Page 155 of Riding the Sugar High

Watching her move around comfortably while completely naked is so good, she could draw a dick on my forehead, and I wouldn’t say a word.

She relaxes against me again, and I watch her draw a small horse. Shetskswhen one of its ears turns out a little crooked. “There. I think it looks beautiful,” she says as she releases my arm. Once her back rests on mine again, I bring my wrist closer. “Why a horse?”

“It’s a white horse.”

Ah, of course. A white horse, like on her bucket list.

I reach for my shampoo, pouring a generous amount into my hand before massaging it on her scalp. “How’s that a white horse? It’s a black Sharpie.”

“Yes, but it’s not filled in.” She traces the edges of her drawing. “See?”

“So it’s a transparent horse.”

“It’s awhitehorse.”

I hum, tilting my head. “Maybe anudehorse.”

The water laps gently against the sides of the tub, a soothing backdrop to her laughter. “Whenever I went through something as I grew up—from minor inconveniences to challenging times—I always pictured my prince coming to save me on a white horse.”

“That’s not very progressive of yo?—”

Her elbow sinks into my stomach, and I sputter out a chuckle.

“He’d come back for me every time I needed.” As she dips her fingers in the water and wiggles them, I push up off the edge and grab the shower head.

“What type of things did he save you from?”

“Just about anything. Not being invited to a party, my parents fighting, kids at school making my life hard.”

Her hands slide along my thighs, gently massaging my muscles, and as the warm water descends over her hair, I drop kisses along her shoulder. “Is that why I get the horse tattoo? Am I your savior, little backpack?”

“If anything, you’ve gotten me into a whole lot of trouble.”

“You’ve seen nothing yet,” I mumble, brushing my nose against her neck. She chuckles, and I press my lips to her shoulder. “Perfect,” I mumble. “Your laugh is perfect. Your skin is perfect. You...are...soperfect.”

Her eyes are closed, her lips parted, and the freckles sprinkled over her nose and cheeks are even more prominent with the steam. She’s so beautiful it hurts, so reactive to me it’s fucking poetry. My erection stiffens behind her, and she responds by twisting to me and tentatively reaching for it.

I shake my head, holding her hand back. “Not now. I’m taking care of you.”

A smile tugs at the corners of her mouth. “Okay.” After a moment of silence, she touches my wrist. “Well, do you like it?”

I nod, staring at the little crooked horse nestled between a crow and an abstract tribal design. It’s ridiculous, but I like it. Just like my Barbie.

“Thank you,” I say as she tilts her head back. “For coming back.”

With a soft sigh, she brings my hand to her lips and kisses my knuckles one by one, then mumbles, “So, uh...one more day, huh?”

“Yup. Less than twenty-four hours.” Ignoring the lump in my throat, I peck the back of her head.

What are we going to do? She said she loves me, so she’s definitely not casual about us, but that doesn't mean she’ll want to have a long-distance relationship. What if she asks me to move? I’m crazy enough about her that I would. What would happen to the farm then? To the animals?

“Maybe I don’t need to leave.”

I tilt my head to the side to look at her, carefully studying her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I’d still have my apartment in Mayfield, so it’s not like—” She shakes her head. “I’m not saying I’dmove, just...extend my stay. And I could get my own place. Get out of your hair, but stick to Pinevale—or Roseberg.”

She would do that? For me? “But what about Marisol? Aren’t you supposed to start next week?”

---