Page 88 of Riding the Sugar High

“Come on. Stop packing.”

With a deep sigh, she lets the shirt she’s holding fall onto the floor. “Fine. Sorry about this. I guess this is just my week to gross people out.”

Her sad frown does nearly nothing to soothe the immediate anger that fires up my mind. She does this all the time. She puts words in my mouth, twists the meaning of the ones I speak, assumes she knows what she’s talking about.

I’m here, dying to touch her, my dick a rocket ready to take off, and she talks about grossing me out.

It’s not a matter of self-esteem, because I’ve hardly ever seen someone stare at the mirror as much as she does. Her hair, makeup, and clothes are bold. Everything about her screams confidence. But with what she said about men keeping her hidden before, I guess it makes sense she’d be reluctant to believe anyone who tells her they’re attracted to her.

“You know...” I rumble, but before I can continue, the wordpeopleechoes in my mind. She said this week she grossespeopleout. Who could she— “Derek?Derek told you you gross him out?”

She quickly looks away, and it’s like a knife to my guts, twisting.

That’s what she didn’t want to tell me. Why she was crying after seeing him.

“He, um...He didn’t even...finish. When we slept together.” She sits on the edge of the bed, staring sadly at the floor. “He broke up with me after that, and it’s been...”

Her lips wobble as I step closer. I want to kill him. Right now. But I also can’t bring myself to walk away from her.

“It’s fine, Logan. I don’t want your pity, okay?”

“Well, good, ’cause you don’t have it.”

Her confused gaze meets mine.

“So...what?Onedude can’t get it up, and suddenlyyou’rethe problem?”

“It’s not just that.”

“Then what?”

Arms crossed, she huffs.

Does she really think I’ll let this go? Yeah, fuck that.

I stride over and grip her arm, pulling her up to standing. Ignoring her protests, I drag her to the mirror on the opposite wall, and when she squirms, I hold both her shoulders to my chest. “So? What is it? Point at what’s ‘gross.’ Let’s talk about it.”

“Stop it, Logan. That’s not?—”

“Come on, show me. What don’t you like?”

“I love myself,” she says, eyes brimming with confidence for a long moment before it dims out. “But I’m also aware that not many people like my body the way I do. They’d prefer it if I were slimmer, taller, or both.”

“Yeah? Like who? Derek?”

She’s so pretty without makeup. With it, she looks like a million bucks, and without it, she looks cozy. Warm and natural.

“Are we seriously acting like my belly is the benchmark for what men find attractive? The rolls on my back? The way my thighs brush together when I walk?”

I shrug. “I could keep them spread for you.”

A faint blush tints her cheeks, the hint of a smile playing on her lips.“Logan...”

“You probably don’t even notice men flirting with you half the time, Primrose. You?—”

“I’ve been rejected because of my weight more often than I can keep track of. Online dates who couldn’t handle their disappointment when they saw me in person. Men who wanted to kiss me, possibly do more, but didn’t want to be seen in public with me.” She exhales, her breath shaking. “A man once told me he liked me, but he’d always pictured himself being with someone skinny, and it bothered him that I wasn’t. My first crush, a friend of a friend I met over the phone, walked out on me when he first saw me. Didn’t say anything at all, just got on his bicycle and rode away.”

I watch her, speechless. Uncomfortable, not because of what she’s sharing, but because the only acceptable answer would be to tuck away that lock of hair bouncing over her eye as she speaks, then cup her chin and slowly lift it, until my lips are pressed on hers.

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