Finding Olivia (Trace + Olivia #1) (8 page)

“How does this feel, Olivia?” He asked,
resting his chin on my shoulder.

“Like freedom,” I smiled,
closed my eyes, and let him guide me.

★★★

Trace didn’t make me skate for long, which I was grateful for.

It was okay, but I didn’t like it that much. Maybe
, if I had tried it when I was younger I would have enjoyed it, but not now.

He helped me back to the carpeted area and I sat down on the nearest bench, yanking off the skates.

“You did good for a first timer,” Trace grinned, mussing his hair.

I laughed. Who was he trying to fool?

“I’m pretty sure I drew blood from squeezing your arm. I don’t call that good,” I peered up at him.

He sat next to me and rolled up the sleeve of his shirt.

Sure enough, there were five, very red, half-moon indents. A trickle of blood had escaped one of the marks and dried on his arm.

“Told ya,” I
picked up the skates and headed to where I’d left my shoes.

Trace followed behind me, his skates dangling from his fingers.

“I still think you did good,” he stated and I saw him shrug out of the corner of my eye.

“You’re such a liar,” I scolded him, sitting down to put my shoes on.

He smirked, his lips upturned on one corner. “Okay, maybe I am, but I’m not lying now.”

I rolled my eyes and
wadded up Trace’s socks. “I’ll wash these before I give them back,” I tried to put them in my purse, which I had grabbed from the cubby my shoes had been in, but Trace reached out and snagged them from me.

“I know how to work a washing machine, O
livia,” he grinned. “I promise,” he added. “I even know how to add fabric softener. Smell, it’s Mountain Spring,” he said sarcastically, holding the end of his shirt under my nose.

“Fine, wash them,” I stood. “It’s not like they’re dirty from my feet or anything.”

“I’m not afraid of your dirty socks, Olivia,” he grinned, leaning against the wall. His green eyes sparkled with carefully contained laughter.

“Technically they’re
your
dirty socks,” I walked over to the counter to return the roller skates.

“Ah,” he followed after me, “they may be my socks, but you’re the one that dirtied them.”

“Why are we still talking about socks?” I stopped, throwing my hands in the air, and he ran into me. “I told you that I would wash them.”

“I like messing with you,” he made his way around me, sauntering cockily up to the counter and dropping his skates loudly.

I returned my skates as well and followed Trace out the door.

He made sure to hold each
door for me and I thought it was sweet.

Back in the car, he slipped his beanie on and perched his sunglasses
atop his elegant nose.

I clasped my hands together so that I wouldn’t reach over and run my fingers along the stubble grazing his jaw.

“I’m hungry,” he announced.

“Okaaay,” I drew out the word.

“Wanna go to Sonic?” He asked, and I remembered passing one before we got here.

“Sure,” I shrugged. “I’ve never been there.”

His jaw dropped. “You’ve
never
been to Sonic?”

“Nope, never. I don’t
think there were very many in New Hampshire,” I explained. “Plus, my dad wouldn’t let us eat out. We always had home cooked meals.”

Trace looked at me like I had spoken a foreign language. “There are so many things I need to show you. You haven’t experienced anything.”

I blushed at his words and hid my face behind the curtain of my hair.

“Don’t do that,” he murmured, reaching up to brush my long hair behind my ear, “Never hide your face from me.”

My breath came out in short gasps. He’d said something similar the day he took me to lunch.

He sm
oothed his thumb over my cheek and let his hand drop.

★★★

“
This
, is Sonic?” I asked, looking around the parking space he’d pulled into, that was surrounded on both sides by a menu. Other cars were parked in different spots, all with the same setup.

“Yep,” he grinned, turning off his car
, and manually rolling down his window.

“This is weird,” I glanced at the two different menus.

Trace chuckled and I whipped my head in his direction. “What?” I snapped.

“Your
face is priceless,” he snickered.

“This is kind of overwhelming,” I looked f
rom the menu on his side of the car and back to the one on mine.

“Relax, it’s really not. This is the food menu,” he explained, pointing to the menu on his side, “breakfast, lunch, desert, the whole shebang. That one,” he pointed to the one beside me, “is just for promotional stuff.”

“Oh,” I nodded, feeling relieved. I tended to overreact whenever I was presented with something new.

I leaned towards Trace,
careful not to touch him, so I could read the menu.

“You have to try their tater tots, they’re the best,” he commented.

I scooted back to my side of the car. “Just order me whatever you’re having.”

“You sure?” He raised a brow.

“I’m not picky,” I smiled.

“Okay,” he hesitated for a moment
, before pushing the red button, and waiting for someone to respond.

After he ordered our food, I looked over at him and
probed, “Tell me something about yourself. You know about my dad and my list, but I really don’t know anything about you. That doesn’t seem fair.”

He grinned, flashing only a small amount of his straight white teeth. “What do you want to know?”

“Anything you want me to know,” I relaxed into the seat.

“Hmm,” he mused, “
I have a little brother, Trent. He’s seventeen and a senior in high school. We’re close despite the fact that I’m five years older.”

“So, you’re twenty-two?” I asked.

“Someone knows their math,” he joked.

“Is there anything else you’d like to tell me?” I pestered, curious to find out more about Trace. I had opened myself up to him, for some reason, and I wanted him to do the same with me. I wanted to know the real man behind the cocky panty-dropping smile.

He grew quiet and I could hear the wheels turning in his head. He snapped his fingers and grinned. “I like to dance.”

“Dance?” I questioned, my brows raised. Trace didn’t strike me as a dancer.

“Yeah,” he replied, “I suck at it, but I enjoy it. I dance while I work on cars, I dance while I cook, you never know when it’s gonna happen.”

I put a hand over my mouth to stifle my laugh,
as I pictured Trace dancing in the middle of the grocery store, or some other odd place.

“That’s very
—uh—interesting,” I giggled.

“Hey, you’re the one that wanted to know something about me,” he shrugged, with his residual smirk.

“Right you are,” I smiled as a girl appeared on Trace’s side of the car, with a tray full of food, and drinks.

Trace sat up, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. I didn’t even bother fumbling through my purse for mine. I knew Trace wouldn’t accept any money for my meal. Stubborn
man.

He took the food and drinks,
placing them on the bench seat in his car.

He handed her a bill and waved her away.

“Raspberry tea for the lady,” he handed me a Styrofoam cup. Since there were no cup holders, I held it between my knees. “Tater tots and a hotdog,” he placed the items on the seat with a wad of napkins, before pulling out identical items for himself. “And,” he pointed to the two extra cups, “these are our desert.”

“What is it? A chocolate shake?” I inspected the top of it.

Trace grimaced. “No, it’s a chocolate malt. There’s a big difference. Prepare to have your world rocked,” he chuckled, ripping open a packet of ketchup, and dumping it on his tater tots. “Want some?” He held up another packet.

I shook my head. “I hate ketchup.”

He gasped. “How is it possible to hate ketchup? It’s one of the single most delicious food items
ever
.”

“It’s gross,” I glared at the red goo covering his tater tots.

“Suit yourself,” he popped one in his mouth.

I happily ate a plain
, non-ketchup drenched, tater tot, and Trace chuckled.

“You are one interesting girl
, Olivia Owens,” he commented, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“Interesting is always better than boring,” I smiled, biting into the hotdog. “This is really good,” I pointed to the food.

He stretched his arm along the bench seat. “Told ya.”

We finished eating and stayed parked to drink our chocolate malts. It was thick but delicious. Trace kept
smiling at me as I drank the malt.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he grinned, shaking his head. His dark hair fell over his green eyes and he promptly pushed it back.

“No, you’re thinking something,” I insisted. “Tell me.”

“It’s just…who would’ve thought that the girl I stopped to help with her flat tire, would be sitting in my car right now. I’m just…I’m glad I met you,” he shrugged.

“I’m glad I met you too,” I smiled.

He grinned cockily. “I’m sure you are.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re so cocky.”

“No, I’m confident. There’s a big difference in confident and cocky,” he winked, taking the straw into his mouth, and my eyes followed the movement of his lips. Those lips should be illegal and I hadn’t even had a taste yet.

I blushed at my
thoughts and turned away from him.

“Why do you do that?” Trace asked, perplexed.

“Do what?” I questioned, reluctantly turning to face him.

“Blush and then look away. I
know you’re still blushing even if I can’t see you,” he leaned against the driver’s side door to face me fully.

“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “I guess it’s a defense mechanism.”

“Why do you need to be defensive about blushing? It’s a perfectly normal reaction,” he licked a drop of chocolate malt from his lip and my heart stuttered in my chest.

I took a deep breath and stuck my finger into the whipped cream. “You don’t understand the kind of home I grew up in,” I reasoned, licking off the whipped cream.

His green eyes darkened as he watched my finger. I blushed again. I wished I could turn off the blushing, but around Trace my cheeks seemed to have a permanent rosy hue.

“Then make me understand,” he insisted.

“Not today,” I sighed. “I’m having a good time and I don’t want to ruin it by talking about things that I wish would stay in the past.”

“Fair enough,” he grinned, changing the subject by talking about random things,
like music and favorite colors.

I liked how Trace unde
rstood when not to push me. He would let me tell him about myself on my terms. It was nice not having someone trying to pry information out of me.

I smiled the rest of the afternoon we spent together and even late into the night. Not even grumpy Avery could sour my mood.

c h a p t e r

Seven

“Where are you going?” Avery asked, pushing away from her desk as I headed towards the door.

“I have plans with Trace. I’m supposed to meet him at the garage. He gets off work soon,” I explained, lifting my purse onto my shoulder.

“Oh,” she
frowned.

“Still upset over Luca?” I asked.

“No,” she answered hastily, turning away from me.

“You are,” I grinned.

She turned back around and my smile faded. Avery truly was hurt.

“I just…I thought I understood men, but Luca seems to be entirely different. I can’t read him at all,” she shrugged
, playing with the ends of her hair. “Normally, I know when a guy’s into me, but with Luca, I’m clueless. I can’t tell whether he hates me, tolerates me, or actually likes me. He doesn’t say much,” she mused.

I felt bad for her, I did, but I also found her situation funny too, because it wasn’t like her to be this…worked up over a guy. Avery’s confidence level was through the roof, but something about Luca made her…insecure.

“Maybe that’s because you’re too busy kissing each other to carry on a conversation,” I laughed, crossing my arms over my chest.

Avery had finally
met up with Luca, and apparently, they’d ended up doing the deed on the hood of his car. At least, that’s what Trace told me, because he said he walked in on them. Avery had told me nothing, which was unusual. Normally, she told me everything, even the gory details that I had no desire to hear. I was really starting to think she had feelings for Luca, which made me all kinds of excited. I wanted Avery to find a guy she loved and stop fooling around. She needed to learn that someone could truly care about her for
her
. I knew from what she had told me that her parents were wealthy, and had only looked at her and her brothers as an accessory. Which led her to believe that no one could ever love or want her.

“That could be it,” she laughed. “But I
have
tried to talk to him before and he gives me grunts for answers.”

I snorted.

“He’s a total caveman,” she giggled, “but I kinda like that about him. Plus, he has these big man hands, and you know I love me some man hands.”

“Avery, you’re something else,” I laughed. “I’ve really got to go though, can we talk later?”

“Sure,” she spun in her chair. I swear, one day I was going to find a way to mess up that chair, so it couldn’t twirl. “I don’t have any plans for tonight. I’ll just be here, all by myself, while my so-called best friend ditches me for a hot piece of ass.”

“Bye,” I called over my shoulder, ro
lling my eyes.

“Have fun, Livie!” She hollered as I closed the door.

I let out a sigh of relief, dashed down the steps, and out of the building.

I walked quickly to my car,
holding on tightly to the mace on my keychain. You never knew when a creeper could pop up.

I giggl
ed to myself as I got in my car; I certainly hadn’t been reaching for the mace when Trace pulled up behind me.

Shaking my head, I drove to Pete’s Garage
, and parked beside Trace’s car.

I walked arou
nd to the front of the building. The large garage door was open, exactly like when I’d been here to get my car fixed.

Music was playing loudly,
the lyrics saying something about blowing the roof off the place.

I stepped inside, looking around, hoping that Trace didn’t scare me like last time.

I walked around a car and saw him.

He
was completely oblivious to me, and I put my hand over my mouth, to stifle my giggle. He was dancing like…well…there were no words to describe Trace’s dancing style. It was interesting to say the least. In fact, I wasn’t sure if it could be considered dancing.

He held a metal car part in his hands while shaking his whole body.

This was not dancing; it was more like a seizure.

I kept my mouth covered so that I could watch him longer.

It would be cute if it wasn’t so funny.

He hadn’t been lying when he said he liked to dance, but he was right
when he said he sucked. The man had no rhythm whatsoever.

He turned and spotted me.

And holy hell, I had been too taken by the dancing to notice he was shirtless.

Shirtless and coated in a sheen of sweat.

I had never seen a man’s chest like Trace’s. It was lean and tan, but muscular, just like his arms. A light dusting of dark hair started at the bottom of his naval, and disappeared under the edge of his boxers, that I spied above the edge of his jeans.

I covered my eyes and turned around like I had caught him naked.

I was the epitome of smooth.

Not
.

His chuckle rumbled through my body and I let my hand drop. Slowly, I turned back around to face him.

He’d turned the music down, and leaned against the car he was working on, grinning cheekily at me.

“You’re early,” he pushed his hair out of his eyes. I was discovering it was a nervous habit for him.

“And you’re naked,” the words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them.

His smile grew. “I’m not quite naked yet, but if you’d like to help me get there, that’s fine by me.”

Oh. My. God.

“I’m kidding, Olivia,” he added when I stood there with a stunned look on my face. “You’re definitely a preacher’s daughter,” he commented. “But you’re going to have to get used to my sexual innuendos if you’re going to spend time with me. I can’t help myself.”

Lord, help me. Please.

“Got it,” I replied awkwardly.

My parents really should have made Awkward my middle name. It suited me better than Camille.

Olivia Awkward Owens, it had a nice ring to it.

Trace wiped his hands on his jeans, and moved around the front of the car, with the part he’d been dancing with.

I followed him, watching as he fiddled easily with the car parts.

It looked complicated to me, but he made it seem easy.

“I’m almost done here,” he glanced over his shoulder at me. “And then we’ll cross off something else.”

“Uhmm,” I replied, trying not to look at his muscular back, and the way his muscles rippled as he worked on the car. Why did he have to be so good looking?

I turned away, bobbing my head to the music. I needed to stop thinking about
how good he looked. He was my…friend and it was wrong to have these kinds of thoughts about him.

“Alright, I’m done for now,” Trace announced and I spun back around. “The owner won’t be by to pick it up till tomorrow night, so I have time to finish it,” he shrugged.

“Are you sure?” I asked, taping the toe of my right heel on the concrete floor.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he grinned.

A noise sounded at the front of the garage and I turned rapidly.

The sudden movement caused me to lose my balance and I started to fall.

“Whoa,” Trace grabbed my arm to steady me.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, fiddling with
a strand of hair.

“I didn’t mean
to scare you,” Luca mumbled in his deep voice. He was dressed much like he was the first time I saw him. Jeans, vest, and a fedora. Apparently Luca and Trace stuck to very rigid dress codes. Except when Trace was making me drool by
not
wearing a shirt, although, he was definitely drool-worthy fully clothed.

Luca
pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one.

I wasn’t sure if he ever actually smoked one, they seemed to be a part of the whole look he was going for. I still hadn’t figured out what the vests meant though.

A grin spread across Trace’s face, and he grabbed me by the hand, dragging me over to Luca.

“Looks like we can cross two things off tonight,” he smirked.

“Huh?” I was confused.

“Luca, give me one of those,” Trace held his hand out for a cigarette.

“But you don’t smoke,” Luca grumbled, “and these are expensive.”

“Luca,” Trace groaned. “Just do it.”

Luca mumbled something unintelligible but handed over a cigarette.

“Lighter,” Trace continued to hold out his hand.

Luca slapped the lighter into his palm. “I expect
that
back.”

Trace led me outside and
released my hand.

It was chilly outside, in the forties, but Trace was still shirtless. I was sure he was doing it on purpose because his bare chest was all kinds of distracting.

“Here,” he handed me the cigarette.

I glanced down at it, perplexed.

“You put smoking on your list so stop looking at it like it’s going to bite you,” he told me.

“I don’t know how to hold it,” I explained.

“Oh, like this,” he fixed my fingers around the slender white cigarette.

He motioned for me to hold it up
and I did.

He lit the end of it and waited for me to do something.

“I don’t know what to do!” I exclaimed, terrified that the thing was going to burn my fingers.

Trace chuckled and motioned for me to bring it up to my lips. “Just inhale.”

I did and it was horrible. Smoke flooded my lungs and I felt like I was being suffocated. I dropped the cigarette and Trace stomped on it to snuff it out.

Coughing, I gasped, “That was horrible.”

My eyes watered and I felt like I couldn’t breathe.

Either I’d done it wrong or other people were nuts for sucking on those things. It was awful.

“You okay?” Trace asked.

“I’ll be fine,” I wiped my eyes and struggled for
air.

I couldn’t get the horrible taste out of my mouth.

Trace took my hand, and led me to the other side of the building, the side I had never been on, and up a flight of steps.

He pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the door.

“This is my place,” he explained, leading me inside, and straight into a small kitchen area. He grabbed a bottle of water and handed it to me.

I swirled the water around my mouth and spit it out in
the sink. I did that several times before rinsing out his sink.

“Better?” He asked, leaning a hip against the linoleum countertop.

“Much,” I smiled. “But I am
never
doing that again.”

He laughed. “I figured you wouldn’t.”

“Why do people like that?” I asked, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand.

“Beats me,” he shrugged. “My grandpa used to smoke a pipe all the time, and let me tell you, that thing smelled horrible.”

I finished off the bottle of water.

Trace took it from me
, and tossed it in a recycling bin, then handed me another.

“I’m going to shower,” he nodded towards
the door that led to the bathroom, “and then we can get out of here.”

“’Gonna tell me what we’re doing?” I coaxed.

“Nope,” he grinned. “I told you before, you’re never going to know which one I’ve picked. It makes things exciting.” He motioned to a nice beige couch. “Sit down and relax. Watch TV. I don’t care,” he shrugged, heading into the only bedroom.

“Okay,” I mumbled, sitting down
, and looking around at the darkened space.

In front of the couch were two crates, flipped upside down to create a makeshift coffee table. A bowl of skittles sat on top.
Across from the couch was a nice sized flat screen TV.

Trace came out of the bedroom with clothes in his hands and flicked on a light. “You don’t need to sit in the dark, Olivia. Make yourself at home,” he smiled and closed the bathroom door.

I heard the shower turn on and breathed a sigh of relief.

My feelings for Trace were quickly escalating and even though
, at this point, we’d known each other for almost a month, it seemed too quick to be falling for someone. But could you put a time limit on something like that?

This was bad.

I couldn’t fall for Trace. He was my…friend and he could do
so
much better than me. He could have any girl he wanted, not just because of his looks, but because of his personality too, and I needed to stop pining over someone who would never be mine.

Friends, I told myself. We. Are. Just.
Friends
.

I buried my face in my hands.

I couldn’t let Trace know I liked him. There was no way he returned my feelings and he’d just give me some song and dance about how we’d never work. That’s what most guys did, right? I didn’t have any experience and was basing my assumption off of movies. Which was stupid because movies always got it wrong.