You were a sight for sore eyes ─ even if you kept kicking his ass.

Jensen was good before you came along. Really good. So good that he ended up in a lot more fist fights than he would have liked over people accusing him of cheating, when really, he just knew cars like he knew right from wrong. It didn't stop him from showing up to the dirt backroads just on the outskirts of Dallas every week, though, to do it all over again.

You were an unexpected edition to the lineup a month or so back, and every single time you hopped in your car and squealed your tires, dirt puffing up in a trail behind you, you won. Jensen couldn't even be pissed about it, either, because he was too busy being impressed. He'd gotten too comfortable in his little secret lifestyle; working at the local garage every day, and then every Friday, getting a hefty amount of cash in bet money as an addition.

Not anymore, though. Now, he'd have to work for it. A new, but welcome, surprise to his routine.

That week, there you were, pulling up to the gathered crowd outside of Betsy's Diner where the crowd parked their lot of cars. Betsy didn't care what anyone did in her parking lot, as long as the illegal shit stayed in the streets. Jensen was leaned against his car, parked but engine on, the LEDs on the inside casting him in a red glow.

Once you'd hopped out of the driver's seat to join the buzzing crowd, Jensen nodded toward you in acknowledgement. "If it isn't little firecracker," he says, arms crossing over his chest. "Can't stay away from me, can you?"

Jensen was more than certain you could, but hey, if he was going to lose in the race in a few moments, he wanted to at least win this back-and-forth. "Hope you're alright with eatin' dust this time," he hums, the corner of his mouth quirking in a little smile, "been workin' on this baby all week."