Sugar coated secrets, p.1
Sugar Coated Secrets, page 1
CONTENTS
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Also by Carmen Rosales
Preface
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
About the Author
Thank you for downloading Sugar Coated Secrets.
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CARMEN ROSALES ALSO WRITES HORROR X WITH LOTS OF SPICE UNDER DELILAH CROWW. BOOKS CAN ALSO BE FOUND ON TIKTOK SHOP AND THE WEBSITE.
ALSO BY CARMEN ROSALES
Hillside Kings Series
Hidden Scars
Hidden Lies
Hidden Secrets
Hidden Truths
Cartel Kings
Cartel Kings Book One
Steamy Romance Standalone’s
The Sweat Box
Until Us
The Prey Series
Thirst
Lust
Appetite
Forgive Me For I Have Sinned
Forbidden Flesh
Dark Romance
Dirty little Secrets
Like A Moth To A Flame
Giselle
DULCE
Throughout high school, I was invisible, silently hoping Ford Keller, the quintessential bad boy everyone adored, would notice me. When he asked me out, last minute to prom, I thought my prayers had been answered.
It turned out to be a cruel joke, one that nearly broke me completely.
I smile.
I pretend everything is fine, running my grandmother's bakery.
I act like I don’t remember him from school, but I remember most of the things they did that fateful night.
In a town with every reason to lie, there is no one I can trust.
Not him.
Not them.
I need to get the hell out of this town, but I can’t, not yet.
To survive, I have no choice but to play their game.
IF HE’LL LET ME GO.
1
FORD
My eyes slide open. I wait a minute for the fog to clear and my eyes to refocus. My head pounds like someone repeatedly beats a drum. The light from the sun shines across the ceiling in ripples like the morning tide. The hotel room smells like alcohol, stale perfume, and sex.
I close my eyes for a second before I look over at the bottled blonde sleeping on the bed with her mouth open and last night’s makeup smeared across her face. I don’t even like blondes. I don’t remember much of anything from last night except hands, eyes, a woman’s tongue, and a lot of touching. What is her name? I don’t remember.
I don’t do drugs, but I’ll get drunk after I win a race or when I go out on the weekends when I’m homesick.This life is getting old, though.
After four years of traveling and racing around the world, I want to go home.
I grab my phone and check the time. There’s a notification saying my flight leaves in three hours.
The nameless woman reaches out, and I quickly grab the bed sheet off the floor and wrap it around my waist. After five shots is one thing, but sobered by the harsh morning light, I want nothing more than to run away from her.
“Ford,” she whines, reaching for me. “Come back to bed.”
For whatever reason, the thought of her touching me pisses me off. I have to get away.
This is the part I hate. The cruel reality when I have to break it to them. They call my name like they know me and expect more, and I watch their hope fade when they realize that one night hasn’t changed me.
“I have to go,” I say flatly. “Call the concierge, and they can get you a ride.”
She peers at me under her eyelashes, looking like a raccoon.
She doesn’t know this is not my hotel room, and I actually have the penthouse on the top floor. I rent a standard room for my one-night stands.
“I didn’t want to believe what they said about you.” She sits up, causing her small breasts to peek out as she reaches for the scrap of fabric she calls a dress from the side of the bed. “That you were an asshole.”
“Now you know.”
“I thought we had something.”
Here we go.
“I didn’t bring you to a hotel room because you were special.” I walk over to the chair where I tossed my pants and shirt last night.
She grabs her shoes with a huff. “You brought me here to fuck.”
“You’re catching on. Check-out is at eleven o’clock. I’m sure you know how the door works.”
She walks into the bathroom and shuts the door with a thud.
I quickly dress, grab my phone and keys, and rush out of the room before she comes back. I press the button repeatedly for the elevator while I dial my manager.
He finally picks up when the elevator door opens. “Hey, man. How was your night with the blonde?”
I press the button for the penthouse, hoping she doesn’t run out with her phone to snap a picture and post it to social media. It’s happened before.
“Boring,” I drawl. “Listen, Derek, make sure she leaves the room by eleven.”
“You got it, Ford. You need anything before your flight?”
“Yeah, chocolate raisin cookies from Sugar…”
“Sugar Coated Sweets, I got it. Anything else?”
“Place a to-go order for when I get there.”
“How many?”
“Twenty.”
“Got it. Also, your cars will be there next week. I booked you a rental car at the airport. I’ll text you the details.”
The elevator doors open to the penthouse. “Alright, gotta go pack.”
“The driver is already waiting downstairs. And Ford?”
“What?”
“When you get there, don’t race this time. Public roads are not a racetrack in a rental car.”
2
DULCE
Aflurry of flour dusts the well-worn wooden table. With deft hands, I measure the last of the cocoa powder. The aroma of vanilla fills the kitchen after I place a few drops in the mixing bowl.
The door leading to the counter out front swings open, the hinges squeaking.
“That hot police officer is asking for you again, Dulce,” Katie singsongs.
I pour the flour in. “I’m busy.”
Katie started working for me part-time when she moved here from Mooresville after graduating from high school. She’s been trying to set me up on dates ever since. If she only knew my history in this town.
She leans over the counter and grabs her apron from the hook on the wall. “I can see that, but you can’t hide back here forever.”
“I’m not hiding. We have five special orders for tomorrow, and I have to finish these for today.”
She bumps into me playfully. “You could go out there and put him out of his misery and finally say yes. Go out on a date with him. Fuck him.”
I almost drop the whisk in my hand. “It’s not like that, Katie.”
“You should see the way he looks at you.”
With pity.
“I didn’t notice.”
I try to ignore her, whisking the batter by hand to avoid over mixing the dough.
“Has he asked?”
“Yes,” I reply, adding whole milk to the mixing bowl.
“How many times?”
“Eight to be exact.”
“Eight times?” she says in surprise. “Well, get out there. It looks like today is number nine.”
I drop the whisk, knowing I have to go out there to see Officer Mays. The last thing I want is to turn down the only person who has been there for the past four years. He keeps the town safe and is eye candy for the ladies with his Wayfarers and straight black hair that seems to defy gravity.
“Okay, wrap this up for me,” I instruct her, stepping aside. “They have to be in the oven in two hours to be fresh. Oh, and please get the macarons ready for me. They’re on the baking sheet. Third rack.”
She picks up the whisk. “Got it, boss.”
I wipe my hands on my apron and give her a hug. “Thank you, Katie.”
I hope she doesn’t think I’m not grateful for her help. I know she means well, encouraging me to go out and date. But it’s not that simple.
“You’re welcome,” she whispers, pulling me close. “I f you ever want to talk, you know I’m here. I worry about you, Dulce. You’re always working and taking care of your grandmother.”
A pang hits my chest. “I’m just grateful she’s lasted this long.”
“That’s because she’s lucky she has a granddaughter who loves her and puts everyone first except herself.”
I pull back, trying to hide the sadness in my eyes, knowing the last thing my grandmother and I have is luck.
“Oh…” She grabs an invoice and hands it to me. “Here is the pickup order for the cookies. There is a name instead of a company this time. I think it’s a coincidence, but I’ll let you be the judge.”
I look at the name on the invoice, and my heart catapults in my throat.
“Ford Keller,” I say softly. I haven’t heard that name in a long time, but I could never forget it, even if I tried. “Yeah, I know him,” I say faintly.
What I don’t know is why he’s returned.
Four Years Ago
DULCE
The bathroom was filled with shouts, echoes, and the sound of toilets flushing like airplanes when I walk in. Girls wasting time after they’ve escaped their last class of the day and are just waiting for the bell to ring so they can go home. Some are laughing and pushing up against each other, trying to use the mirror to apply makeup without getting wet from the other girl washing her hands. Others are leaning on the wall with their attention on their phones.
Before they notice me, I make a beeline for the stall at the end. I wait on the toilet until they leave, then use the bathroom and walk out. Throughout high school, I was considered the outcast by the popular kids at Airy High even though I went to school with most of the girls since second grade. I wasn’t a nerd or considered an emo kid. I wasn’t what they considered pretty by their standards. My dark-brown hair wasn’t dyed and styled. I didn’t wear clothes two sizes too small or show enough skin. I wore jeans, Crocs, and a band tee. I didn’t wear a ton of makeup to impress anyone, and my parents didn’t have money. My parents were dead. I lived in a small old house with my grandma on the edge of town. I helped her bake and worked at her bakery whenever I could.
And they made fun of me for it.
The stalls rattle from doors opening and closing, followed by latches sliding to lock and unlock. The water turns on and off. The whooshing sounds of a hand dryer go off like the roar of a small jet engine. Conversations bounce off the black-and-white tiled walls.
“So I heard Ford broke up with Summer and is not taking her to prom. She—”
“I heard he caught her at Trent’s house—”
“I heard she broke it off with him because he was leaving—”
“She caught him with Heather like last time—”
“I heard he got Summer pregnant, and she lost it, and that’s why they broke up—”
“I wonder who he’s taking to prom—”
The water shuts off. The hand dryer goes silent. The bathroom door opens with a scream and then silence. They’ve left. All that can be heard are the distant voices of people out in the halls.
The bell rings.
Trying to beat the horde of rushing bodies, I hurry to use the bathroom, wash my hands, and skip the hand dryer. Instead, I wipe my hands on my jeans. I pull the door, the scream drowning the voices of all the bodies rushing to their lockers. I turn left to head to my own locker, hoping the rest of the senior class leaves before I make the mile-long trek home. My hopes of any of that happening disappear—like when I waved at Ford Keller while walking into English class, thinking he was waving at me, but instead, he walked past me like I was a ghost.
Standing next to my locker is the biggest asshole of Airy High—Trent Walker. He’s lean and tall, has dirty-blond hair, and always smells like gas and motor oil from working on his car. Chris Ellis leans against the wall on his shoulder and watches me approach with a big smirk. According to the female populace, he’s the nicer one of the three boys in a boy-next-door kind of way with his brown hair and high cheekbones. But he always has a look in his eyes that he knows something you don’t.
Trent’s always had a harsh mouth. He’s good with a football but doesn’t have the grades to get into a good college like Ford. When he looks at Ford, I’m unsure if he admires or hates him for it, but he has no problem getting girls. He’s good at other things like fixing a motor or anything to do with his hands, but at times, Ford gets annoyed by the things he says.
Chris looks at Ford curiously. He admires Ford. They met in fifth grade when Ford’s parents moved to Airy. Out of the three, Chris seems to be the nice one. I don’t know much about him because he mostly keeps to himself, but then again, I really don’t know anyone since I don’t have any friends.
Ford Keller, Chris’s best friend, the king, most popular, hottest guy ever created, is listening to the three girls who hate my existence. His eyes are blue like the sky, and he’s the tallest of the three. With a chiseled body, he has arms that fit every shirt he wears and jeans that hang on narrow hips, hinting at the brand of underwear he wears (which is designer). He smells like he came from the men’s cologne section of a department store.
I turn the dial on the lock to my locker as quickly as I can with clumsy fingers. Thankfully, it gives way with a click but catches Vicki’s attention before I can block my face after opening the door.
“Hey, look. It’s Betty Cocker,” Vicki sneers, causing everyone to laugh.
I grab my notebook and pack of cookies I baked and slam the door closed, getting everyone else’s attention. “My name is Dulce, and it’s Betty Crocker,” I say scathingly as I walk past them, instantly regretting the words sliding off my tongue. I shouldn’t have said anything. For the most part, I don’t, but it’s the end of the year. I don’t have to deal with them much longer.
Vicki snorts. “Yeah whatever, you stupid ugly bitch. That is why no guy has asked you to prom.”
“What is she wearing?” Marissa says, giggling.
She stands next to Trent, wearing low-rise skinny jeans and a low-cut shirt with a push-up bra. Her makeup is overly done with a red shade of lipstick too bright for her complexion.
I act like her words didn’t hit home. She is right; no one has asked me to prom. At this point, I can go alone and save this humiliation or disappoint my grandmother and stay home.
I turn around and ignore the way Ford looks at me, rolling his eyes at Vicki and her stupid friends.
“Let me guess, Vicki. You’re going with Chris but wish it was Ford,” I retort, watching her eyes widen. Her face turns a shade close to purple, knowing Summer is his girlfriend. “I wonder what Summer would think since you two hang out these days.”
“You bitch,” she says in a harsh, piercing tone while Chris raises his brows and looks between her and Ford.
I wonder what Chris sees in Vicki. She has a nice body, long dirty-blond hair, and green eyes. I don’t know how he doesn’t see the sultry looks she gives Ford every time they hang out or how bitter she is because, in her mind, she settled for less than who she really wanted.
I don’t care what Ford thinks. I don’t care what any of them think because they are all privileged assholes and bitches who deserve each other. I used to avoid them as much as possible, but I’m tired of being harassed and made fun of.
“I’m calling it like I see it,” I tell her.
“Dude, did you piss yourself?” Trent says with a smirk, looking at the front of my jeans. Vicki laughs, followed by Marissa, Chris, Gwen, and then Ford.
“It’s called washing your hands, Trent,” I say sarcastically. “You should probably be doing it more since you keep putting yours where they don’t belong.”
“You’re just jealous because no one but your grandma likes you,” Vicki sneers. “I bet your parents died because they couldn’t stand the sight of you and killed themselves.” I flinch like she slapped me, taking the air from my lungs.
“Hey, knock it off, Vick,” Ford chides, his eyes filled with sympathy as he looks at me.
“What?” she says in a playful little voice like she did nothing wrong, but I see the twist of fury in her eyes. “It’s true.”
I turn around to leave. Before I push the exit door, Trent says, “I think she likes me.” His words are followed by laughter.
I’d rather die a virgin.
The sky was overcast, and I could smell the rain coming. I wanted to get home before it started, but the Crocs I wore pretty much all the time were impossible to run in.
