Page 13 of Sugar Coated Secrets

“Yeah, I get that, but why wouldn’t you want to be surrounded by people.”

Because you were treated like shit most of your life because of the way you looked.

“Maybe she doesn’t trust people.”

She snorts, making her look even more ugly. “I can’t blame her. I don’t trust my husband isn’t fucking the gas station clerk. He always needs to top off his car full of gas or get a snack from the gas station. When I ask to go, he picks a fight. I went there, you know, to see for myself. I bought something and paid with my card. When I asked her for a pen to sign the receipt, she handed me the one from his job.”

She picks at the pimple on the corner of her lip she tried to cover up with cheap concealer only to make it look like a wart, and she wonders why.

“You have a nice night.”

“If you need anything, call me,” she says and then giggles.

What the fuck did I get myself into?

My room is on the third floor, which is also the top floor. I walk down the hallway with the multicolored stained carpet and wallpaper peeling on the sides. The smell of dirty feet and carpet cleaner gets worse the farther I go. I’m not surprised by the room when I open the door. The bed doesn’t have a comforter, and the box air conditioner turns on with rattle, blowing air that smells like stale cigarettes and mold even though there is a No Smoking sign that they clearly don’t enforce.

I glance at the bed, knowing the last thing I’m going to get is some sleep. I kept thinking about what the front desk clerk said about Dulce. How she is still taking care of her grandmother.

I open the cookie box and take a bite, closing my eyes at how good they taste just like the first time.

Digging my wallet out of my pants pocket, I open it and unfold the little paper she gave me four years ago.

The one with her phone number still on it.

My phone rings for the sixth time. I reach over blindly to grab it and decline the call. It’s 7 a.m. My tongue is stuck to the roof of my mouth.

My phone rings again, and an unknown number flashes on the screen. I answer, thinking it might be one of the guys on my team. I want nothing more than to tell him to fuck off forwaking me up this early, reminding me how much my back hurts sleeping on this horrible mattress.

“Hello,” I bark.

“Is that a way to greet your favorite ex?”

Squinting, I try to focus on the screen. I recognize that annoying voice trying too hard to be sultry, landing between forced and irritating. “Summer.”

“It’s been a while.”

“How the fuck did you get this number?”

“Still mad at me?”

“It’s seven in the morning, Summer.”

“Trent gave me your number. Don’t be mad at him. You know he can’t say no when I ask him nicely.”

“Bet you asked him nicely.” She laughs.

“Wanna catch up? Have coffee? I live in Mooresville now, but you like driving, so…”

“Even if you lived next door, that’s still a no.”

“I miss you,” she says softly. “I mean, I’ll always miss you.”

“As you can see from the tabloids, I haven’t missed you.”

She sighs. “Why are you so bitter?”

Hmm…let’s see, after I broke up with you,youlied to me that you were on the pill. Told me you were pregnant in hopes it would stop me from leaving. When that didn’t work, you told my parents I knocked you up so I would be forced to marry you, then had an abortion, six weeks later, got drunk, and fucked Trent before prom night to make me jealous so I would hate my friend.

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