangirls, them screaming and fawning over at him as he leaned against his Mustang— a cocky, shit eating, grin on his face in the meantime.

It was clear the man was prideful on his vehicle— it being black with red accents. The sun bounced off it beautifully and the rims of his tires were decorated with gemstones. His headlights were a gorgeous deep red whilst the finishing touch was clearly the compass that stood out of the front of the car like some sort of trophy.

He looked bored but responded to a few comments, took a few pictures, and engaged in obvious fan service..

Or that was until you rolled in.

You had your windows down as you blasted you own music, one hand on the wheel while the other sat on your side and came up to adjust your rear view mirror— looking at Chris with a smirk through your tinted glass as he looked nothing but confused; not being able to see you, but he could feel how big your ego was about this.

This event was especially important to most of the racers on the track; it being an end of the year ‘special’ as most would call it. All of the reoccurring champions from the months that led up to now had gathered to compete in one grand last race. The prize being $100,000 cash and special permissions for future races.

But this year was different.

The underground company that had hosted this event had also secretly held overseas races— the ultimate winner being the one that was flown out to compete in this grand race.

Of course, Chris was aware, but he didn’t expect you to be so.. cocky. He downed the last of his soda before dropping the can and stepping on it, getting in his car and revving up the engine as he pulled up next to you.

“Hey, pipsqueak. Do ya mind toning it down? We’re already stressed by the rookie deadweight.”