Finding Olivia (Trace + Olivia #1) (3 page)

“You okay?” He asked, glancing over my body for any scrapes.

“Wonderful,” I stared at one of the cars on a lift.

Trace chuckled. “You must be accident prone.”

“Huh?” I finally looked at him, chewing on my bottom lip, and nervously wringing my fingers together.

He ran his fingers through his short dark hair, flashing me a peek at a
scripted tattoo on the inside of his bicep.

“Last night it was your tire,” he grinned
, ticking it off on his finger, “and today you’ve already fallen,
twice
.”

“Oh
—uh—I’m not normally so clumsy,” I explained.

Oh, God. I said uh, again. Why did every word in my vocabulary seem to leave me when he was around?

“Must be the shoes,” he commented, pointing to deathtraps on my feet.

Looking down, I muttered, “Maybe.”

“Where’s your car?” He looked around, like he expected it to be in the garage.

“Outside,” I pointed unnecessarily.

Trace nodded, and wiped his greasy hands off, on a rag sticking out of his back pocket.

I followed him outside
, and made a strangled noise in my throat when I saw Avery pressed up against the garage wall, with the vest man attacking her mouth.

I covered my eyes, gagging. No one should have to see that much tongue in a public place.

Trace laughed. “Luca! Where’d you find this one?!”

I blushed, letting my hand drop from my eyes. “She’s my roommate.”

“That right?” Trace glanced over his shoulder at me with a raised brow.

I nodded.

“She seems like a…lovely girl,” he smirked. “Keys?”

“Oh, right,” I tossed him
my car keys and he caught them easily.

I stood out of the way while he drove the car into the garage and onto a lift.

“You can come in now,” he motioned me inside.

I glared at Avery, but she was oblivious. She was supposed to be helping me and not making out with a stranger! I’d already made a fool out of myself by falling
on top
of Trace. There was no telling what I would do next.

“I don’t bite,” Trace grinned, when
I didn’t step into the garage.

I forced each foot in front of the other and stopped next to him. He was already removing the spare tire and tossed it into the corner.

He grabbed a new tire from the front corner of the garage and lifted it into place like it weighed nothing.

“Are y
ou from around here?” He asked, making small talk.

“No,” I shook my head, “I’m from New
Hampshire. I’m going to Shenandoah University so I guess this is kind of my home now. I certainly don’t plan on going back.”

“Why not?” He squinted when he glanced at me.

“It’s not important,” I shrugged. I didn’t need to go into detail about my dad and his controlling nature. It would only sour my mood.

“Sorry, I’m prying,” he smiled sheepishly.
“If I ask you what you’re studying, would that be too personal?” He tightened a bolt, holding the tire in place.

“I’m studying to be an English teacher but I’d really like to write a book someday. I probably won’t though,” I shrugged.

“Why wouldn’t you?”

I snorted. “I’m sure I’d suck at it.”

“You don’t know until you try,” he replied and my eyes zeroed in on the muscles flexing in his arms.

My hormones seemed to go into overdrive when I was around Trace. I had never been attracted to someone, like I was with Trace. True, he was insanely good looking. But it was more than that. There was something about
him
that drew me in.

“I don’t think I’ve experienced enough to
write a book,” I reasoned, toeing the ground.

Trace stopped working and turned towards me. “Isn’t that the point though? It’s fiction, you make it up.”

“But it still needs to be realistic,” I rambled, waving my hands through the air as I talked.

“Olivia, you’re overthinking this,” he
stopped what he was doing and crossed his arms over his chest, a wrench dangling between his fingers. “If you want to write a book, you just sit down, and start writing.”

I wet my lips and looked down at my hands to avoid his stare.

He finished putting the tire on, leaving me to my thoughts.

My car lowered to the ground and Trace popped the hood.

“What are you doing?” I asked, coming to life again.

“You’re already here,” he shrugged, “and according to the sticker in your car, you’re due for an oil change.”

“Oh, right,” I muttered. “I forgot.”

Trace grinned, sweeping his dark hair out of his eyes.

I grew quiet again as I watched his movements. It was clear that Trace knew what he was doing and he loved it. He smiled and whistled under his breath the entire time he worked on my car.

“You’re good to go,” he announced, closing the hood of my car.

“What do I owe you?” I asked, digging through the bottomless pit of my purse to locate my wallet.

Trace made a noise in the back of his throat and waved his hand through the air. “It’s on the house.”

“No!” I cried. “I can’t let you do that!” I might not have been a car expert, but I knew enough to know that tires weren’t cheap, and neither was oil.

Trace crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his hip against the side of my car. Grinning cockily
, he said, “You can make it up to me by going out for lunch.”

“With you?” I choked.

“Well,” his smile deepened, “that was kind of a given.”

I felt like I was being strangled. “Fine,” I conceded, “but I’m paying for my own lunch,” I pointed at him menacingly.

He snorted. “Nice try, but a
gentleman
never lets a lady pay for her own meal.”

“This is the twenty-first century for Christ sake! I can pay for my food!” I was about two seconds away from stomping my foot, but held myself back.

Trace watched me, not saying a word, waiting for me to calm down.

“You good now?” He asked after a moment.

“I’m good,” I tugged on my sweater to have something to do with my hands.

“So, we can get lunch now? ‘Cause I’m starving,” he grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corner
s. He grabbed a green plaid shirt that hung on a hook next to the open garage door and shrugged it on.

“Yes,” I
snapped and he straightened from his casual pose, “but I
am
paying for
my
meal.”

“You just keep on
thinking that,” he brushed by me with a cocky grin.

Damn that grin and what it did to my insides.

I followed him outside and to the right of the rectangular building.

Handing me my keys, he
informed me, “Your car will be fine in the garage. Luca will close and lock it when he leaves for lunch…if he leaves, that is.”

“Who’s Luca?” I asked, stan
ding next to the passenger door of Trace’s sleek black sports car. It was definitely old, but well maintained. However, with my limited knowledge of car brands, I had no clue what it was.

“I’m sure your friend will introduce you to him,” he winked.

“Oh,” I gulped, remembering him calling out that name when we passed them.

Trace slid into his car and motioned me to get inside.

I took a deep breath, hoping that this was a good idea. I mean, I didn’t really know Trace, and I was getting into his car to go Lord knows where.

“You don’t have to look so scared,” he grinned when I slid inside, running my fingers over the buttery smooth leather seats.

“I’m not scared,” I scoffed. “Okay, maybe a little,” I admitted. “This isn’t something I normally do.”

“Eat lunch?” He quirked a brow, a smile tugging his lips up crookedly.

“Ha, ha,” I scrunched up nose. “No, what I mean is, I don’t normally get into the car of a guy I just met.”

He smiled again, the one that made panties drop everywhere. “But we didn’t
just
meet. If I recall, we met last night.”

“Why do I feel like I would never win an argument with you?” I grumbled.

“Because you wouldn’t,” he smirked, backing out. “I’m a Wentworth and we never lose an argument. It’s in our blood.”

I laughed at his comment.
“Where are we going?” I asked, watching Pete’s Garage disappear behind us.

“To get lunch,” he answered, rubbing his stubbled jaw.

I rolled my eyes. “Thanks Einstein, but I knew that.”

“Just a little sandwich shop,” he shrugged. “Nothing fancy.”

We grew quiet and I let out a giggle.

“What?” Trace flicked his gaze to me.

“Do you think they’ve come up for air yet?” I asked, picturing the way Luca and Avery had been going at it when we left.

Trace chuckled. “Probably not. If anything…”

“What?” I questioned.

“They’re probably dirtying up the hood of his car,” he snorted.

“Oh! Ew!” I covered my eyes, trying to block out the mental image he’d conjured up.

Having
a preacher for a father, talking about sex had been taboo in our house, making me a little squeamish on the topic. Even though I had lost my virginity at a party last year, it hadn’t been that great, and honestly it had happened so quick that I couldn’t quite remember it.

Trace chuckled. “You should see some of the dents in the hood.”

“Trace!” I squealed.

“Don’t hide your face,” he grabbed my left hand and tugged it down. Reluctantly, I let my right
hand fall as well. “Your face is far too beautiful to hide,” his fingers skimmed over my chin before he gripped the steering wheel once more.

My cheeks flamed at his words and a fire shot through my belly, heading south.

Trace parked against the curb, and I climbed out of the car, avoiding his gaze.

How could he make me feel so fluttery inside when I had just met him?

He dug some change out of his pocket and put it in the parking meter.

I followed him inside the building like an obedient dog. He ordered his sandwich
, and then looked over his shoulder at me, motioning me forward to order.

I shook my head, the braid
bobbing against my shoulder. “Nice try.”

He glared at me,
his green eyes darkening. “Olivia,” he said warningly, “order something to eat.”

“So
demanding,” I grumbled, stepping forward and ordering the first thing I saw off the menu.

He leaned against the counter, handing his debit card to the woman working there.

“My mama raised me right,” he told me, “and that means you never let a lady pay for her own meal.”

“I think you already mentioned that,” I took one of the glasses of water the lady had placed on the counter.

“And apparently,” he grinned, slipping his wallet into his back pocket, “it didn’t get through your thick skull,” he tapped my forehead.

If he kept touching me, even if it was
only silly little touches like this, I was going to melt into a puddle of goo.

He grabbed his own glass of water and we picked an empty table w
hile we waited for our sandwiches to be made.

“I’ve been wondering something…” I
paused, searching for the right words to ask my question.

“Ask away,” Trace grinned, tipping his chair back on two legs.

“Why did you stop to help me last night?” I bit my lip.

His smile widened. “Gentleman, remember?” He tapped his chest. “I wasn’t going to leave you on the side of the road, for anyone to stop, when I could help you.”

“Well, thank you,” I took a sip of water, wetting my suddenly dry mouth.

“It’s not a problem,” he shrugged, gripping his glass of water. His fingers were long and elegant, his arm
s sinewy.

I didn’t know what to say after that, so I chose to keep my mouth shut
, before something embarrassing came out.

Our food was brought out, and my stomach rumbled to life.
That Special K Bar Avery gave me hadn’t helped to satisfy my hunger.

“This is really good,” I commented, after swallowing my first bite.

“I thought you might like this place,” he took a massive bite of his own sandwich.

“It’s delicious,” I bit into the sandwich again, “and this place is really homey.” I glanced around the café.

“I don’t like to eat at the mainstream places,” Trace took a sip of water and my eyes followed the curve of his lips as they wrapped around the glass.

Oh, God. I was staring at his lips! What was wrong with me? I acted like I’d never been around the male species before! The one time I
needed
Avery and she ditched me! She was going to hear a rant from me later.