Page 37 of Riding the Sugar High

Kyle, of course.

“Watch your head,” I mumble as I deposit her onto the seat, and once she’s in, I close the car door behind her, then point a finger at Kyle. “I’ll bring her back home. I’ll deal with you tomorrow.”

“Me? There’s no need to deal with me.”

But there is. He knows she’s not dressed right for the farm. For slippery mud and thorns. We’ve got snakes here too, and they wouldn’t think twice before biting her naked ankles.

I’m sliding into the driver’s seat when I hear him call, “Can I come too?”

Without answering, I shut the door, then throw a look at Primrose.

“You okay?”

She nods, visibly upset. Is it because Kyle made her uncomfortable? Because she didn’t get to kiss him? Because theydidkiss, and it was horrible? Or because I picked her up?

No idea, and when my eyes dart to her mouth to check if her pink lipstick is there or if it’s smudged, I find a smear of mud. Trailing up her face, I catch her eye, one brow arched.

I shake my head and start the car, focusing on the road.

Even if they did kiss, I don’t give a fuck.

* * *

“I’m sorry,” Primrose says as I grab a chair and sit in front of her, dropping the first aid kit and towel on the table next to me. Gripping the edge of the couch, she shrugs one shoulder. “I told Kyle not to call you, but...”

But he knew if he didn’t, I’d shove his face in pig shit.

“You’re fine.” I pat my leg. “Foot here.”

“No, you’re angry. You told me those shoes were not suited for?—”

“Foot. Here,” I insist as I tap my thigh again.

She leans back and rests her tiny foot on my leg. It makes my mouth go dry, the awareness that now I get to—have to—touch her.

It’s not like I want to.

I grab the wet wipe on my side and clean the top of her foot. She’ll have to wait until she can stand to take a shower.

“Where are the...” She swallows, peeking past the table.

She’s terrified of those damn piglets, isn’t she? “Do you eat pork, Primrose?”

“Yes?” she says suspiciously.

I look into her eyes, trying to sound ominous. “Well, then. You may have eaten their mom at your last barbecue, but you won’t let them nibble you just once?” I click my tongue. “Sounds unfair to me.”

She studies me, eyes widening and brows tightly knit together, and only when I lift one corner of my lips, she exhales, then quickly chuckles. “Oh, you’re the worst.”

“Pigs love apples. Occasionally, they play—it’s quite cute,” I say, wiping her pink toenails. “Don’t scare them, because then they will bite you, but pigs are prey animals. They won’t do anything to you.”

When she doesn’t say a word, I look up at her, and I’m surprised to find a sweet grin.

Why is she looking at me like that?

My hand slips as I rub her ankle, and she flinches. “Damn—sorry. Does it hurt?”

“No, the wipe is just a bit cold. Do you think it’s broken?”

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