location: the race truck with: dominic knight | @whiskeyrated
“I swear to god, this guy doesn’t have an ounce of concern for this fucking car,” Quinn grumbled under her breath, twisting a wrench underneath the hood of the car that she didn’t even own. She couldn’t possibly care more about something that didn’t belong to her, and a big part of why she was always so annoyed at having to do her job was that the driver of said car never seemed to actually appreciate the work she put in. It’d be different if it was a normal mechanic/car owner relationship, but this one? This one was toxic, and Quinn knew that. She tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, told herself mechanics from other teams were just as annoyed by their drivers, but she also had a gut feeling that Dominic Knight was the absolute biggest prick in the entire universe. As much as their drivers sucked, hers was miserable.
She tossed the wrench angrily into the toolbox it lived in, mumbling something about cleaning it up later, and shut the hood with an unnecessary amount of force. Turning to round the car as she pulled the rag on her shoulder down and wiped at her hand, Quinn’s gaze landed on a pair of legs she spent far too much time staring at, wondering just how much of her angry rant he’d heard. “Morning, King Domidick,” she said with a flourish of her hand, stepping aside for him. “How lovely of you to grace us with your presence, and so early in the day! Are you sure you’re feeling okay? You look a little more off than usual, a little less ‘stick up my ass’ and a little more green around the edges.”
