"Let me talk to my boss first, he might be able to help,"
Through the slanted glass of the office wall, he could see the agent talking to someone else—a man in a charcoal blazer with silver-streaked hair.
After a couple minutes, the office door opened.
"I'm Ron—owner of this place. I understand you're looking to buy the car in full?"
Terrence nodded.
Ron cracked a small, approving smile. "Don't worry, we can work with that."
"How about this. You pay in crypto, and I'll transfer the title straight to you. No discounts—but no hassle either. Clean and fast. Sound better?"
Terrence considered it. Crypto was cleaner. Faster. Untraceable, if needed.
"Deal,"
Just like that, the paperwork was processed.
They handed him the keys and cleared the car for immediate release.
It was obvious this dealership was used to dealing with unconventional customer.
VROOOOM!
The roar of the engine felt good, deep and powerful, as he slowly pulled the car out of the lot.
Sun was still beating down, so he kept the roof up for now.
'I feel like a celebrity in this,'
Cruising in a super car was a whole different experience. It hit his dopamine like a drug.
He pressed the pedal—hard.
VROOOOM!
Zero to sixty in just under three seconds.
"Woah."
He couldn't stop grinning as his back slammed into the leather seat, the force of acceleration pinning him there.
'Let's see your control,'
The wheel turned sharply into the corner, and the car responded like it knew exactly what to do.
Tires gripped the road tight, no sliding, just smooth motion all the way through.
With a tap on the gas, the back end shifted slightly—just enough to feel exciting—then snapped back in line.
'Shit, I'm good.'
Unfortunately, the celebration didn't last long.
A police vehicle appeared in the distance, and just like that, the fun dropped a gear.
He let off the gas and cruised past without drawing attention.
Once he reached the urban part of the city, heads turned. People stared.
Some even raised their phones to take pictures.
There were even baddies waving at him, not even knowing what he looked like.
Just the car was enough.
Behind the wheel of a ride like this, even a nobody turned into a perfect ten.
VROOOOM!
At a red light, a white Porsche rolled up beside him
Front passenger window slid down, revealing two stunning ladies—both Latinas.
The driver had caramel-toned skin, long straight hair pulled into a sleek ponytail.
Next to her, the passenger had lighter skin and loose curls that rested on her shoulders. She wore winged eyeliner, and pink lipstick.
One leaned out and motioned for him to roll down his window.
He followed because he was curious about what she has to say. Obviously. Not because they were hot or anything.
"Nice car," she smiled, her eyes giving him a once-over. "You live around here?"
"Yes," Terrence gave a firm nod.
"We're hitting a club later—wanna come?"
Terrence gave a half-smile, eyes still on the road ahead.
"Maybe...If I'm not busy."
She noticed he wasn't interested, and it bruised her egos a bit.
Nothing stings a woman's pride more than being ignored—especially by a bad boy-looking guy driving a Ferrari.
"You got social media?"
"Nope." he shook his head.
That answer bumped his value up by a thousand percent—because nothing says "worth chasing" like playing hard to get.
"How about your phone number? I'm sure you'll enjoy it. And who knows—if you're lucky, you might get both of us," She teased with a playful smile.
The driver shot a quick glare at her friend.
"Sorry about her," she said, turning to him. "She gets a little too excited sometimes."
Her friend smirked from the passenger seat, unbothered.
"I'll give you my number," he gave in.
The driver looked more innocent, less wild. That made the difference for him
Light turned green. He gave a small nod, then pulled ahead.
Honestly, he wasn't the type to party.
But he couldn't help but wonder what a threesome would be like.
No bucket list was complete without a little fun, a bit of trouble, and a few pretty girls to remember it by.
DING!
A notification buzzed on his phone.
He checked—just a link to their social media.
Turns out, both of them were college students. Ivy League, no less.
He glanced at her family photo—one parent a judge, the other a doctor.
It wasn't the image he expected for someone with a flashy car and clothing at such a young age.
Guess appearances could be deceiving.