Dream Girl (Lightning McQueen X Self insert)

Trial & Error

As we began to set him into his car, Mater took the boot off before-

"Mater you hook him up before-" Doc commanded, yet Mater let him drive off.

"Thank god we did what we did earlier." I grinned at him.
"Yep..." he groans tiredly.
We wait.

And within a few minutes, he's towed back again and hooked onto Bessie, the sheriff supervising for a little in case.
'The best paving machine' apparently.
That's one sack of shit; because Bessie should be out of commission. It's coated in rust, and the paint job is scraggly.
I keep my mouth shut though, I don't wanna buy a new machine.

"Give him some fuel." Doc orders, and I nod.
Swiftly, I take some spare gas containers kept at Flo's and fill them up.

"You're sure you know how to gas a car?"

"Mhm." And within a swift few seconds I filled up the gas chamber.

"I'll help you get hooked up." I adjust my suit jacket, then toss it on the sidewalk.

"I swear formal clothes out here in the summer heat sucks..." I sigh to myself before roughly hooking McQueen up to Bessie.

His face, oh wow. He was in shock.

"What, you think someone you'd hit on actually can do something than be a trophy for you? I'm not eye candy, McQueen."

"Hey!-"  he tries to get a word in.

"'Hey' get to paving." I wave him off.

"Yeah..." He replies somewhat dryly

I take off then my suit top to reveal my camisole underneath, taking a coke from a cooler kept nearby and I sit on the wedge of sidewalk nearby.

"Get going."

He mutters and talks to himself.

"I hate it here in hillbilly hell...."
"Can't wait to earn the piston cup..."

"Piston cup?"

I knew of grandfathers awards for earning 4, with him being the great Hudson Hornet and passing his love for cars onto me.
After all, I am the one who polishes and dusts his trophies.

"Yeah. I'm gonna get it, I'm a new rookie and I need to hurry." he responds.

"How's your crew? They must be worrying about you."

As he leans his arm out of the car, he looks towards me with a somewhat focused face.

"They quit, but I'm sure I'll easily get a new crew. After all, anyone can replace tires and fill up a car with gas." He chuckles, although it's a pathetic laugh.

"Eh, you'll be outta here soon enough. Just because they don't have production parties here like in LA doesn't mean it's not a nice place." I relax my arms.

"Like you've ever been in LA." McQueen retorts.

"Actually, I live there arrogant shit."

He looks over from out of the open car window.

"Huh?! What do you even do?"

As his car moves, I scoot the lawn chair slightly.

"I'm a professional graphic designer and I work part time as a tattoo artist, and I'm a hobbyist mechanic."

I scruff the back layer of my hair that's dyed a somewhat more subtle shade of brown.

"Oh, maybe you could make some designs for me and my car here." He pats the side of his car, giving a slight smirk.

"Maybe." I move forward and kick his arm.

At this rate, he's sweating bullets.

"Maybe it'd be better if you took the top part of your uniform off and wore your tank. It's hot as hell here in the summer."

"No, I'll be fine."

"You sure?"

"Haha, yeah. I'm Lightning McQueen, I can take anything."

After chatting about random things out of boredom, from favorite music to what cars are decent, and

20 minutes pass by:

"I'm going to die of heat exhaustion."

"Then take your top off!"

"Oh... someone wants to get a look that badly?"
He raises an eyebrow somewhat curiously.

"I just want to make sure the road's paved so Doc doesn't have to do it."

"And it feels nice to have someone to geek over cars with besides my grandfather..."
I mumble the last part.

I mean, at this rate we've been talking for about two hours.

He begins to unzip the top part of his tracksuit racing uniform, and carefully I signal Red to soak his bare arms.

My god he's pretty fit, yet somehow lean and slim.
He has what I like to call
"Racing hands."
You know, the nice veiny hands.
The water shimmers over his muscular build, and he shakes it off.

"My god!" I got some on my feet and I take my heels off.

"I'm getting a coke, you better not drive off McQueen."

"Just watch me!" He jokes. At least, I hope it's a joke.

I come back with my coke, the old 50's kind of bottle.

Taking a sip, I speak.

"You can sometimes act like a stuck up prick can't you?"

I'll never admit you're interesting to talk to.