Is Joyride: A Memoir Based On A True Story?

At the World Rally Championship Final, my fiancee, Brielle Fuller, deliberately gave me the wrong turn call. Because of her, I lost the championship. Right there on the spot, she called off our engagement and ran straight into the arms of my rival, Chase Monroe. Just when I thought I'd lost everything, my childhood friend, Naomi Sutton, proposed to me. "It's okay. To me, you'll always be number one." Seven years later, I rebuilt my career and fought my way back to the top. Just as I was preparing to break Chase's championship record, a brake failure sent my car plunging off a mountainside. While drifting in and out of consciousness at the hospital, I overheard a conversation outside my room. "You're ruthless. You actually did something like this. Weren't you afraid he might die?" "If he dies, so be it. The only person I've ever loved is Chase. I only regret that you married him before I could. Otherwise I wouldn't have had to put myself through that all these years." I stared wide-eyed into the darkness. The love I thought was so deep was nothing more than wishful thinking. If they cared so much about Chase, then maybe I should disappear.

An accident five years ago led to her becoming pregnant with his child, forcing her to drop out of school and leave her home. She has been wandering the city like a ghost with her daughter while working as a cab driver ever since.Five years later, nothing changed, but she was a completely different person. He got into her cab, yet he was just another stranger to her.Alone in the city, with her soulmate in the same car. ‘Will I finally meet you one day after traveling around the whole city?’

During the May Day holiday, my roommates decided it would be funny to act like rich girls and got into character the second we got in an Uber. I knew better than to show off in front of strangers, so I tried to smooth things over, telling the driver, Andrew Houstead, that they were just joking. The moment my roommates' act fell apart, they flushed red with embarrassment and got out of the car. I didn't get the chance to follow. Andrew locked the doors and grabbed me. "Since you helped them out, you can pay the price for them," he said, smiling in a way that made my stomach drop. What followed was something I barely survived. I made it back to the city by sheer luck and went straight to the police. During the investigation, my roommates turned on me without hesitation. "She jumped into the front seat the second we got in. What do you think she was after?" "Exactly! And after we got out, she stayed behind. Obviously, she wanted something exciting with the driver." Their words didn't stay in that room. Andrew's wife heard them. She dragged me by the hair, screaming that I was a homewrecker, then put all my personal information online. Strangers I had never met piled on, calling me shameless, saying I got what I deserved. Andrew took it further. He sent my nude photos to my mother. She couldn't handle it. She had a heart attack and died on the spot. Not long after, I followed. In the end, my roommates used my death to secure guaranteed admission to graduate school, smiling like they had won. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in that Uber, right at the moment they started playing rich.

Joy Jones was a seventeen-year-old kind and optimistic girl working in her grandpa's flower shop, but she had a secret. She was suffering from acute lymphoblastic leukaemia and wanted nothing, but to die peacefully. That was until Logan Kellerman, a young man with suicidal tendencies came storming into her life and stole roses from her grandpa's flower shop. Instead of running away with what he came for, he found himself falling deeper and deeper into her as she made his heart skip in delight, for she was, in her own words, a little bit of Joy.

When Frank Zelhar, my best friend’s father, taught me how to drive, he told me to sit in his lap while he instructed me. Since the road was bumpy, I kept jolting on his body, and I could sense a hot, hard thing behind me. As I moved, it poked against me. He touched me on the pretext of helping me hone my willpower. When he touched my most intimate parts, I could feel a wetness coming from within me, and I knew that things were about to get out of control.

“Ngh... Stop touching me like that...” I found myself squeezed against a burly man during a trip. Being naturally sensitive, his touch was overwhelmingly stimulating. I could not help but tremble and pant beside him. However, I never expected that halfway through the journey, he would eagerly lift me onto his lap. “The seat’s so hard. Your butt must be sore. Let me give you a proper massage!” By the end of the trip, he had taken everything from me...