<div class="floatleft">(http://favim.com/orig/201107/31/boy-car-fashion-hot-guy-jon-Favim.com-117571.jpg)</div><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span class="bbc_u">Jonathan Hellyer</span></span><br/><span class="bbc_u">Location</span>- Near the Starting Line<br/><span class="bbc_u">Date &amp; Time</span>- 9:55 pm<br/><span class="bbc_u">Tag</span>- None yet<br/><hr/><hr/><br/><strong>“Shit, shit, shit, shit”</strong>John repeated the word over and over again, hoping that somehow by denying how late he was to the race it would change the current state of things. Perhaps by cursing enough times in a row, the junkie with an infected forearm would have decided to come in tomorrow night instead of today. Thus allowing John to get to his first race on time, without smelling like a homeless person. His foot was pressed as far down on the gas pedal of his new Mitsubishi Eclipse as he would allow. As embarrassing as being late to a race might have been, it would be nothing compared to the shit he would get from his team if the doctor was actually pulled over for speeding before even reaching the track.<br/><br/>For perhaps the hundredth time John’s green hues glanced up at the clock, watching as the digital ticker counted up the hour.<strong>“About 15 to 10”</strong>he told himself, the Highway 128 signs passing by as quick green blurs.<em>‘God let the race not have started yet’</em>. He was not in the first, so pending no schedule changes John would end up being early for his own competition. But Blaire was competing right at the start. If half of her war stories were true, the last thing he wanted to do was piss off the petite blonde woman. Especially on a race night when nerves were on edge, blood pumped a bit faster, and everyone had something to prove. Most especially John.<br/><br/>He saw the lights before he saw the starting sign. A small galaxy of headlights and brake lights, intermixed with the reflected colors of new paint jobs. John’s heart was beginning to try and claw it’s way up his throat when he realized how many people were there. He was sweating suddenly, hands shaking against the steering wheel. If he fucked up he was going to do it in front of half if not more of the entire race community on the west coast. Or at least all the one’s who mattered. Suddenly the thought of wrecking and dying instantly didn’t seem like such a poor outcome considering the alternative.<br/><br/><em>‘I don’t know where to park’</em>he practically screamed in his mind, eye’s widening. Was everyone parking by car type? Or by which race they were participating in? Or by team?! He knew that Jamie had told him before John left for his shift, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember now. He could stop and ask somebody, but then the man would be ‘that guy’ who had to ask for directions at a race. Maybe if he was representing just himself that would be fine. But tonight he had to think of Jason’s reputation. He had put him up here and fronted the words the get John in to the community. What about his team? God knew their rivals already had enough cannon fodder.<br/><br/>Pulling back on the gear John desperately worked his cell phone form his pocket, punching in Jamie’s number.<strong>“Christ let her have it on her”</strong>though if what he saw laid out on the couch this morning was what she was planning on wearing, John couldn’t imagine where she would fit the damn thing. The light green top and bottom were so small he felt short of breath just from looking at it.<br/><br/>Setting it up to his ear, John began to hear the ring on the other end of the line. At the same time he reached out and pulled a small blue duffle bag from the back and set it in the passenger seat. John was still wearing his scrubs, but at least had the foresight to bring a change.<br/>