Page 99 of Riding the Sugar High

I can feel the blood drain from my face as their inquisitive eyes study me. They want to talk to me. Why me? They must have found something. I’m screwed.

He crosses his arms. “Sorry, Primrose isn’t feeling well.”

Josie’s brows arch over her eyes. “Oh no. Would you like a ride home?”

“No, it’s—just a...a little stomachache.”

She nods and awkwardly looks away. We haven’t met since she made that scene at Logan’s parents’ place, and seeing her in full cop attire now is all sorts of weird.

“Or maybe it’s guilt,” Connor offers as he pulls up a plastic bag containing my pink scrunchie with yellow flowers. One of the dozen scrunchies I had in my bag the night I set that damn trashcan on fire.

Fear grips me tightly, squeezing the air from my lungs.

“Derek’s dogs found this on his property, but he assured us Primrose was never there. To his knowledge.” He smirks, pleased as if he’s got me. “This is yours, though. We found a picture on Instagram of you wearing it, and your DNA will confirm it. So, do you want to tell us why you were there that night? Maybe you couldn’t accept that Derek moved on, and you figured if you couldn’t have him, then nobody would.”

Oh my god, I’m going to be sick.

They think I wanted to kill him. That’s attempted murder, isn’t it? Far worse than accidental arson, which doesn’t exist anyway.

“Oh,” Logan says, casually, pointing at the scrunchie. “That’s mine.”

All eyes turn to him as Connor scoffs. “Yours? This pink scrunchie?”

“Uh-huh.” Logan gestures lazily at his head. “Long hair. Need to tie it up sometimes.”

“So why was Primrose wearing it in that Instagram picture?”

“I lent it to her.”

With a sigh, Josie takes a step closer. Her eyes are soft on Logan as she whispers, “This isn’t yours, Logan. And if you say it is, that places you on Derek’s property. I appreciate that you want to help Primrose, but this is a serious crime, and?—”

Logan huffs, then shoves a hand in his pocket and retrieves one of my scrunchies—the pink one with cute flamingos.

What...Why does he have that?

“There. See?” He pulls part of his hair up in a bun, then wraps the scrunchie around it. “Use them all the time.”

“Even better,” Connor says. “We’ll need you to come down to the station for some questions. If the scrunchie is yours.”

I shudder, sweat dripping down the sides of my face. I can’t let him do that. He can’t go to prison for a crime I committed. “Logan,” I whisper, my voice trembling, but before I can say anything else, he reaches behind blindly and squeezes my arm tight.

“I’ll see you at the station this afternoon. So you can ask all these pressing questions.” Logan leans forward, his hand still gripping my elbow. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m trying to sell my produce here.”

“Guess what, Coleman?” Connor sneers. “Wedomind.”

“Connor, it’s fine. He said he’d come. Let’s go.” Josie motions at him to follow as she steps back, but he doesn’t move a muscle, his hateful gaze still on Logan.

When Connor lets her drag him away, his fevered gaze is still on Logan like a rabid dog who can’t let go of its chosen prey, until little by little, the crowd dissipates. Everyone goes back to shopping, chatting, and perusing the stalls—everyone but Derek, who stands on the opposite side of the market and wiggle his fingers in a corny ‘Hello.’

“Ignore him.” Logan’s hand runs protectively over my side. “Or I could break his kneecaps. That’s an option too.”

“Forget about Derek, Logan,” I scold. “What about the police? What are we going to do?”

“Youwon’t do a single thing, Barbie. I’ve got this.”

Does he?! Or does he think he ‘got this’ while actually, he’s burying a deeper grave for himself with each interaction? Now they know he was on Derek’s property, and it would be one thing if he was getting caught for stealing the pigs, but my mistake? I won’t let him go down for it.

Noticing the creases on my forehead, he squeezes my hand, a confident look in his eyes. “I’ve got you, Barbie.”