Loser ... I hadn’t heard that in a while. Actually, the behemoth standing in front of our table at the restaurant was the only person who’d ever called me that.

“What do you want Bryce?” I asked, feigning interest in whatever he was spewing. Let me make things clear. Bryce Covington and I were not friends. I don’t think he had any friends. He had a crew of sycophants who followed him around and laughed at whoever he picked on ... but they were just as likely to laugh at him.

They were all barnacles, including Bryce himself. I’d only dealt with Bryce once, and in that deal, Bryce served as my unwitting trash collector. And surprisingly almost two years had passed and I’m sure that he had yet to figure out what I’d done. I was sure that one of his smarter dumb assed friends may have clued him in.

Or it may have been just kismet. Maybe old Bryce had simply been driving by or had been sitting in the restaurant and had seen us come in.

Bri tends to make an impression on people. She can’t help that. As a matter of fact, Bri is the reason I find myself in this particular place at this particular time.

And judging by the way that Bryce can’t seem to take his eyes off of her, my calm outward demeanor is fading.

I take a couple of calming breaths, and my mind slips back.

My name is Adam Grant. My friends ... unlike Bryce ... I have some. My friends call me Dam. Growing up I was always doing something shocking. And when I did, they’d say Damn!

It became so normal that they’d say, “that’s a Damn!” Over time A damn just became A Dam and then just Dam.

A year or so ago, I had two nearly full-time jobs. By day, I was a manufacturing engineer for a small but important automotive prototyping company.

At night, I was a street racer. Yep, believe it or not, there’s a thriving street scene in Detroit. There are a bunch of different groups and circuits ... some well-organized, some completely ad hoc ... but all of them are illegal as hell.

I have two cars. Both are Mustangs and both are modded to the max. On TV, they have guys who drive cars with huge tires that may as well be drag race cars. Most of those cars aren’t street legal, and just driving one would get you arrested.

The guys I know, race real cars on real streets. And truthfully ... there’s not that big a difference nowadays.

Ford, GM and Chrysler have returned to the horsepower wars of the sixties. And this time they’re playing for keeps.

Dodge started out with the new Challenger and Charger as a response to the Mustang, which unlike the others has NEVER GONE AWAY. GM did likewise with those pesky little Camaros.

And after a few years of hilarity, they got serious and started selling hellcats, and then the hellcat redeye. Those are pretty serious fucking cars in terms of driving fast in a straight line.

So, in a drag race on an abandoned airport runway, very few people are gonna laugh at over eight hundred horsepower running a quarter mile.

The hellcats are the primary reason I have two cars. I have a heavily modified Shelby GT 500, for drag strip type racing, and a Shelby GT 35O for Oval and road racecourses.

As much as I love what Ford did with those cars, I did all of the modifications myself. On the five hundred I concentrated on increasing both horsepower and grip. It now makes close to twelve hundred ponies and is much lighter than even a bone stock Challenger. It’s simple math, more horsepower in a lighter car, is pretty hard to beat.

So, most of the time when I see a Charger, I laugh. If I see a Hell Cat or a Redeye, I laugh longer. I have to, because despite all of those Vin Diesel commercials, to get the best out of the kitty cats you have to put on special tires and do a bunch of crap to get them ready to race. I can just pull up and drive.

But that day when Bryce pulled up in his Hellcat, I was already on edge. I was there looking to race, to make a few bucks, and to relieve some stress.

For the past few hours, I’d had a suspicion that my longtime girlfriend Stacy might have been cheating on me. I’ve always been a guy who notices things, but Ray Charles could have seen the evidence.

I’d come home from work early, which I absolutely NEVER did. I was far more likely to be late, than I was to be on time. But I had a reason for it. That afternoon I’d picked up Stacy’s giant engagement ring and I needed to stash it somewhere until I was truly ready to ask her the big question.

Anyway, the house smelled funky as hell. The first thing that came to mind was that Stacy had hosted a gangbang. Our bedroom looked like hell and smelled worse. I couldn’t wait to see how she explained it.

Besides the rumpled bed and the horrible smell, one thing stood out to me. There were several cigarette butts in the metal trashcan near the bed.

No one we knew smoked cigarettes. Every person we knew that smoked had switched to vapes long ago. Smoking actual cigarettes, with their danger of fires and their noxious smoke was considered crazy.

I left the house and came back at my normal time, just to see what happened. But during that time, I’d spent most of it trying to figure out why the fuck she’d do it.

Stacy and I had been together for years. We’d known each other all through high school but hadn’t gotten together until we got to college.

After all of that time I’d been sure that Stacy was the one. I saw marriage, kids and eternity in our future.

I had no illusions about the perfection of our union. We were only normal people. We each had our faults and failings. Stacy was lazy. She figured that a pair of big boobs and three feet of thick blond hair, with a pretty smile could get her almost anything she wanted. I couldn’t fault that logic because it had definitely gotten her ... ME.

Stacy had never kept a job, even one she liked, more than a month or two. Especially not during the summer. Summers, in her opinion, were for tanning.

So, with that train of thought, you’d think that she kept the house clean and did the cooking ... but you’d be wrong. Even her mom said that I’d basically spoiled Stacy.

But I had my faults too. Sure, I worked a lot of hours, but the truth was that when I was done working, I was ready to race or to get the cars ready to race. I was probably neglecting Stacy more than I should have. Thinking back on it, Stacy would probably think that I deserved it.

So, when I got back home that afternoon, we were both all smiles. Me ... because I knew what she’d done. And her ... because she thought she’d gotten away with it.

But Stacy clearly wasn’t done with me. When I grabbed my helmet and fire suit, Stacy announced that she wanted to go to the track with me. Since she hadn’t come out go see me race in nearly a year, my mind started racing faster than my fucking car.

I was sure she was doing it as a way to help her get over whatever guilt she felt about cheating on me. I was also sure that the final step in her, making amends would be to give me a mercy fuck when we got home. In her mind, we’d be even after that.

In my mind, we would never be. The only thing we could ever be from then on was done. As I’ve said. Neither of us was perfect.

If Stacy was upset about something I did or didn’t do, all she had to do was say something. God knows she never had a problem sticking her hand out when she wanted something.

So, at that time, my mind was already in problem solving mode. And Stacy’s exit was the problem I needed to solve.

So, there we were at the track. And just before, I figured out who to approach for a race, Bryce Covington pulled up. He was as big as a fucking barn and twice as square.

I’d heard a bit about Bryce around town. He’d graduated a year or two before I did. Which meant that he probably graduated the year that Stacy dropped out.

From what I heard, he’d majored in football, and minored in bigness. He’d gotten some sort of injury to his spine, that meant he could never play again and was fortunate enough that after a couple of years of physical therapy, he could walk again. He’d graduated with a degree in theater arts.

Last I’d heard he was making the rounds, trying to land acting and modeling jobs.

Apparently, Bryce had somehow gotten his hands on a Hellcat. And somehow, out of all the guys and all the cars at the track on that particular day, Bryce wandered over to me.

A couple of my friends moved away as soon as he approached. It wasn’t fear that made them move. At least it wasn’t fear of Bryce. It was the cigarette dangling from his mouth and threatening to fall at any second, in an area that was chock full of flammable fluids.

Beside the cigarette, I immediately noticed the gleam in Stacy’s eye as he came around us.

“Hey Bub, can’t you read?” One of my friends, David Jefferson asked him.

“No smoking,” he spat. “What does that have to do with me?”

I suddenly figured it out. Why Bryce, a six and a half foot, blond haired Norse God type wasn’t rolling in the acting jobs was clear. He had some kind of cognitive disorder. While he could read, he clearly couldn’t connect the words with their actual meaning.

He also had a superiority complex to go along with it.

“Wanna race, Little guy?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said. “You get your car rea...”

“My car is ready,” he smirked. I looked at my guys and tried really hard to avoid smirking.

I’d raced enough Hellcats to know a few things about them. And just from looking at the car, it was still set up for the street.

Most of the guys that raced them had a second set of tires ... they used front runners, which were smaller, thinner tires in the front, to help cut down on both weight and rolling resistance on the front end.

They also used some sort of drag radials, in the back, to help get all seven hundred plus horsepower to the ground. This guy was still running his street twenties, and no one had seen him adjust his tire pressure.

“Shit!” Dave said quietly. “I’d better go get my wife and have her bet ALL of our fucking money on you.”

“Don’t,” I said cautiously.

“You can’t lose,” he whined. “This guy is as green as an emerald. Fuck, Adam, he’s still got the temporary dealer plate on that car. He probably just got it and is looking for some money to help with the payments. He’s easy pickings. He didn’t even ask you to look at our engine or to get a head start ... he...”

“He’s probably gonna win,” I said.

He started laughing then. And looked at me. “How?” he asked.

“Is he the second coming of Jesus Christ? I mean that’s what it would take. We beat Hellcats every fucking night, and that’s with guys who know how to use them. Our car is at least two hundred pounds lighter. It makes almost four hundred more horsepower and you have those freaky reflexes ... there’s just no way.

I’ve seen you eat guys with more power alive, because when the light turns green, you go. He can’t win. We have literally NEVER lost a race in this car.”

“Trust me Bud, there’s something crooked here,” I said. He shook his head and followed me.

“So, what are we racing for?” I asked. “How much m...”

“I have all the money I need,” he spat. “And doing anything for money just makes you a whore...”

“Yeah, well doing shit for free makes you poor,” spat Dave, behind me.

“I’m not racing for cars,” I said. “There’s no...”

“Relax, Little Guy,” he spat. “I know all about your little car. I’ve raced several of them today. I’ve beaten both the four cylinder and the eight-cylinder Mustangs all day long. I have no use for your little toy car.”

He clearly didn’t realize that my Shelby was about as far above a regular Mustang GT as his Hellcat was above a PT Cruiser. He was in for a shock.

“So, what do you want?” I smirked.

His eyes looked across the track on over to my friends. And suddenly his gaze settled on Stacy, who pretended not to notice, yet managed to smile, none the less.

“Stace, if I lose, you’re with this guy,” I said, to the shocked looks of disapproval from everyone who heard it.

She nodded and smiled. “I trust you, Babe,” she smirked.

It all made sense then. The only thing I couldn’t figure out was if Stacy was playing him ... or me. I mean she had to know that I rarely lost at the track. So maybe she was just doing it to turn this guy’s crank and at the same time get me to pay more attention to her.

Maybe she wanted to make me jealous. Maybe she thought that if this turd showed interest in her, I’d pay her more attention too. Or maybe she was simply tired of me and wanted to get herself a Thor clone, and be able to walk away from me without a lot of whining and begging.

Then I saw it all. Stacy knew that I’d never whine or beg. I had too much pride for that. Sure, I loved her. But if we were gonna be together, it had to be a mutual thing. And I was getting a vibe like it wasn’t enough that she’d cheated on me. She needed to rub my face in it.

So, she wanted to parade the guy she’d fucked, in front of me. And maybe just maybe if I lost, she’d get to go off and fuck the guy for a while and then come back to me, with a, “you shouldn’t have bet me,” excuse.

“Okay, if you win, she’s all yours,” I said. “What do I get?”

“The car,” he said.

I laughed. “Why the fuck would I want a car that I can’t stand and just beat?” I asked. “And just for the record, how did you just happen to know that Stacy and I are together? She could be with any one of my friends, ya know?

Are you some kind of modern-day version of the guy from the X-files? You know the smoking man?”

I’d spoken loud enough that Stacy could hear me, and her smile turned into a frown. Something was beginning to register in that pea sized brain of hers, while Bryce was just getting angry.

“Okay ... I get it,” he screamed. “You are afraid to race me, I will find someone with...”

Dave dragged me away. “You can give me his car,” he whined. “Then I won’t have to spend all of my God damned time helping you work on yours. I’ll pay you back for it, I swear.

“Buddy, if only the car was at stake, I’d give it to you in a second,” I said. “But there’s some below the surface shit going on here that I don’t really know how to handle just yet. If you wanna race that badly, we’ll figure out how to get you a car. Just stay with me on this one.”

When I stepped back to Bryce, he was performing for the crowd. He was flapping his arms as if they were wings and making noises like a chicken.

“Okay Colonel Sanders ... let’s race!” I said.

I did my burnout and noticed that Bryce just drove up to the line. Not only did he not do a burnout to warm up his tires, but he also didn’t go into his settings to put his car into track mode or set any type of launch control.

Dave and I were both puzzled. A quick glance across to Stacy, started me thinking. She was pointing to her ring finger as she spoke to one of her friends.

It was the dumbest thing the bitch could have done. Especially since she already had what she was trying to manipulate me into.

My focus snapped back to the guy starting the race. His hand went up and came down with all the finality of a guillotine. As soon as his hand hit bottom, my car was gone. Over a thousand horsepower, all focused on propelling my little car down that abandoned runway.

With a sound like the one that Satan would make if somebody kicked him in the nuts, I headed for the finish line.

Meanwhile, Bryce may as well have been driving on ice. He couldn’t hook up. And when he finally did, I was a third of the way down the track. He had no chance of catching me. My friends were already celebrating. I could see them laughing, in my rear-view mirror, as I checked on Bryce.

And then it hit me. Almost too late, I stood on my oversized Brembo brakes. My car skidded, squealed and fishtailed slightly, but the brakes held. My bumper was barely a foot from the finish line.

It took a few seconds, after I’d stopped for Bryce to pass me, and cross the line. Nearly everyone at the track was in shock. Shit like this never happened.

A lot of the regulars at the track had trouble believing it. Many of them had never seen me lose.

Bryce got out of his car and ran over to me screaming. “I won ... I won ... I beat you ... Loser!”

One of the track officials came over. “Hey guy,” he yelled. “You’re disqualified. You weren’t wearing a helmet or any safety clothing, they’re requirements at this track. There are signs up everywhere.”

“Hey Joe,” I said. “It’s his first time at this track. I think it was his first race, period. Let him slide ... just this once ... please.” He nodded.

“He’s probably too stupid for a helmet to do him any good anyway,” he grumbled.

“But you won,” a lot of people said. Something weird is going on here.

“It was a mechanical failure,” I said. “It happens to everybody. It’s just a part of racing.”

“There’s some fucked up shit going on here,” said one guy, as the crowd started to walk away.

“He probably blew his engine,” said another guy. “He pushed it way too hard. Did you see his start? That shit was like magic.”

“Took off like a raped ape with a rocket up his ass,” said another.

“Bullshit,” said one old man. “He planned it. He did that shit on purpose. He sandbagged it. He’s been having trouble getting any money because people around here know he doesn’t lose. So, he let that fucking moron beat him, so people will think THEY can.”

“That moron spun his tires for damned near an hour trying to get them to bite,” laughed another.

“He didn’t do a burnout,” said a girl who couldn’t have been older than ten. “He drove right through the water like an idiot.”

“An idiot on giant street tires,” said somebody else.

“Loser ... I won,” shouted Bryce again. Then Stacy got there. She had all kinds of shock written on her face.

“Adam... ?” she whined. “You ... lost... ? You can’t ... you don’t lose!”

“He did today,” crowed Bryce. “All men must bow before their betters. The super ... I mean superior man wins in every happenstance. No matter the odds, superiority rules the roost.”

“Maybe I blew my engine, Stace,” I smirked. “Maybe it was the smoke and I misread some of my gages.”

“But you’re used to the smoke from the tires,” she spat. “You like...”

“Yeah, but I’m not used to the smoke from the cigarettes in the trashcan by the bed,” I said. “I don’t like that. It got in my eyes and I couldn’t see any way of winning.”

“Later, Loser,” yelled Bryce. “I’m taking YOUR woman and going off to celebrate.”

“I thought you did that this afternoon,” I said just loud enough for Stacy to hear me.

“Adam,” she whined. “You don’t un...” That was all she got out before Bryce yanked her by her arm and practically dragged her away.

“Dude ... I am sooo sorry,” Dave told me.

“TRH, to celebrate... ?” I asked.

“Whatever... ?” he said in confusion.

Dave’s wife Wendy, spoke up then. “Adam, Honey there’s some stuff you need to know...”

“Tell me at the restaurant, Wendy,” I said. I got into my car and started it up.

“If he blew his engine, how come it started right up?” Somebody asked as I drove away.

I wish I could say that I felt good about losing Stacy. But I couldn’t. It hurt. Honestly, I was just beginning to feel the shock of finding out that she’d cheated on me. So, the double shock of being single again after loving the same woman for such a big portion of my life, really hadn’t hit me yet.

All I had was the feeling that I’d done the right thing.

As soon as I sat down, Wendy started in on me. “Adam, Stacy had this all planned,” she said. “She paid that guy to race you to make you jealous and trick you into getting off your ass and marrying her so she can stop pretending to work.”

“How’d she pay him?” I asked.

“She probably got the money from you, Dummy,” she said. “God knows you give her everything she asks for. But seriously Adam, it really is time. You guys should have gotten married years ago and...”

I pulled the receipt for the engagement ring out and put it on the table in front of her.

“You spent fifteen thousand dollars on what?” she asked. “Let me guess, is it another even more powerful turbo supercharger thingy?”

“Wendy, they don’t sell car parts in jewelry stores,” I said. Her eyes bugged out.

Then she punched Dave in the shoulder. “Cheapskate,” she laughed.

“I must belong at the slow kids’ table,” said Dave. “I don’t get any of this. We had that turd beat by a fuckin’ mile. It just doesn’t seem possible. So, what do we have to do ... race him again to get Stacy back?”

“You have to, Adam,” said Wendy. “As soon as possible. The longer you wait the bigger the chance that they’re gonna...”

“What... ?” I asked. “Fuck? I’m pretty sure we’re too late for that.”

“That’s your fault, Adam,” Wendy said. “You weren’t supposed to lose.”

“Is this some kind of swingers thing?” asked Dave. “You lose so he gets to fuck Stacy. Does he lose the next one, so you get to do his girl? Too kinky for my tastes.”

“Dave, Stacy IS his girl, now. He won her fair and square,” I said. “How often they fuck, or for how long isn’t my business. I’m not gonna race him again, period.”

“Okay, I don’t get this either,” said Wendy. “Are you just gonna let him keep Stacy until he gets tired of fucking her? What do you get out of this?” She sucked in a breath.

“Adam...” she asked cautiously. “Are you one of those guys who gets off, knowing that some other guy is fucking his girl? Are they gonna send you video or something? Or maybe Stacy will tell you all about it when you get her back... ? Then inspiration hit her.

This is what she has to do to earn that fucking ring isn’t it? This is fucking sick, Adam.”

“That you could even think up something like that makes me think that you’re the sick one, Wendy. You’d better keep an eye on her Dave.”

“And that’s why I didn’t spend a lot of money on HER ring,” he smirked. “Alright Adam, spill it.”

I told them the entire story, starting out with coming home early and what I found. They were shocked.

“So seriously, how long are you gonna let him keep her?” asked Wendy.

“That’s up to them,” I said. “She cheated on me. We’re done.”

“Isn’t that kind of old fashioned?” asked Wendy. “I’m not saying that what she did was right. But we all know why she did it. And it’s only sex. Shit get even with her. Get ahead of her. Go out and fuck her friends. Shit, I’ll bet you could fuck her sister, she has a huge crush on you...”

“Wendy, it wouldn’t work,” I said. “I’m not that kind of person. My morals don’t work that way. Shit, my mind doesn’t work that way. I could never trust her again and I could, for sure, never have sex with...”

“So that’s all that a relationship means to you?” She asked. “You don’t want to fuck her anymore because she screwed that gorilla a few times? You do know that you were far from her first. And I highly doubt that she was yours.

You’re gonna throw away what ... three or four years of being together, because the poor girl got tired of waiting for you to get off your ass and marry her?

Adam, you know why she did it. She had her reasons.”

“So, if Dave decided all of a sudden, that he needed to convince you to go on a diet because you’re getting a bit chunky, it would be fine for him to go out and start screwing skinny girls? We all have our reasons Wendy. What if I wanted somebody like you?

When Dave gets home from busting his ass at work, how often is it that he has to come in and clean up the house and cook dinner for both of you?”

“Well ... if I’m sick, I expect him to take care of me,” she said. “That’s why people get married.”

“Wendy that’s every day for me,” I said. “And it’s a big part of why we haven’t gotten married.”

“Shit, what does she do all day?” asked Wendy.

“I don’t have a clue,” I said. “But I’d kind of decided on a different strategy.”

“What?” asked Dave. “Pay her to do the housework?”

“Nope,” I laughed. “Marry her and get her pregnant. Having a child or children to take care of would have to make her grow up. And for as long as I can remember, Stacy has wanted to be a mom.”

“That’s a really big gamble, that might turn into a disaster,” said Wendy.

“I thought she was worth the risk,” I said. “Wendy, I loved Stacy. I wanted to marry her and have kids with her. Besides, I got the idea from a guy who knows her pretty well and he did something like that.”

“Some famous psychologist who deals with couples therapy?” she asked.

“Nope,” I smiled. “Her dad ... He had the same problem with her mother. She was lazy and spoiled as hell until he married her and knocked her up.”

“So, what happens now?” she asked.

“Tomorrow, I take a day off from work and move all of her stuff into a storage facility. I drop the key off to her parents, wish them the best and move on with my life.”

Things are never that simple. Stacy started calling me before I got home. She railed at me and blamed me for the entire situation. I hung up on her. She called and left several voice mails and a lot of texts.

I blocked her. So, she used other peoples’ phones and even changed her own number. She attacked my social media to the point that I deleted most of my accounts.

She came to my house and even went to the police claiming that I was barring her from entry into her own home.

We both got lawyers and I got a restraining order until the debate about the house could be settled. Needless to say, neither of us gave the full details about why she’d left in the first place.

I explained that the mortgage was in my name alone, but that I would step aside and turn the house over to Stacy if she really thought she was financially able to pay the mortgage the taxes and all of the other bills.

I could easily move somewhere else. I just needed to be left alone.

It took about six months, but she finally agreed to leave me alone in exchange for a goodbye dinner and talk.

When my loud assed Mustang pulled into the Texas Roadhouse parking lot, she was already there.

She started talking as soon as she sat down. “I hate Bryce!” she sobbed.

“Adam it wasn’t supposed to be this way. He treats me like a hired bitch. A hired bitch that doesn’t get paid. He forces me to have sex with him, but only when he can’t bring home some other girl.

I don’t even care when he brings a girl home, Adam. Sex with him is like being raped every night. But I don’t have a choice. He has no idea about giving me or anyone else pleasure. It’s pound town or nothing. And he thinks it’s funny.

“Stacy, you have a lot of choices,” I said. “Just walk out the door. Get your own place, or even go back to your mom and dad,” I said.

“My parents think I’ve lost my mind. They hate him too. He isn’t allowed in their house. My sister is thinking about dropping her boyfriend to take a run at you. And most of all, this just happened out of the blue. I have no idea why you lost that race, and even less of an idea why you won’t race him to get me back. He thinks you’re afraid to race him.

And the worst part is that we’re about to be thrown out of his apartment because he can’t pay the bills. He can’t get any acting jobs because he can’t act. He reads the lines, but he just doesn’t seem to impart the right emotions with them. He’s not convincing. He can’t even get commercials.

So, he decided to become a racer. Adam, something funny is going on. Except for you, he’s never won a single race. Not even by luck. It doesn’t make sense.

He’s watching you. He watches to see who you race. He figures that since he beat you, he should be able to beat anybody that you beat too.

Last week you beat a guy by three car lengths. A guy in a red Camaro. I was there. Two nights later, that guy beat Bryce by two cars. The worst part is that Bryce didn’t have any money.

I had to borrow money from my parents to put gas in his car so he could race.”

“So, if he didn’t have any money, what... ?” I began. She dropped her head as if she couldn’t face me.

“I had to give the guy who beat him and two of his friends, blow jobs,” she said quietly.

“We were so much in love, Adam,” she said. “I just don’t understand what happened to us and why you won’t race him to get me back.”

And then she looked up at me through her tears and saw that I was crying too.

“This was never about US,” I sobbed nearly silently. “This was all about you. This was your scheme ... your fucking plan. I don’t even know how it got started.”

“Okay, I admit it,” she said. “I met him at the beauty salon. He gets his hair permed. If he doesn’t it gets so dry that it breaks off unless he slicks it back with a lot of gel, and he doesn’t like that look. Anyway, he was at the salon, bragging about the car he’d just gotten. One of his uncles had died only hours after picking the car up.

His aunt didn’t like the car, can’t drive a stick and had no other relatives that wanted it. He was bragging about how unbeatable the car was, but I knew you could beat him. You beat everybody, Adam. I figured that just this once, you could beat somebody for US. And I could make you jealous.