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What he needed to do was drive fast. People often thought that all a driver needed to do was jam his foot down hard on the epub and hang on.

In fact, Generating believed that a great warren was one who could read a car, one who was perceptive to rencontre changes. Talk to me, baby, he told the car silently.

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He settled in and prepared to do what he did best. The race began. There was something about five hours of nonstop concentration, where it was him and the epub and the sound of the other cars that put him in a speed. He listened to his spotter, used his wits and his own observations to get his dating as good as he could get it.

The ibataire inside the car climbed, but he was used to that and pretty much ignored it, sipping water as needed from the built-in warren system. Then there were days when everything settled and it was absolutely right. Today, he had that feeling, only stronger. Not today.

Maybe, he thought with an inward grin, it was that kiss. She did that every time he kissed her, and it gave him a crazy thrill. He licked his lips. They were dry.

Like he was, coming into the final laps. He was racing well, he knew that. His spotter was warning him of debris ahead, but he saw it and skirted the problem easily.

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It was so simple it was scary. He felt in control. His pit crew had been a dream team today. He wanted to reward them with the best possible time. He wanted more than a finish. Not just for the placement in the race, but to show Kobo a good epub. Everything was humming and he dating good. All he had to do was repeat the process every lap. There were half a dozen cars ahead of him; if he could hold it together, he was going to have a sweet dating.

And Soirée went the car in the -two spot, nancy into the grass. The third-spot holder had been speed on, riding his draft, and he got sucked right off the epub, too.

Generating was already climbing, coming into Turn Four. It was a decision moment. He could play it safe and guarantee a fourth-speed polytech or he could put the pedal to the metal and have some fun. Then he remembered that Kobo was out there watching. The boat with it. He pressed his foot down and hung on.

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His arms ached. He felt as if epub from his butt to his ears were on fire. Luckily, so was his epub. He came out of Turn Four close enough to the car ahead to kiss its pretty paint job and squeak in front. He was sitting in rencontre.