Page 171 of Riding the Sugar High

“I’m right here. Big guy in the pink cowboy hat.”

Pink cowboy hat?

No, he didn’t.

* * *

Logan

The white door opens, and Primrose comes out with my jacket in hand, frantically scanning the crowd left and right. It’s my first time seeing her since I got here, because even with how much taller I am than anyone in this store, there’s only so much distance I can cover, and this line islong.

Fuck. She’s beautiful. She also looks like she lost weight, which is not surprising with how she’s been working herself silly these last couple of months. Between all the new partnerships that popped up and these promotional trips for her product, she hasn’t stopped for a minute.

Our calls diminished in intensity and duration, and I won’t lie and say it’s been easy. The only reason I haven’t freaked out is that I could tell it wasn’t for her lack of trying. But I’m pretty sure she teared up yesterday when she heard my voice, and I decided I’d had enough.

She needs me, so I’m here. With a pseudo-white horse.

She quickly walks across the room, getting closer, but I don’t wave, as she hasn’t looked in my direction yet.

Come on, Barbie. I’m not exactly hard to miss.

Her fans stop her and try for photographs, but she just kindly waves and moves on, stepping closer and closer in her pink outfit.

If she weren’t so obsessed with her clothes, I’d rip it off her with my bare hands.

Her head turns, and when I feel like she’s about to look my way, I raise my hand, then bring it to my hat as her eyes meet mine. Her smile widens, and stepping to the side, I leave my spot in line and jerk my chin up. “Howdy, Barbie. Get your sweet ass right here, right now.”

I can’t wait another minute.

She runs, which, in those heels, has the potential for disaster, but before I can tell her to slow down, she crashes against my chest, the smell of strawberry all around me as she melts into me.

“Shit,” I whisper as I wrap both arms around her and lean down to kiss the top of her head. I canfeelher presence—my whole body’s reacting to it. My lungs expand more, my shoulders become lighter.

She’s here. Between my arms.

Her hold tightens, and though I’m vaguely aware of the crowd squealing and the infernal clicking of pictures being taken, I can hardly bring myself to care—especially when Primrose’s shoulders start quaking.

“Hey—Barbie,” I say, pulling her chin up. She fights my hold, hiding her face against my shirt. “Come on, let me look at you.”

She tentatively glances up, her eyes swelling with tears and her chin wobbling. “I’m sorry,” she says in a frustrated voice. “Why do I cry all the time?”

I, for one, love it. Not that shecriesspecifically, but how strongly she feels. How deeply. I don’t think we’d be here if she didn’t. That we would have fallen in love in a little over two weeks, then survived six months apart.

“You’re so beautiful. I’d forgotten how beautiful you are.”

She shakes her head. “Not true. You tell me every single day.”

“But I forgot it wasthisbeautiful.”

“Why are you here?” she asks, something between a laugh and a sob escaping her. “You hate malls. And airports. And planes.”

“I hate a lot of things, Barbie. I’d still live through them all for you.”

Someone in line goesawww, and I roll my eyes.

“How long are you staying? Did you get a hotel? Please cancel the booking and stay with me.”

“Actually, I...This is the reason I’m here.” Her brow furrows, so I quickly add, “Of course, I wanted to celebrate your launch, and I wasdyingto see you. But, um, I’m here to tell you that I just...” She moves against me, her breasts brushing my stomach. “I can’t do long-distance anymore.”

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