Page 97 of Riding the Sugar High

I press my lips together, chest heaving. Under different circumstances, I would beg him to drag me back home. I want to kiss him again. I want to kiss him all day long. But as it stands, we have another four hours here, and this market is important for Logan’s business. Anything that could convince him not to sell takes priority.

“So...just to clarify,” he whispers. “I’m your fake boyfriend. And your roommate. Your alibi. And...”

“And?” I tease.

“And for the next six days, I get to kiss you whenever I want?”

If this weren’t so adorable, I’d be upset about the lack of a clear label. “Yes.”

The tip of his nose brushes my neck, and my chest flutters, a wave of warmth coursing through my body. “Okay. That sounds good.”

I turn to face him, and a loose lock of his hair tickles my skin. His eyes are hooded, and his shallow breaths fan over my lips. “So I’ll kiss you now.”

“Please.”

He presses his lips against mine, soft and exploring. He tastesperfect, like man and nature. Like the stress of the last eleven days has been all for something. Like kissing him might be worth going to prison. Worth losing everything but him.

When I tease him with my tongue, his hand cups my cheek, and he pulls back. “Behave,” he says, then kisses me again. “I’m not above putting up a show for these people.”

I chuckle, and before I can press my lips to his a third time, the old man coughs loudly, and Logan stands. He rings through his products, and a small crowd forms around our stand in a matter of minutes.

“Can you grab the invoice from the organizer?” he asks as he finishes bagging cabbage for a woman. “His table is right there, and he doesn’t exactly...loveme.”

Ah, great. Making enemies of the local farmer market’s organizer. Smart.

I venture out again into the sun, an idiotic grin on my face, and approach the man. He continues his conversation with a blonde woman, who wears so much perfume that every one of her exaggerated gestures hits me like a blow to the face. When I glance back at Logan, he’s staring back at me as if there’s nothing else worth looking at.

“Yes, darling?”

I turn to the white-haired man, whose focus is now trained on me. “Uh, I’m here to collect an invoice.”

“Sure thing.” He grabs a folder. “Surname, please?”

“Coleman.”

“Oh, you’re with Logan?” He breathes through his teeth. “Do tell him it’s nothing personal, all right?”

“Nothing personal?” I echo.

“Yeah. He was pretty pissed off when I rejected his application again. Good thing he still agreed to fill in for Julie today.”

Mouth open, I stare dumbly at him as I take the invoice he’s holding out. “How many times has he applied?”

He huffs. “Every time we open applications. But, you know, I can’t choose his business over others. Only vegans care about vegan produce.”

When he looks over my shoulder, as if he’s done with the conversation, I ask, “Are there no vegan businesses in your market?”

He shakes his head.

“Not even one?”

He must notice the disdain in my voice because, with a huffed laugh, he squeezes my arm gently. “No, sweetheart. It wouldn’t make sense to waste a stand on that, would it? Vegans can buy vegetables at any other stand.”

But many vegans would prefer to support a business that shares their views, and everybody deserves access to food. Willingly denying it to some people in favor of what he thinks will be a more profitable offer is...at the very least,yuck.

I doubt, however, that there’d be a point in telling this man that as a business owner, food provider and human being, he has a responsibility to make his service accessible to everyone. That vegan businesses also deserve a chance at surviving.

If he cared, he wouldn’t be saying this stuff.

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