Finding Olivia (Trace + Olivia #1) (11 page)

Trace chuckled.

“You really like slamming me against your car door,” I groaned, rubbing my shoulder.

Trace waggled his eyebrows and put the car in park. “What can I say? Slamming you into things has a certain kind of appeal,” he looked me up and down.

I gulped, my eyes widening like a cornered rabbit
, as I grappled for the door handle.

Trace chuckled. “I was just kidding…unless you’re into that kind of thing,” he winked.

Oh my God! He needed to stop it before I did something stupid, like tell him he could slam me against anything he wanted.

My cheeks flamed at my thoughts. Apparently, after a year, Avery’s ways were finally rubbing off on me. She’d be so proud.

Trace continued to chuckle as he got out of the car. I climbed out, and followed him into Dairy Queen, my legs shaking like limp noodles. All Trace had to do was suggest something remotely sexual and my body immediately responded. As Avery liked to say, he was the kind of guy that could make you have an orgasm just by talking.

I covered my cheeks with my hands, willing the heat in them to leave. Maybe Avery could give me a lesson in
not
blushing. In all the time I had known her, she had never blushed, while I seemed unable to turn it off.

“What do you want?” He asked, motioning for me to order.

“Oh,” I mumbled, stepping up to the counter, scrutinizing the menu. “Um, I’ll have the double fudge cookie dough blizzard,” I mumbled and stepped back. I didn’t see how I could go wrong with that.

Trace ordered a pineapple sundae and we stood off to the side
and waited.

Once we were handed our ice cream
, we took a seat on the other side, away from the commotion of the counter.

The seats were old fashioned, with blue and red
, shiny cushions. A mural of various ice creams and candies decorated one wall, while the opposite wall was made entirely of windows.

We sat down at one of the tables next to the windows. It was dark outside
, but it seemed brighter with the light from inside the Dairy Queen, and the various shops across the street.

“Pineapple?” I raised a brow as Trace took a bite.

“I like pineapple,” he shrugged, “therefore pineapple
and
ice cream are a winning combination. I can also delude myself into believing it was semi healthy when I feel guilty later.”

I laughed. “You sound like you have a vagina.”

He snorted. “I don’t, but feel free to check it out if you want.”

“I’m good,” I looked away, taking a bite of my ice cream. “So, you don’t eat a lot of sweets?” I asked.

He frowned. “I
try
not to, but Skittles are my guilty pleasure.”

I la
ughed, remembering the bowl of Skittles on his coffee table.

“I try to eat healthy,
not like most guys living on their own,” he explained. “My mom made sure that my brother and I could cook.”

“Those stuffed shells you made were delicious,” I licked my lips free of ice cream.

He grinned. “I knew my stuffed shells would impress you.”

I rolled my eyes, silently scolding my cheeks for flaming at his words. “How do you manage to make everything sound dirty?”

He smirked cockily. “What can I say? It’s a gift.”

“That’s some gift,” I laughed.

“Not everyone can be this talented,” he winked, and then swirled his tongue around the spoon, licking away every drop of ice cream.

I think my ovaries may have exploded.

Heat rushed through my body, and I knew not even the ice cream I was currently eating, could smolder it.

Damn
Trace Wentworth.

He finished his sundae and waited patiently for me to finish mine.

“I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he leaned back in the chair.

Ugh, couldn’t he have just kept quiet about that?

Men.

I waved my hand in dismissal.

“I really am,” he added.

“Can we just not talk about it,” I pleaded.

“Sure,” he shrugged, clasping his fingers together. “Whatever you want.”

“Thanks,” I mumbled, staring down at the ice cream like it was the most interesting thing I had ever seen.

“You get embarrassed easily, don’t you?” He questioned.

I sighed, looking up to meet his eyes. “Yeah. I like to believe it’s a byproduct of being raised by my dad and not just
me…being me,” I shrugged.

“
Everyone
gets embarrassed now and then,” he replied.

“Even you?” I looked at him in disbelief.

“Even me,” he chuckled. “Just not as much as I used to when I was an awkward tween,” he winked.

I doubted Trace had
ever
been awkward or as easily embarrassed as I was. It seemed impossible. He was always calm, cool, and collected.

I finished my ice cream and Trace drove me back to the dorms.

“Well,” he grinned, looking over at me, “goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” I smiled back, opening the car door.

I was closing the door when he exclaimed, “Oh, Olivia!”

“Yeah?” I opened the door wide and leaned my head inside.

The panty dropper smile graced his lips, causing a fire to erupt inside me. “I hope you dream of me.”

My heart skipped a beat
, and he chuckled, having caused the desired effect.

“And I hope we’re doing all kinds of naughty things
,” he added and then began to laugh at my bug-eyed reaction.

“I hate you,” I hissed

“Hate is such a passionate word, Olivia,” he grinned, reaching up to push his dark hair out of his eyes, causing my mouth to water.
I
wanted to be the one pushing that hair out of his eyes.

I eased my head back out of the car
, but before I closed the door, I hissed, “And I hope
you
dream of me
passionately
shoving my foot up your cocky ass.”

I slammed the door closed but it did nothing to hide his booming laughter.

I stomped up to my dorm room cursing his name, because I knew now, that I would certainly dream of all the naughty things I wanted to do with him.

c h a p t e r

Nine

I kicked at random pebbles as I strode up to Pete’s Garage. I had no idea if we were doing any of the things on my list today. All Trace had said was, “We’ll hang out for a while and see what happens.”

That sounded ominous to me.

Any number of things could happen.

We could play Yahtzee or end
up egging someone’s house or—

I really needed to stop thinking before my thoughts moved on to dangerous ideas.

I stepped into the garage, and Trace looked over at me, a smile lighting his face.

He waved me over
, and then motioned for me to sit on a stack of tires.

“It may not be the most comfortable thing ever, but it’s better than sitting on the floor,” he shrugged, pointing to the concrete floor riddled with stains from leaky cars.

“True,” I smiled. “So, what are we doing?”

Trace waggled a grease-covered finger at me. “I’m not telling.”

“Shocker,” I deadpanned, causing him to laugh.

He grinned and pointed at the car on the lift. “I’ll be done in no time.”

“Alright,” I sighed, kicking my feet against the stack of tires. “How come no one ever seems to be here but you and Luca?”

“I prefer to work late,” he shrugged. “The other guys are usually gone by four o’ clock.”

“Huh,” I commented, cupping my face in my hands, and leaning forward, watching as Trace expertly began rotating the tires.

When it came to cars, everything seemed to be as easy
as breathing to him.

He lifted one of the tires off, and I wouldn’t have been
a female if I wasn’t affected by the way his muscles flexed and rippled, glistening with sweat.

Even
dirty, covered in grease and sweat, Trace was the sexiest man I had ever laid my eyes on.

I looked over at his car
, the older one, parked outside the garage, and a question popped into my mind.

“Trace?”
I voiced.

“Yeah?” He asked, looking over at me, those green eyes rendering me speechless for a moment.

Shaking my head, I asked, “Your car…I’m no expert but isn’t that a classic?”

“Yeah, it is,” he grinned, lighting up. Trace truly loved cars, had a passion for them
, a passion that a lot of people didn’t have for anything. “My dad and I fixed it up together. It was a hobby of his, restoring old cars. It’s where I got the knack for it. He gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday. Best day of my life,” he stared off into the distance, remembering something. “My dad was a mechanic too. Some might say it’s not a glamorous job,” he spread his arms wide, encompassing the garage, “but it’s rewarding to fix something. I especially love restoring cars, like we did with that one,” he flicked his head toward his car. “There’s something so satisfying in taking this broken piece of metal and turning it into something beautiful.”

I looked down at the ground. “Is that why you want to help me? Are you just wanting to fix me and make me beautiful again?”

Suddenly, he was in front of me, his boots blocking the ground I was staring a hole in.

With a finger under my chin, he lifted my face up to his. “Olivia, you’re already beautiful, and you’re definitely not broken. Lost? Yes. But not broken.”

“What’s the difference?” I asked.

“A broken person wouldn’t have t
his spark of life that you have,” he spoke fiercely. “You’re just lost, like so many others, trying to find your way in this world. Trying to find who you are.”

“Who am I, Trace?”

He grinned. “That’s what we’re going to find out.”

He stepped away, going back to work on the old Subaru. 

“You were talking in the past tense,” I noted.

“Huh?” He looked over his shoulder at me, his brows knitting together.

“About your dad. You said he
was
a mechanic.”

“Oh, right,” Trace
mumbled, taking a deep breath, and bracing a hand against the side of the car. “He died four years ago. Motorcycle accident. Truck didn’t see him,” he shrugged, his eyes dark. “I used to have a motorcycle,” he mused, “but after that, I haven’t been able to go near one.”

I
felt the pain and the sadness that accompanied what Trace was telling me. Obviously, he had been close to his dad, and the loss was still hard on him. I wanted to hug him, just wrap my arms around him and tell him that everything would be okay, but I wasn’t sure if he would be okay with me doing that. So, instead I stayed where I was, sitting on the stack of old tires.

“I’m sorry,” I
murmured, “I can tell you were close with him.”

“He was my best friend,” Trace smiled sadly. “He was the greatest dad anyone could ever ask for, and he was taken away too soon. I was angry for a long time,” he
sighed, and I was surprised that he was talking so openly about this. From his stance, and the way his eyes had darkened, I knew this was a difficult topic for him. “I didn’t like being that angry. It made me hurt the people I was closest too, the ones that mattered the most.”

“How did you stop being angry?”
I questioned, wondering if I could ever get rid of the anger bottled up inside me that was caused by my dad.

He pondered
my question for a moment. “The hate I felt was eating me alive. I didn’t like the person I was becoming. I didn’t like being someone my mom and grandparents were disgusted by. I decided that I wasn’t going to be that guy anymore. My dad didn’t raise me to act like that. He raised me to be a good man and I was spitting on his memory. In order to cope with my dad’s death, I lashed out at those closest to me. I did some horrible things, Olivia. Things I’m ashamed of,” he shook his head, his eyes far away in another time and place. “I realized that I needed to be the man I was before, the man my father knew and respected, in order to
truly
heal. I decided that I couldn’t let my pain consume me anymore. My dad wouldn’t have wanted that for me. So, here I am,” he pointed to his chest, “being me.”

I smiled. “Well, I like who you are.”

“Good,” he grinned, grabbing one of his many tools. “And, in case you were wondering, I like who you are too,” he winked.

My heart soared as Trace turned back to the car.

I hated that I was so pathetic that only a few kind words from him sent my heart racing.

“Done,” Trace announced, a few minutes later, lowering the car.

I hopped off the tires, and made my way outside, leaning against the building as I waited for him.

He park
ed the car he’d been working on, outside, and closed the garage door.

I followed him upstairs to his apartment.

Since I felt more comfortable this time, I studied the place as Trace showered.

It was surprisingly clean and tidy for a guy. There wasn’t anything sitting out that could be considered clutter…unless you counted the bowl of
Skittles.

The apartment had an industrial feel with high ceilings and exposed beams and pipes.
The back wall and the wall across from the couch were painted an ocean blue-gray color, while the other two walls and kitchen area, were painted beige.

I made my way over to the window, the wood floors creaking
under my steps.

I expected to look out
, and see a junkyard of old cars out back, but was pleasantly surprised to see woods, and even a small creek. I was sure, that during the summer when the leaves were green, it was breathtaking.

Turning around, I took in a
round metal column that separated the kitchen from the living room.

The apartment
was nice…homey even. It was the last thing you’d expect from a twenty-two year old guy.

I
started over to the couch, my feet sinking into a plush rug, as I waited for Trace to get ready for…whatever it was we’d be doing.

The door to the bathroom opened and steam billowed out, followed by Trace, with only a small
gray towel wrapped around his waist.

Oh, sweet baby Jesus.

I watched as a droplet of water trickled down his chest, into the dips and curves of his abs, and finally disappeared into the towel.

My eyes roamed over his tattoos and my tongue flicked out to moisten my dry lips.

Trace chuckled and I blushed, turning away, embarrassed that he caught me staring. I wished I could be bold all the time, like when I showed him my belly button piercing, but those moments were few and far between.

His bedroom door clicked closed and I breathed out a sigh of relief.

The door opened again
and my heart stuttered in my chest. He came out in a clean pair of jeans, a white V-neck tee that showed off his tanned collarbone with the edge of the tattoo over his heart peeking out, and shrugged into a red and blue plaid shirt.

He ran his long fingers through his damp hair, trying to dry it.

He fixed the collar of his shirt and nodded at the door.

I stood, following him outside
, and around back where his newer car was parked.

We were both quiet as he drove, getting on the Interstate
, and heading north.

Trace got off at the exit that led to Target and
a strip mall. But instead of turning right, to head towards that area, he went left.

We passed a Denny’s on our right and a Sheetz on the left. Neither of which gave me a clue as to where we were going.

I glanced over at Trace, who was staring straight ahead at the road, a smirk lifting his lips.

I kept quiet, wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans, as we turned
, and headed into a part of town I’d never been to before.

He pulled into the packed parking lot of a restaurant called, Backseat Bar and Grill.

“We’re here,” he announced, as if I hadn’t figured that out already. The question was,
why
were we here? The mischievous grin Trace wore told me that we weren’t here to eat.

I trailed along behind him, trying not to reach up and slap that smirk right off his face.

He held the door open for me and I stepped inside, my eyes greeted by red and white old-fashioned tiles and booths.

“This way,” Trace nodded to the other side of the restaurant where the bar was.

My eyes lit upon a sign. I read the words carefully. Once. Twice. Three times.

Karaoke night!
7pm to Closing!

“Hell no!” I backed away, but somehow Trace had moved so he was no longer in front of me. Instead, he was behind me, and I bumped into his chest, his hands gripping my upper arms.

“Don’t even think about running away, Olivia,” he whispered in my ear. “I will chase your ass down and drag you back in here.”

“But-but-”

“You’re getting up there, and you’re singing,” he responded.

I took a deep breath. I really had to stop freaking out every time we did something on my list.

The problem was, I was
scared
to do those things, which was why I had wanted to do them in the first place. Maybe that was strange, but I was sick of being sheltered.

My dad wasn’t
holding me back anymore.

I was.

I straightened my shirt, steeling myself for what I was about to do.

“I’ve got this,” I muttered, striding forward,
passed the leering guys sitting at the bar.

I
felt, rather than saw, Trace’s grin at my words.

I found an empty table, sliding into the booth.

Trace slid in across from me, still grinning widely. Did he
ever
stop smiling?

I glanced over my shoulder at the area where the karaoke was set up.
I gulped down the lump in my throat.

“It’ll be fine,” Trace crooned.

“You’re not the one that’s going to have to sing in front a bunch of strangers!” I hissed.

“That’s true,” he chuckled, leaning back in the booth as a waitress appeared.

Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy bun and her pen was poised against a notepad.

“Can I get you anything to eat or drink? Do you need some more time to look at the menu?” She asked.

I looked down at the red and white menu
, that had been on the table when we sat down, with a picture of a girl from the ‘60’s and a classic red convertible. I hated to inform her, but I hadn’t even cracked open the menu.

“Sweet tea,” I answered, “and I’m not very hungry.” I picked up the menu and handed it to her.

Actually, I was hungry. But if I was going to sing, it had to be on an empty stomach, or I’d end up throwing up on the floor in front of everybody.

“A chocolate milkshake, that’s all,” Trace replied.

“I’ll be back with that, and if either of you change your mind, and want something to eat, let me know,” she smiled before heading for the kitchen.