They say that you should do what you love, and that’s exactly what I did.

I had a passion for cars ever since I laid eyes on my first miniature Hot Wheels, and when my dad bought me some old junker in High School, I couldn’t wait to race home and work on fixing it up every evening. It wasn’t long before I turned that $800 piece of trash into a lean, mean, racing machine.

After High School, I decided to take courses at home rather than studying on campus and worked at a local Jiffy Lube to pay the bills. One day when I was on my way home from working at the Lube, I pulled up to a red light, and a guy pulled up beside me in a Corvette that looked like it was fresh off the lot. He was revving his engine, and I couldn’t help but tease him by revving my engine back.

He looked over at me, our eyes locked on to each other, and we both knew it was on.

So there I was in my 1989 Accord, racing down a busy road against a car that was worth 100 times more than mine. When I pulled away from him around a sharp bend, he knew I had beat him, and we both slowed back down to a normal driving speed.

That’s when I met Benny, the driver of the corvette and owner of a local garage that specialized in modifying high-end street cars. When he found that I had personally installed the turbo and all the other goodies into my Accord, and pretty much knew automobiles from head to toe, we instantly became friends. He hired me on to work at his garage that day, and the rest is history.

I made good money working at the garage, but most of the guys who came in for modifications were racers, and that’s how I got introduced to illegal street racing. My Accord turned into a Mustang, the Mustang turned into a Lancer, and eventually my twin-turbo Lancer beat out Eduardo Lumpini, one of the best street racers in the Los Angeles area, granting me ownership of The Beast. All of that through winning pinks.

I could make money by selling my old cars after winning new ones, but placing bets on myself had earned me a more substantial amount of cash, which allowed me to invest in more and more upgrades. And there wasn’t another car that I wanted anyway; The Beast, a restored 1971 Dodge Challenger, was a perfect fit for me; it handled well, had breathtaking power, and I had pretty much grown attached to the thing.

I pulled my car into Benny’s garage, aptly named “The Mod Shop”, and as soon as I stepped outside, Benny was there to greet me.

“Your brother okay?” he asked as he held a wrench in one hand and wiped the grease that was on his other onto thick, padded overalls. Benny was a tall guy with a beefy build and thick, dark mustache matching his wild, stringy hair. He reminded me of a cross between a 70s pornstar an 80s rocker, but he was still in his mid-30s.

“Yeah, he’s just a freakin’ idiot. I told him to stop by the shop here to pick up a pair of jumper cables. Hope you don’t mind. I’ll pay for ‘em.”

“Pffft…” Benny spat. “Don’t worry about it. You’ve brought in enough money to the shop, and you can make up for it by winning tonight at the races.”

“You’re not racing?”

“Yeah, of course I am, but if I’m racing against you, my money is on The Beast.”

“We’ll see how it goes. You’ve beat me before.”

“Yeah, back when you were driving the Honda.”

I chuckled as I pulled a pair of overalls over my clothes and picked up my toolbox. “Still working on that carburetor?”

“Yeah, just about done. Can you get underneath and make sure the gearbox is in check?”

“Got it.” I made my way over to the car he was working on—a nice Nissan 370z—and crawled my way underneath.

As I loosened nuts and tightened bolts, my mind wandered back to my trip to OC High to help my brother. It had been over four years since I graduated from that school, but it still brought back memories. I had sat in that same parking lot, revving the engine of my old Accord. It was nothing compared to Caleb’s RSX, but it was my baby nonetheless. I could understand how he got so caught up in showing off and leaving his lights on.

And then there was that girl that he was with. Damn… They didn’t make girls like that when I went to the school. She wasn’t showing off much skin, but there was no hiding her thick ass and thighs. The girl had a badonkadonk booty but she wasn’t fat at all; she was just built. And those dark green eyes and a face like an angel even without makeup.

“Shit!” The wrench slipped out of my hand and I stubbed my finger against the metal on the undercarriage.

“Hey, are you okay under there?” Benny asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. The wrench just slipped out of my hand.”

I picked the wrench back up and shook the thoughts out of my head. Why was I thinking about that girl anyway? Sure, she was good-looking, but she was a High School student. Caleb didn’t mention her age, but even if she happened to be 18 already, still… I couldn’t be messing around with some girl still in High School.