Page 40 of Riding the Sugar High

Sure I would. The tornado roommate who keeps falling and waking me up is just the addition to my life I didn’t know I needed.

Two days gone, fifteen to go.

lend me his crayons

Primrose

The early morningsun bathes the countryside in a soft, golden light, and around me, the farm is buzzing with life—chickens cluck and peck at the ground, bees hum lazily from flower to flower, and there’s the gentle hum of a tractor in the distance.

I pick up my phone, adjusting the settings to capture the perfect shot of Kyle chopping wood before me. Five minutes into his task, he made a big show of taking off his shirt, so Logan might actually be onto something when he says Kyle wants to sleep with me.

His chestnut brown hair catches the sunlight, creating an almost halo-like effect around his head. Ensuring each frame is just right, I snap a few photos, until he must notice the click in between the thuds of his ax, and with a jovial beam, he looks up at me.

“Want me to take my pants off too?”

I chuckle, setting my phone down. “I think I’m good, thanks. Do you mind me posting it?”

He firmly shakes his head. “Not at all.”

Kyle showed up at the house this morning, told me I couldn’t stay there alone because Josie would likely come over, then dragged me to the other side of the farm. We had fun last night, and even now, his proximity is comforting. Spending time with someone who doesn’t make me feel as tense as Logan is a welcome change of pace.

I turn my focus to the recipe opened up on my tablet, until a growing rumble has me lifting my gaze off the wooden table and looking up, trying to identify the source. It looks like it’s coming from the street, so I glance over my shoulder, my jaw dropping as I see a motorcycle riding up the driveway.

Logan, I assume.

I’ve only seen him in his bike attire once, but just like that first night, he’s dressed head-to-toe in black, exuding confidence as he slowly rides to the side of the house. A black helmet shields all of his features, and his leather jacket clings to his frame, accentuating his broad shoulders and hinting at his strength beneath the surface.

The rhythmic purr of the engine subsides as he smoothly parks the black bike, leaving a lingering echo in the air.

Damn.

I don’t know much about motorcycles—never even ridden one—but that’s hot.

He gets off the bike, and I bite my bottom lip when his black helmet turns my way.

Maybe he’d take me on a ride one of these days.

Maybe I should ask Kyle.

I turn, but Kyle’s almond eyes are already on me, mouth open and brows tight as if I’ve personally insulted him. “What?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“What did I do?” I insist.

“Of course, she goes for the biker.” He points a scolding finger at me. “You know, those things are dangerous. You could die.”

I burst a laugh. “What—I’m not—” Oh my god. What if he tells him something? “I, uh...” I turn around again, and my pulse quickens when Logan removes his helmet, his long, brown hair tumbling over his shoulder. Even in the distance, I feel his blue-gray eyes bearing into mine.

Kyle sighs loudly, then sits and rests both elbows on the table, sweat glistening his bronzed skin. He brings his frowny face against his fists and mumbles, “Well, good for you, Sugar High. He’s definitely into you.”

“What?” I squeal. “No, he’s not. He can barely stand me.”

“You don’t need to be friends with someone to want to fuck them.”

I smack his arm, feeling my cheeks warm. I can’t deny it: just thinking about his size makes me squirm on the bench. Why is there something so hot about a man who could wave you around like a flag?

But a guy like that could get any woman he wanted, and he’s certainly not going for the pink-wearing influencer who’s robbing him of his privacy.