Fiesta Fling
"A chance meeting at a petrol station leads to high-octane action in a modified Ford Fiesta ST"
Midnight at the Shell garage was like a car show for people who couldn't afford actual car shows. Modified Fiestas, lowered Corsas, the occasional Golf R whose owner definitely couldn't afford the insurance.
I was filling up my Fiesta ST—white, lowered, Stage 2 remap—when she pulled in next to me.
Her car was red, same model, but more aggressive. Wider arches, intercooler poking through the grille, the kind of setup that said she knew exactly what she was doing.
She stepped out and I nearly dropped the pump.
Athletic build, short dark hair, tight leggings and a crop top despite the cold. She moved like someone who was comfortable with speed.
"Nice car," she said, nodding at mine. "Stage 2?"
"Stage 2 plus."
"Cute." She started filling her own tank. "I'm running hybrid turbos. Custom exhaust. Proper quick."
"Prove it."
She grinned—all teeth and challenge. "You serious?"
"Dual carriageway's empty this time of night. Unless you're all show."
"Oh, I'm definitely not all show." She finished filling, walked closer. "I'm Kira. You just made your night interesting."
The A-road outside town was dead—just us, the streetlights, and the rumble of tuned engines.
"Rolling start," Kira said through her open window. "From the next bridge."
"Stakes?"
"If you win, I'll do whatever you want." Her grin sharpened. "If I win, same deal."
"That's not a stake, that's a promise."
"Exactly."
The bridge came up. We both dropped gears. Three, two, one—
Her launch was perfect. Mine wasn't bad, but she had the edge—more power, better traction. I watched her taillights pull away, then found my boost and started reeling her in.
We crossed our finish point—a random layby—neck and neck.
"Draw!" I shouted.
"Bullshit! I was ahead!"
"Barely!"
She pulled into the layby, I followed. We both got out, adrenaline pumping.
"I was definitely ahead," she insisted, but she was laughing.
"Prove it."
"Camera in the car. I'll show you." She opened the back door, leaned in. "Come look."
I followed, and found myself pushed onto the back seat.
"There's no camera, is there?"
"There's a camera." She climbed in, straddled my lap. "But I don't care who won anymore."
The Fiesta ST had surprising back seat room—or maybe Kira was just good at using space.
She kissed me like we were still racing, all competition and adrenaline. Her hands were under my shirt, nails raking.
"Fuck, you're fit," she breathed. "Thought so when you pulled in. The car helps."
"The car?"
"Don't act like you don't know. Modified Fiesta is basically an aphrodisiac."
"Weird flex."
"Accurate flex." She was working at my jeans. "Now shut up."
Her mouth was hot and eager, her technique as precise as her driving. I grabbed the headrest for support.
"Fuck—Kira—"
She pulled off, grinned. "Your turn to race."
She climbed off, turned around, peeled off her leggings. No underwear—just smooth skin and obvious want.
"Come on then. Show me what you've got."
I didn't need telling twice. I pushed in from behind, both of us groaning.
"Yes—fuck—just like that—"
The car rocked on its suspension, windows already fogging. She was loud, uninhibited, clearly enjoying every moment.
"Harder—give me everything—"
I grabbed her hips, set a brutal pace. The gear stick was probably digging into my knee but I didn't care.
"Close—already close—"
She came with a scream, her whole body shaking. I followed seconds later, pulling out at the last moment.
We sat in the back seat, catching our breath, while the windows slowly de-fogged.
"Rematch next week?" she asked.
"Same time?"
"Same stakes." She kissed me quickly. "But maybe I'll actually try to win next time."
"You weren't trying?"
"I was distracted." She winked. "By the hot guy in the white Fiesta. Won't happen again."
She gave me her number, peeled out of the layby with the kind of acceleration that confirmed she'd definitely been holding back.
I drove home at the speed limit, grinning like an idiot.
Best race I ever drew.