“You can go on your break,” he says to Logan as he drops his bag by the chair farther back in the shop. My heart picks up speed as I turn toward Logan. The thought of having him to myself for a whole hour has my insides doing flips.

9

Logan

Sierra’s walking so close to me, I can smell the flowery scent of her shampoo. She’s in those short cut-off shorts, and they’re driving me wild. As we approach the food trucks parked by the pier, I pull out my wallet to get her some food.

“I already ate lunch,” she says.

“You look like you could eat again.”

“I won’t turn down gelato.” She points toward the pink bubblegum covered van selling scoops of colorful ice cream to a line full of college kids.

We stand in line, and she keeps her arms around my waist. It’s like she can’t help but touch me, and it’s amazing, but it’s also pure torture. I can’t put my hands on her the way she touches me, not in public. Because once I start touching her, I won’t stop.

No girl has ever had the effect on me that Sierra does. I’ve been with flirtatious girls and eager girls, but I never felt like it was really me they wanted. Just a warm body to fill some void.

“Why aren’t you ever with your family?” I ask. It comes out a little ruder than I mean it to.

“They only bring me here so they can hang out with their friends. Golfing and tennis and God knows what else.” She rolls her eyes. “They think I want to run around with all of these college kids, so they don’t bat an eye at my being out all day and night.”

“That doesn’t seem right.”

“They’re a little older than most parents, and I’m an only child. So, they’re pretty much over the parenting thing. They just want to live their own lives.”

I can’t hide the discontent on my face. I don’t care what their excuse is. It’s pretty lame to abandon your kid for a full week, especially on a beach full of drinking, sex, and drugs. Even if she is an adult now. They should want to hang out with her. I would.

When we reach the truck to put in our order, she orders a scoop of pistachio and insists that I get something. I don’t have the heart to tell her that walking around the beach licking a scoop of ice cream on a cone is a real detriment to my image. She only smiles at me, holding back a laugh as the lady hands me a small bowl with a tiny purple spoon. I roll my eyes, which makes Sierra giggle even more into my shoulder.

“That’s all you’re eating?” she asks.

“I’m not hungry.” Can’t tell her why, though. Can’t tell her that my stomach will barely be able to handle this little bit of sugar because it's doing flips in my gut right now, wishing it could just climb its way out of my body. The shake in my hands is gone and most of the urge is too, but the other side effects are still there. I may not have been a heavy user, but my withdrawal symptoms are a reminder that I was more addicted than I let myself believe.