Page 5 of Sugar Coated Secrets

Ford only noticed me when his friends were making fun of me. He laughed along a couple of times but never said anything nasty, and those butterflies went up in ashes. Like today, he was the only one who told them to stop. I should have hated him, but I didn’t.

But he never looked at me the way he looked at Summer or Heather or even Marissa. They were pretty, with nice bodies and pretty hair. All the guys liked them.

I hear a loud engine coming from behind as the rain starts to fall steadily, but I keep walking, pushing my long hair away from my face as it sticks to my skin. The tall trees sway as the wind picks up. The sound of the powerful car drowns out the wind as it stops right next to me.

I recognize the black Lamborghini Ford received for his eighteenth birthday before the dark tinted window rolls down, revealing his handsome face. I don’t care if I’m getting wet, so long as I can see his handsome face when no one is around.

“Hey.” He grins. “Get in. I’ll give you a ride.”

I shake my head out of the trance his deep blue eyes put me in and keep walking because I’m better off getting wet than taking my chances with Ford. It must be part of some prank they put him up to.

It isn’t the first time. At the beginning of the year, they put a firecracker inside my locker. The year before, they locked me in the women’s restroom for an entire period. At lunch one day, they switched my food with leftovers from the trash when I went to grab utensils, leaving me hungry because I was out of money.

That just brushes the surface of all the things they’ve done.

“I’m good,” I call out. “I’m almost there.” But I wasn’t. I had three-quarters of a mile to go, and the cold rain coming down insheets weighed down my clothes, making them stick to my skin. My soaking wet socks made a swooshing sound with every step I took.

“I’m not leaving you out here. It’s dangerous.”

I stop and face him, my wet hair sticking to my face.

“I’m fine,” I snap, raising my voice over the sound of water hitting his car. Dismissing him, I keep walking, wiping the rain from my face and cursing myself for not bringing an umbrella even though the weather app on my phone that morning didn’t forecast any rain.

After I take a few steps, I jump when he revs the car and pulls off the road, blocking my path. His window is still down. I can tell he’s getting wet. The drops of water shine against the black interior of the door and glisten on his dark hair and face.

“Get in,” he demands. “You’re going to get sick or, worse, get hit”—lightning flashes and thunder rumbles above—“or you could get hit by lightning,” he says with a raised brow.

“Why would I get in your car?”

“You have no reason to trust me, and I’m sorry for the way my friends treat you. But right now, I’m your best bet if you want to get where you’re going without getting electrocuted or sick.”

The thought of any of those scenarios is unlikely, but leaving my grandmother alone when Mary has to leave causes a panic inside my chest.

“Take me straight home, and this better not be one of your stupid pranks. I know you hang around Vicki and her stupid friends. Your girlfriend isn’t any better.”

“I don’t have time for stupid pranks,” he says. “It’s dangerous for you to be out here alone. Now get in.”

When another flash of lightning streaks across the sky, followed by thunder, I have no choice but to get in his car. I walk up and scan the door, looking for the handle. When I find it, I open the door, and it swings up like a bird’s wing. I slide in thecar, shivering from the cold air. I try not to get the inside of his car wet, but he insisted, so he kind of deserves it.

I manage to shut the door and lean back. I’m out of breath, clutching my backpack to my chest. The fact that I’m alone with Ford Keller inside his car has my stomach in knots. It smells amazing. He…smells amazing, like leather, clean ocean, and rain.

His black hair is tied back in the sexy man bun he always wears, and the bottom part of his head is shaved. His eyes are the color of a blue flame, framed by full, thick lashes that make it appear he is wearing eyeliner. He has a razor-sharp jaw, perfect straight nose, and lips so soft and symmetrical they look almost fake.

“Are you cold?”

I’m startled by his question. My hands grip my backpack, and it’s not because I’m cold. My heart is beating fast, and my stomach is clenched tight, not wanting to sound stupid.

“Huh?”

“I asked if you were cold?”

“Oh, um…”Say yes, Dulce. “Yes,” I say breathlessly.

His hand shoots out, making me jolt and causing him to freeze. “I'm just turning the heat on for you,” he reassures gently.

“Oh…right.”

He shakes his head and presses the button for the heat. Warm air instantly shoots out from the vent, causing goose bumps to erupt over my skin like a warm bath.

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