Page 7 of Riding the Sugar High

“Tell me one.”

Pressing my lips tight, I hum. “Kiss my forehead.”

“Tell me one youhaven’tcrossed off.”

Eyes lowering to the ground, I pause for a long moment. “Uh, I guess...Fight for me.”

He says nothing, and I could kick myself for choosing something so depressing.

“How aboutKiss someone I just ran over? Do you have that one?”

Laughter blossoms out of my lips, and thankful for the quick change of topic, I tilt my head. Though I’m afraid it isn’t on my bucket list, that kiss should be. It was like nothing I’ve ever experienced. The low vibration of pleasure out of his mouth and right into mine. The way his hand inched down my back.

“Kiss me until I can’t breathe.” I look up at the clear sky sprinkled with stars. “I could cross that off now.”

He clears his throat, but I see how his chest puffs up with pride. “Could?” he asks. “You won’t?”

“I don’t havemy list.” I bring a hand to the back of my neck. “I lost it a while back.”

“So write it again.”

“Yeah. I should.” The muscles beneath my fingers stiffen, and I quickly regret mentioning the list at all. It’s all I’ve been thinking about—that stupid list. It was supposed to represent my hope, to give me comfort. Now, it’s a nightmare, following me wherever I go. A reason for ridicule. A scar.

“Okay. Let’s test this out,” he says. When I stare at him wordlessly, he points at the car. “That means get in and try to start this piece of junk.”

“Oh.” I settle on the driver’s seat, then turn the key in the ignition. Though it makes a slightly more encouraging noise than before, it’s still not what I’d like to hear.

“—re gas.”

“What?” I ask.

“Give it?—”

“I can’t hear you!”

“Goddamn it,” he grunts as he appears by my side. “Let me try.”

“You think I don’t know how to start a car?”

His eyes narrow, his lips pressed so hard it looks like his head might explode. Taking pity on him, I get out of the car and let him in.

In two seconds, the car engine isroaring.

He’s right. Itisa piece of junk.

“There.” He steps out of the car. “It needed more gas.”

“Oh.” I nod, then throw him an awkward glance. I guess this is it. Maybe I should ask his name—I’d like to have something to call him when I reminisce about tonight. About our kiss. “Thank you so much.”

He barely acknowledges me as he walks to the hood and pulls it down. Then, brushing his hands together, he stands silently for a long moment. “Well, all right. Goodbye. Again.”

“I’m Primrose,” I say to his back once he turns.

He stops, then throws me a head-to-toe glare. “Of course you are.”

I’ve been told my name fits my aesthetic well, but never inthattone. Is he just not going to tell me his name? “And you?”

He shrugs. “Logan.”