Page 33 of Riding the Sugar High

She leans back on her elbow, stretching her legs in front of her and swiping her finger over the screen of her phone. Staring at the shiny pink heels on her feet, I purse my lips. What does she mean, she wants to look like Barbie?

When she crosses her ankles, goosebumps spread across her arms. My eyes drift to the strap of her dress, casually falling down her arm and exposing her shoulder. Pink bra too, I notice, as my eyes follow along the edge, to the few inches of her tits I can see, then the sinful groove between them.

She turns to me, and I quickly glance away, but I don’t think it was fast enough for her not to think I was checking her out. And I wasn’t. My eyes just went there.

Biology.

“Hey.”

Fuuuuck.She’s going to scream at me again, isn’t she?

My body stiffens. “Yes?”

“Did Derek say something about the police?”

I give her a quick shake of my head. “Hm? No.”

“Come on—he definitely said something. Is it bad? Will they arrest me?”

I study the side of her face, flushed cheeks and languid eyes. I don’t want her to know what Derek said, but worrying about the police isn’t a better alternative, and I’m sure with what’s been happening on her social media, she’s heard worse.

“He said nothing about the police, Barbie. He called you his ‘leftovers.’”

“Leftovers?” she repeats in an uncertain voice.

“Yeah, you know. Like he’s had you first, so I get his leftovers.” I jerk my head toward her. “You.”

“Oh.” She blinks, looking away. “That’s...What did you say?”

Nothing. I said nothing at all, busy as I was trying not to rip his head off. But I don’t want her to know that, so I meet her gaze and say, “That you taste great once microwaved.”

She rolls her big blue eyes, and it steals a smile from me. “Come on. What did you say?”

“I said...” My eyes run down her body, and this time, there’s no way for her to miss it. “I will.”

Soft and hooded eyes settle on my mouth. Is she thinking about our kiss? And if so, how often does that happen? Because it keeps running through my mind. “That’s a great answer.”

“Hm.” I watch her full lips—pink lipstick unmistakable under the porch light. I still remember the way she tastes—like summer and berries.

A car’s engine interrupts the silence, and with her throat working hard, she stands. “Oh, here’s Kyle. He’s bringing me somewhere around the farm.”

Wait,what? She’s going out with Kyle? Is that why she’s wearing that dress—those heels?

Mouth opened wide, I watch Kyle get out of the car in his one fancy shirt. She waves at him, says she’ll grab her bag, then disappears inside the house.

He asked her out—hell, I don’t know why I’m shocked. He’s physically unable to be around a woman without trying to get into her pants, and he told me he would. I also know he’s bringing her to the valley, which means he’s about to impress her big time.

Good for him.

It doesn’t bother me. Why would it?

Loosening a knot in my shoulder, I purse my lips.

It doesn’t bother meat all.

With a long exhale, I glance up at Kyle, who waves. The only way to know for sure if this is a date would be to check if he tucked condoms in his wallet, and though I’m tempted to turn him upside down and shake him like maracas to see what comes out, I stand and enter the house instead.

Getting her bag, she said? Well, Primrose is refreshing her lipstick, checking her reflection on the glass panel of the cabinet door.

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