Page 72 of Riding the Sugar High

“What?”

“Take. My shirt. Off.”

She squints, her shoulders rolling forward. “Is it...is it an important T-shirt?” She looks down at the faded white drawing. “You can give me another, or?—”

“No. Wear your own clothes, not mine.”

She stares at me for a couple of seconds, then, with a challenge in her eyes, whispers, “Really, Logan? Ihelpedyou. I posted about your farm while you’ve been lying to me. Now, because of a T-shirt?—”

“End of fucking discussion, Barbie,” I bark as I walk into the kitchen. I need to walk away from her. Maybe drink a beer. Or tea. What would work best against unwanted erections?

I opt for tea, and with heat climbing up my neck, I rummage through the cabinets for the infuser. Of course, it’s not where I left it. Nothing is ever where I leave it.

I open the cutlery drawer, and she barges into the kitchen, arms bowed at her hips and a furious look in her eyes. “Stop pretending you’re looking for something. What is your problem? It’s a T-shirt.” She puffs her chest out and sighs. “No. You know what? I’m done being nice to you. You’re impossible.That’swhy I wouldn’t date you.”

“Oh my god, you can’t be serious.”

“I am, I?—”

“Barbie,” I say, drowning out her voice. “You want a reason not to date you? Look around.” When she does, I gesture at the cabinets. “I’m notpretendingI’m looking for something. I’mactuallylooking for the tea infuser. And I can’t find it. You know why?”

“Because it’s in the mug on the kitchen table, where I left it this morning?”

“Look at this.” I grab a banana peel from the sink. “And your clothes are everywhere. None of my stuff is where I left it. Oh, and where, for the love of god, are all these candles coming from?” I snatch a pineapple-scented candle from the window frame. “Are you a witch? Why do you need twenty-five candles to be lit up at all times?”

Her lips open, but I raise a finger to stop her.

“And I get it. I really do. Neither of us has exactly chosen this situation, but what kind of fuckery is this?” I point at her shirt. “You have your boundaries, and I have mine. Spoiler alert? You’re not allowed to wear my clothes, name my animals, or take my business into your hands.”

“Fine,” she yells back. “Just leave instructions on what I’m allowed to do, and I’ll ignore them.”

I stomp into the living room and grab the infuser. She didn’t do any of it maliciously, but I can’t stop the anger spewing from my mouth. I need her to stay away, but it’s Primrose I’m dealing with. She won’t.

“You know,” she says, bursting out of the kitchen. “I have far more reasons not to dateyou.”

Here we go.

I turn around and shrug. “Really?”

“Really.”

“All right,” I say, dropping the cup on the table. “What you got?”

“You’re constantly grumpy. Moody. Angry.” She widens her arms. “It’s like you don’t know how to smile.”

“And you’re always skipping around here like you don’t have a single worry when we both know that’s not true.”

Her lips pinch, and I raise my brows in a challenge. “What else?”

“No TV? No internet? Why, Logan? Are you afraid the government will control you with their drones andpoisonous sky powders?”

I suck my cheeks in, trying to fight a smirk.

“And...” She swallows, stormy blue eyes bouncing around as if she’s running low on insults. “You...”

“I...”

“You wake up at five every day!” she squeals.

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