[salty, mocha blast, raining, toe ring, jimmie johnson]

"So, it's raining in Charlotte, your Happy Hour was rained out, your hauler sprang a leak, and all you can think about is going to get a Mocha Blast?" Deb tapped her foot as Jimmie smiled at her winningly while he dug through his bag for his wallet.

"I'm thirsty." He said with a grin. "C'mon, it'll be an adventure."

"No, you trying to get from your rig to a car that can leave the speedway will be an adventure." Deb shot back, rolling her eyes.

"You used to be much more fun, you know that?" Jimmie teased. "Aha! Found it!"

"I am fun. I just don't feel like getting soaked to the skin and attacked by race fans so you can go to Baskin Robbins." She said, trying to keep a straight face. Unsuccessfully.

Jimmie laughed. "No one will recognize me. If Jeff isn't with me and I'm not standing by a Lowe's car, I'm invisible."

"Famous last words."

"Shut up."

"You shut up."

"I don't care for you right now."

"You luuuurve me."

The laughed together as Jimmie threw open the door of his RV. Assuming a "Mission: Impossible" stance, he looked from side to side before grabbing her hand.

And running like hell.

"Hey! Quit it!" Deb yelled, trying to pull away from him. She skidded to a halt, her sandals soaked with mud and rain - her toe ring the only evidence that her feet still existed beneath the dark mud.

"Aww…did Debbie get dirty?" Jimmie's face loomed above her, laughing. His hat was pulled low, but his dark hair glinted with rain, and his white shirt was soaked through. She could see the sexy patch of chest hair through it.


Did she just think of Jimmie's chest hair as *sexy*?

Deb shook her head and tried to get a grip. Jimmie was the best friend, the goofball, the fellow Lowe's slave. Jimmie was not sexy material.
Well, not to her.

Jimmie grinned again as she brushed back the hair hanging limply in her eyes from the rain. She shivered with the contact, then squeezed her eyes shut.

This was *not* a good idea.

"Deb?" He whispered. "You okay?"

Deb's eyes shot open and she looked into his eyes. The same eyes she had known for years, but now, there was something else reflected in them…

It couldn't be lust. Not when she was covered in mud and grime and water.

"I'm…" She cleared her throat. "I'm fine, you tool. It's raining, I'm soaked…"

Her words were swallowed as his lips met hers. He felt so soft and gentle, his lips tasting salty and chocolately, his arms so strong around her…

"What are you doing?" She pulled back after a few seconds.

"Something I should have done a long time ago." He said softly, the rain pelting down between them.

"Have you been riding around without your helmet cooler on again? You know that makes you ill…" She said, trying to put distance between them.



"Shut up."

"I'm filthy."

"You're sexy. Come here."

The didn't hear the hoot and hollers of the crowd that had assembled along the fenceline separating the infield from the RVs. They didn't see Tony Stewart and Jeff Gordon walk by, laughing and pointing. They didn't even feel the rain anymore.

And they should as hell didn't remember to go to Baskin Robbins.