Page 92 of Riding the Sugar High

“You said you’re attracted to me, then you said you wouldn’t take me on a ride. At first, I thought you’d lied to make me feel better, but then, tonight...”

Tonight, I proved without a doubt that I’m attracted to her.

In fact, ‘attracted to her’ feels far too casual for the things I want to do to her.

“Barbie,” I say, pulling the hair off her ear as if that will convey the message more clearly. “Riding together has nothing to do with attraction.”

“It doesn’t?”

“Well, I guess it’s part of it, but not all.” The muscles of my jaw tick. “I’ve been attracted to you since the moment you ran me over,” I whisper as I softly brush my fingers through her knotted hair. “And none of what you’ve done since you’ve been here has helped inanyway.”

I swallow, my heart beating quickly against her ear. Can she hear it? Can she tell that I’m nervously sweating?

“Then why did you lie? Why did you say you don’t ride with anyone?”

I lick my lips, thinking of the right way to express myself. It’s not easy with Primrose, whose questions are always so targeted. “Before I ride with you, I need you to understand what it means. Sure, there’s a certain component of attraction, but more than that? Intimacy.”

“Oh.”

I can’t tell if she’s disappointed or falling asleep, so I mumble, “It’s like this, Barbie.” I pull myself up on my elbow and lean closer as I rub her hip. “Riding with someone means becoming one. Being synchronous. Our bodies move together; your thighs press and release against mine, and the heat from your body emanates to my back. And adrenaline makes it that much more intense.”

“It sounds a lot like sex.”

“It’s foreplay.” I shift my waist, just in case. Talking about us riding together is so hot, and she doesn’t need me to grope her while she’s running a fever. “And for your safety and mine, we need to feel comfortable with each other. I need to know you’ll understand my body language and respond accordingly with yours.”

She pauses for a moment, then whispers, “So, Kyle was wrong. The women you rode with...you weren’t just attracted to them?”

“No.” I swallow, resisting the urge to kiss the soft, warm spot under her ear. “They’re women I was intimate with.”

Making herself even smaller against me, her breathing ragged, she blinks up at me.

I let my finger trail over the shape of her jaw, and both her hands encase mine, bringing it between us, against her stomach. She’s as warm as a furnace, probably delirious, and whatever she has, it's safe to say I’m getting it next, but none of it feels inconvenient. There’s no other place I’d rather be right now than in this bed, soaking up sweat and microbes from this infuriatingly beautiful woman.

“So, will I ever be your backpack, Logan?”

I breathe through the blood rush to my groin, but focusing on that makes fighting other impulses tricky, and I lean down, pressing my lips to her shoulder. “Yes, Barbie,” I whisper, though I’m pretty sure she fell asleep already. “You’re mine.”

* * *

A melodic laugh interrupts the hum of the tractor’s idling engine, and I turn it off. I pull the bandana off my nose and mouth, inhaling the freshly cut grass, then wipe the sweat off my forehead with the back of my arm.

There she is, strutting by in her white boots. Primrose. Her blue skirt moves with the wind and her white top clings to her body, leaving her shoulders naked.

Her outfits have become the highlight of my day.

“No way!” she gasps, and trying to think past how goddamn beautiful she looks, I purse my lips. She’s been in bed all day yesterday, and now she’s out here again, wearing scraps of fabric that’ll hardly keep her warm during these chilly spring mornings.

My focus narrows on Kyle, walking beside her with a wide smile. This motherfucker. He’s always finding excuses to be around her—not that I can blame him. Icouldpunch him, though. I won’t, but I could.

Kyle’s eyes meet mine as he waves. “Mind joining us for a moment, boss?”

Idomind, but I hop off the tractor and reluctantly walk toward them. I’m not exactly in the mood to chat—not after I got a home visit from Tom, who was frustrated from not being able to reach me on the phone.

The buyer is becoming impatient, and Tom urged me to take the offer because there is no guarantee a better one will come. He doesn’t need to tell me that—out of the dozens of farms in this area, the Gracen’s farm and mine are among the few that haven’t failed yet. And, besides, selling is my only choice. No matter how much it kills me, it’s the right thing to do.

On top of all of that, there’s been total radio silence from the police, and I don’t know what it means. Is the case closed? Are they gathering evidence before arresting me?

It’s unsettling.

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