Page 93 of Sugar Coated Secrets

“Yeah. Drinking, dancing…”

“Hotel rooms,” she says, looking at the woman flirting with the drivers below. Women wearing short skirts and T-shirts tight under their breasts. Some wear shorts so short they should be arrested.

It’s no secret I end up sleeping with some of them. The tabloids love to show that part.

I take a pull from my water bottle. “Yeah, good thing this time I came with someone I don’t have to escape from the following morning.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“You’d be the first.”

“The first?”

“Yeah, the first.” I grin, loving the fact that she is jealous. “How many girls do you think I bring to watch me race?”

“I don’t know. There are a lot of things I don’t know about you.”

“Whatever it is you want to know, all you have to do is ask.”

“What is the real Ford Keller like?”

I place a peck on her cheek. “You’re gonna be the first to find out.”

Derek walks back in. “Ford?”

I turn around. “Tell them to wait.”

“Why?” Derek stammers.

I look back at Dulce. “I have a date with my girlfriend.”

DULCE

A driver picks us up in a black SUV out back, which is full of security.

We arrive at a well-known Italian restaurant in the city, and I instantly feel like I should have changed. Ford can wear a plain shirt and jeans but manages to pull it off like he’s wearing a suit. It also helps that he’s Ford Keller, and no one would say anything to him about what he wears. On the other hand, me with my simple dress and boutique no-brand wedge heels stick out in a restaurant that takes reservations only.

The hostess takes us out back to a table that is dimly lit and intimate. A few couples are having lunch, oblivious to the fact that Ford Keller is having lunch a few tables over. We get a few curious looks aimed our way as he takes a seat next to me instead of across each other.

“I hope this is okay.” He gets comfortable, his pant leg rubbing against my thigh and causing havoc between my legs.

And then it hits me. I’m on a date with Ford. A real date.

“It’s fine,” I chirp, grateful as the server fills two glasses of ice water.

Ford picks up the menu, scanning it like this is normal. Like we’ve had hundreds of lunches like this before a race.

“Are you supposed to be eating before a race?” I ask.

He cocks his head. “No.”

“Won’t you get in trouble?”

“As long as I don’t drink alcohol before I get behind the wheel, I think I’ll be fine. Besides, I’m going to win. I can do whatever I want.”

“Cocky.”

“I’m trying to impress you.”

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