Page 84 of Riding the Sugar High

“You know, you’re not the bad person you want me to think you are.”

He scoffs. “Don’t mistake lust for kindness, Barbie. I’m not that kind.”

Lust.That’s what he said. He’slustfulover me.

And I think he made sure I’d be too high to remember it tomorrow, but there aren’t enough drugs in this world to make me forget. The awareness tingles through me, all the way to my fingertips.

He’s so handsome, and he’s so good, and he’s a cowboy biker who smiles at me with his eyes.

“Logan?”

“Mm?”

“Do you think tomorrow we could...you know...take your bike?” I ask. My heart flutters, and my stomach shuts down so hard that it feels like someone is strangling it. But he already said he’s attracted to me, so this isn’t a vibe-check. It’s an opportunity for us to end the rideTop Gun–style, and then...and then who knows.

Brows arched and lips parted, his jaw clenches, and my heart stops. “Sorry, Barbie.”He looks away, shoulders tensed. “I don’t ride with anyone.”

you won’t let me sleep

Logan

I did it.

I told her I’m attracted to her, and nothing terrible happened. Hell, she looked pleased. Sure, she said she wanted to go home soon after that, but she’d smoked weed for the first time, and she was clearly exhausted.

She looked happy, though. It must mean she’s attracted to me too. That she’d like something to happen between us.

Fuck, the things I want to do to her.

I rub my eyes, trying to fight the first erection of the day. I’ve been doing a lot of that since she came along.

The piglets aren’t on their bundle of blankets. If I’m to guess, they’re probably in Primrose’s bedroom, and though it makes no sense, it feels like they’re mocking me with the fact that they get to enter her bedroom whenever they please, day and night.

“Little fuckers,” I mumble as I stand.

I walk out of the bedroom, and holy shit, I swear I’m standing taller than usual. My eyes keep darting to the corridor, waiting for Primrose to come out as I make coffee, then work on breakfast.

I ate the last of her candy yesterday, but the bowl has been filled again. Strawberry. I guess she knows she’s found my favorite. As the pancakes cook, I eat a couple of pieces.

Not even the memory of Josie’s freakout at my parents’ place last night is enough to bring my mood down, though I plan on calling her later today and see how she’s doing. I don’t trust Aaron to be doing something about her drinking addiction, but she needs help. Quickly too, before someone at work notices.

By the time I enter the bathroom, Primrose still isn’t out. It feels weird, as if something’s missing around the house, and it’s just another confirmation that I’ve let her in.

Worst part?

I don’t hate it. Not completely.

Having someone to come back home to after work, for example, isn’t that terrible. Cooking, knowing you’re not just making food for yourself? Also not terrible. Primrose is right, this place can get very...quiet. And I guess sometimes, her voice filling it isn’t the most annoying thing in the world.

I come out of the shower, wrap a towel around my waist, and march out, deciding I’ll knock on her door. But as I step into the corridor, she silently walks my way while looking over her shoulder until she bumps into my chest.

“Sh—sorry,” she mumbles as she bolts back, her forehead wet with the water droplets from my skin.

So now I know how her lips feel against my stomach.

Which, by the way, is not bad at all.

Her eyes run along my shoulders and arms, then the towel hanging low on my hips, and her whole face turns a lovely shade of pink.

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