After dinner, Hunter quickly tidied up the dishes, then sat down with Mia in the small rental apartment to chat.
It was obvious that Mia rarely had anyone to talk to. Surrounded by Dom and his roughneck crew, meaningful conversation was scarce.
Hunter had only casually started a topic, but they ended up talking for over an hour.
Neither of them realized how much time had passed until Mia's phone suddenly rang.
Mia, in particular, hadn't noticed that Hunter was steering the conversation. He carefully adjusted his tone and topics to match her interests, subtly catering to her. Unaware of this social maneuvering, Mia simply felt an incredible connection, as if she had finally met a soulmate she'd been waiting years for.
So, when the harsh ringtone shattered their bubble, she felt a flash of genuine annoyance.
She pulled out her phone, frowned at the caller ID, and answered with a tone that was far from friendly.
"Dom, what is it?"
Hunter politely turned his head away, but the moment he heard the name "Dom," he knew exactly who was on the other end.
He couldn't hear Dom's voice, but judging by Mia's darkening expression, she was getting an earful.
She bit her lip, listening unhappily for a moment, before replying calmly, "I know. I'm coming back now."
"That's it, Dom. Bye."
She hung up decisively. The smile she had worn earlier was gone.
Seeing Hunter looking at her with concern, she forced a small smile back onto her face.
She stood up apologetically. "It's late, Hunter. I have to go."
Hunter could guess the content of the call.
Dom had raised Mia alone. While he wasn't exactly a model brother in some respects, he was fiercely protective. He must have realized she was out late at night.
And nighttime in Los Angeles was no playground.
"Alright," Hunter said, standing up. "Let me walk you out."
Dom's house was about twelve miles (20 km) away. Mia had obviously driven here, so Hunter intended to walk her to her car.
Hunter's memories were clear: this neighborhood wasn't safe after dark.
"Thanks," Mia said.
She didn't refuse. She had developed a genuinely good impression of this young Chinese-American man. He was her age, articulate, funny, and a surprisingly good cook.
If her initial visit was driven by guilt over Vince, her current feelings were driven by genuine attraction. He was charming, and she wanted to get to know him better.
They walked to the parking lot, chatting as they went.
Mia's car, a blue Honda, was parked under a streetlight.
Hunter took one look at it.
It was a third-generation Acura Integra (rebadged as Honda in some markets, but consistent with Mia's Fast 1 lore). A top-spec model would cost around $34,000 new.
But Mia's car? From the powertrain to the interior, everything had been modified.
You couldn't build this car for less than $200,000.
In the US, the "Kingdom on Wheels," cars were cheap. A brand-new Mercedes S-Class started at around $80,000.
For $200,000, you could buy a bulletproof Mercedes S-Class. Mia's "humble" Honda was a beast in disguise.
Mia got into the driver's seat and rolled down the window.
Looking at Hunter, who was admiring her ride, she smiled. "By the way, Hunter, when you come back to the shop tomorrow..."
"Remember to give my car a thorough check. I've been feeling like the ignition is acting up lately."
"Will do," Hunter nodded.
While fixing his own motorcycle over the last few days, he had unlocked the Mechanics skill.
He'd confirmed that repairing vehicles—and even household appliances—granted EXP. More importantly, the more complex the repair, the higher the EXP reward.
Getting his hands on Mia's heavily modified Integra? That was exactly what he needed to grind his skill.
Mia knew it was getting late. After a few more pleasantries, she inserted the key and turned the ignition.
But then, disaster struck.
Whirrr... Whirrr...
Click.
Whirrr... Whirrr...
The car groaned like it had a stomach ache. The starter motor whined pitifully, but the engine refused to catch.
Mia slammed her hand on the steering wheel in frustration. Her face fell.
Hunter leaned in. "Sounds like the battery, or maybe the starter solenoid. It's too dark to fix it now. I'll diagnose it properly tomorrow morning."
"Tonight... let me drive you home."
Mia didn't hesitate.
"Okay."
She hopped out of the car decisively and tossed her keys to Hunter.
Hunter pretended to pocket them, but in reality, he slipped them straight into his Personal Inventory.
"Follow me," he said, beckoning her.
He led her to his battered old motorcycle.
Hunter took off his helmet and tossed it to her.
Mia didn't turn up her nose at the old bike. Before visiting him to apologize, she had asked around the garage. She knew Hunter's situation—orphaned, living alone, scraping by.
She put on the helmet and straddled the seat behind him.
Motorcycles didn't offer much personal space. As she settled in, her body pressed tightly against his back.
Feeling the sudden pressure of two soft mounds against his spine, Hunter's mind wandered for a split second.
Easy, tiger, he told himself, suppressing the urge to react.
"Hold on tight," he told her over his shoulder. "I'm going to ride a bit fast."
Because he had showered right after his workout, he smelled clean. Just a faint, masculine scent mixed with shampoo and soap.
It wasn't unpleasant. In fact, compared to the heavy, stale odor of sweat, oil, and cigarettes that clung to her brother's friends, Hunter smelled amazing.
"Okay," she replied softly.
She wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned her helmeted head against his shoulder.
Beneath his shirt, she could feel the firm, defined muscles of his back. Despite his seemingly slender frame, he felt solid.
Secure.