Page 13 of Riding the Sugar High

She swallows hard, then nods.

“Mind if we take a look inside?” he hisses.

“I do. A great deal.”

Connor nods, and it’s only when Josie tells him they should go for the third time that he disappears along the side of the house. Josie stays, watching us curiously for a moment longer before saying, “Come over next week, huh? Both of you? We can have dinner.” Her eyes soften, and she adds, “Sadie would love to see you.”

“Yeah, okay. We’ll try.”

She nods, giving me the sad look of someone who knows they’re being lied to. Then she hesitates and says, “Logan, are you...bleeding?”

Shit. I look down at my arm and find blood streaming from a gash below my elbow. The thorns, if I were to guess. “Just a little scratch,” I mumble.

“How’d you get it?”

I shrug, holding her inquisitive gaze. “You know...” I awkwardly pat Primrose’s arm, and she’s nearly shaking with fear. “Primrose likes to use her nails.”

Her pupils blow as she stares up at me, her cheeks clamped between her teeth. Then, almost as quickly as it showed up, the expression is gone, and she’s nodding at Josie. “Yeah. Scratching and—and slapping. And kicking too, or?—”

“Anyway,” I stop her, hooking an arm around her shoulders and squishing her against my chest. “If there’s nothing else we can do for you...”

“No.” Josie takes a step back, studying us. “I’ll see you at dinner at our place, Logan. Both of you, since you’re in a serious, committed relationship.” Her chin dips. “Right?”

“Right.”

“Great.” She clicks her tongue. “Stick around. No skipping town.” Then, without waiting for confirmation, she walks around the corner.

Shoulders falling, I let Primrose go.

“Oh, god,” she whispers as she slowly reclines onto the table, her chest heaving with each quick breath. If she’s experiencing half of the adrenaline crash I am, I get it. I can’t get arrested again. It’ll give my mom that heart attack doctors have been threatening her with for years.

Head tipping forward, I glance down at Primrose’s legs. The shirt has ridden up her thighs and is now bunched around her hips, her green underwear on full display.

Are those...smiling sloths?

Yes, they are. Smiling brown sloths on an olive-green background.

“Hey!” she shouts as she shoves me, her other hand tugging at her shirt to cover up. “What the hell? Are you staring at my underwear?”

“Sloth—I mean,shit, no.” I turn around, searching the ground as she hops off the table, my cheeks heating.

Really smooth, Logan.

“Yes, you were.” There’s a moment of silence, then, “What are you doing?”

“I’m looking for a rock.”

“A rock? What for?”

I find one that’s big enough and walk past her to the back door without a word. I hold it up, then send it crashing against the glass as I keep one arm over my face. Careful to avoid the jagged shards still attached to the window frame, I fit one arm inside and twist the lock.

She’s at my side in the next breath. “Wait a second,” she whispers, her big, worried eyes studying me. “I don’t know what impression I gave you, but I’m not a criminal, okay? I can’t even lie. I’m family-rich, and I’ve been shielded from everything my whole life. My dad made us cross the street when a homeless man was on the sidewalk, you know?”

I pull my arm out, shaking my head. “What the hell are you on about now?”

“I can’t break into another house.”

“This is my house. I lost the key.”