Riding the Sugar High (LOVE & OTHER RECIPES) by Letizia Lorini EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Letizia Lorini
- Language: English
- Genre: contemporary romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Logan
FUCK, tonight’s just not doing it for me.
The moon is high in the sky as I rev the engine, the sound echoing
through the quiet night. The deserted road blurring on either side of me
always does its trick in helping me clear my head, and the cool night air is
usually like a calming balm.
I’ve ridden along Elm Avenue a hundred times before, but tonight, the
vast, poorly illuminated road feels different. The wind is whipping through
the tips of my hair, and adrenaline is coursing through my veins, but the
freedom that comes from riding at night, alone with my thoughts, just isn’t
there.
The same tightness I’ve been feeling in my chest for months doesn’t
vanish like it should. The bills that are accumulating, the dozens of people
whose livelihoods depend on me, the animals who are bound to get sick and
need medication—they all pile up until the crushing sense of failure
vibrates through me like an electroshock.
Something’s not right.
And I can’t, tonight of all nights, be sick.
The engine’s roar is deafening in my ears, but it’s not enough to drown
out the cacophony of thoughts racing through my mind. A vice squeezes
around my heart, and I can’t seem to catch my breath.
Focus on the road, I tell myself. But as I blink, the blooming trees at the
edges of the road blur, and I know I need to stop.
My hands are shaking hard—too hard to pull the brakes—and as
another wave of gut-squeezing pain crashes through me, I clench my
fingers around the handlebars, waiting for the tingling to subside.
I’m fine. I’m fine.
Pushing the throttle forward, I try to overtake the fear. But it’s like I’m
running in quicksand, and whatever’s wrong with me is gaining ground
with every passing second.
Why is my heart beating so fast?
God, my chest hurts. I think I’m having a heart attack.
Appealing to every bit of strength I have, I pull over to the side of the
road, my hands trembling as I try to steady myself. My eyes burn, and my
ears ring loudly enough to cover the engine’s rumble.
Clutching my chest, I lean forward and rest the top half of my body on
the bike. This is it. I’m fucking dying, and I won’t be able to call anyone.
This road is always empty at night, so someone will likely find me in the
morning.
It’s almost a relief, for a second, that the all-consuming sense of doom
following me around will stop.
But those two piglets.
My animals.
The farm.
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