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Back Losers: Part I Save as PDF
Chapters (58)
  1. Table of Contents
  2. Content Note
  3. A Note From The Author
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. Acknowledgements
  57. Also By Harley Laroux
  58. About The Author

The streetlights flashed overhead as I watched him out of the corner of my eye, trying not to make it obvious. The muscles in his arm were taut as he moved the gearshift, eyes focused on the road.

“Do you wanna see how fast she can go?” he said, his expression turned mischievous.

I pulled my seatbelt tighter, bracing myself. “Oh, hell yes.”

He accelerated, the force of it pressing me back into my seat. The engine roared so loud it drowned out my laughter as he sped down the road. The wind whipped through the open windows, and we passed the turn for my house in the blink of an eye. Our speed reached 90…100…110. I braced my hands against the metal bars encircling the cab, my heart in my throat as we flew down the open road.

“Holy shit, Manson!” I shrieked as he downshifted, wrenching the wheel as the tires squealed. The back end of the car slid out in a half-circle before he straightened out, our speed climbing again as he took the narrow twisting road that led up into the hills behind the gated community of Wickeston Heights.

He was smiling wide as he whipped through the road’s curves. It was no wonder he’d fallen in love with this: the speed, the power, the freedom. He brought us to the crest of the hill and pulled off to the side, the tires crackling in the dirt. There was a lookout here with a view of the town, and he parked right next to the large boulders guarding the edge of the hillside.

“You know, coming up to the lookout with someone usually means you’re trying to get lucky,” I said. People had been coming up here for years with the sole intent to have sex, hotbox their vehicles, drink, or generally be degenerates.

“I think having you in my car at all is pretty lucky,” he said. The sincerity of his words caught me off guard, and I shifted in my seat, staring at the distant lights. This feeling was almost sad, but too full of desire to be melancholy.

Was I just tired and overthinking? There was something about the way he was looking at me that made me feel like I couldn’t get enough air despite the open windows. I wasn’t supposed to feel like this. This soft vulnerability. This need that had nothing to do with sex. This was only supposed to be about sex, nothing more.

Why did it feel like there was more?

He spoke before I could. “Let’s go see the view.”