Page 83 of Riding the Sugar High

There are so many things I didn’t mention, like the bias of medical practitioners who are quick to dismiss fat people based on their weight alone. Or the classicYou have such a pretty faceI’ve gotten a billion times in my life. But the scar that bleeds the most is the one that I thought Derek had healed, so I mumble, “Men keeping you hidden. A secret. How they’ll flirt with you, and they’ll kiss you, but they don’t want anyone to know. It’s happened...” My chuckle is void of any joy. “So many times.”

He presses his lips tight as he stares down at the joint between his fingers. When he looks up again, his eyes are narrowed. “Feeling nauseous?”

“No.”

“Head spinning?”

“No,” I say again, and he holds the joint out for me.

“Then puff puff, Leaning Barbie.”

I bring the joint to my lips and watch the smoke vanish into the night.

“Right. So, hm...” Logan rubs his hands together, avoiding my gaze and rocking back and forth before settling again, like he’s gathering the nerve to say something. “Remember that woman at the mall?”

My mind struggles to focus, but yes, I remember her. And my stomach twists uncomfortably. Why did Kyle have to put ideas in my head? Why did his mom have to make that comment? Even though I tried to ignore them, they poisoned my mind irreversibly, and now I’m about to be, once again, the friend—the one who hopes he’ll notice her while he’s thinking about the skinny, gorgeous woman he doesn’t even know.

“Primrose?”

“Y-yeah, Cassidy. I remember.”

“When we talked about her, you described who you thought was my type.”

“Yes.Thall, tin.” My brows scrunch because something feels wrong, but I’m too tired to know what. My eyes want to close. “Tin? Is that how you say it?”

“Okay, give me the joint.”

Logan grabs it from my hand, then grips the side of my thighs and pulls me closer. I balance myself on his knees as his fingers pinch my chin. “Pay attention to me, Barbie.”

I look into his gray-blue eyes, framed by long dark lashes. I like being this close to him. It’s happened a handful of times, and it’s weirdly comfortable. “Mm-hmm.”

“You described my type. Thin, tall, smile lines—I can’t remember. But that’s not my type, okay? And when I said you’re nearly naked all the time, I meant...”

“Yes?”

“I meant...” His eyes scout mine, left to right, then back again. His throat works hard, and he hesitates for a long moment when he opens his lips. “Short women with thick thighs and a spunky little attitude. I don’t have a type, but if I had one, that’d be it.”

I watch him, trying to process his words.

Does he mean...I’mhis type? That he made that comment about the way I dress because...

His eyes drop from my eyes to my lips, and maybe I’m leaning again, because we’re just inches apart now, and his short breaths fan against me.

“Do you understand what I’m saying, Barbie?”

My heart feels like a caged butterfly, wings hitting the metal bars again and again, desperate to break loose. “That...that you’re attracted to me?”

“Yeah,” he softly says on my lips. “That the way you dress is, uh, distracting. You know how often I come into the living room to grab something, only to see you on the couch with no bra and those skimpy little tops, and instantly forget what I was looking for?”

My body shakes with the quick beats of my heart. “Sorry. I’ll dress?—”

“No, Barbie. I think—I think I was trying to...you know,” he says with a vague roll of his wrist.

“Flirt? Is that what you were trying to do?”

“Yes. And I don’t know why I did that, especially since I don’t know how to.” He lets my chin go, but doesn’t move away. “Please, dress however you’d like.”

I nod, and he releases a breath of relief, then throws one last look at my lips before turning away and lighting up the joint again.