Finding Olivia (Trace + Olivia #1) (5 page)

Something inside me was saying it was now…or never.

The dorm room door opened and I hastily stuffed the piece of paper back into my pocket.

Avery dropped her backpack on the floor and promptly pulled her hair up into a ponytail.

I grabbed my textbook off my bed, and placed it in my lap, pretending to be doing my homework so Avery wouldn’t start questioning me about what I had been doing.

I had never explained my list to anyone, let alone
shown
them, but I was beginning to think differently. Avery was my best friend but I certainly didn’t plan on showing her. She’d try to cross everything off in one night.

“Have you heard from Trace?” She asked,
sagging into her desk chair, dejectedly. I guessed she’d had a hard time in class.

“He texted me,” I shrugged, like it was no big deal.

“Annnnd?” She prompted, perking up.

“We’re having dinner
Friday,” I answered.

“Aww, my little Livie is growing u
p,” Avery cooed, batting her eyes, “and finding herself a man.”

“You’re ridiculous,” I rolled my eyes.

“What? It’s about time you dated, I was starting to think you were a lesbian, and I should stop changing in front of you,” she smirked.

I tossed my pillow at her but she
easily deflected it.

“Or
maybe
,” she laughed, “you’re finally shedding that good girl preacher’s daughter image. Let your inner woman out, girl!” She exclaimed. “Let her
roar!
” She clawed dramatically at the air.

I cupped my face in my palm. “Do you think
before
you speak?”

“Rarely,” she grinned.
“What do you think you’ll wear for your date?”

“First off,” I held up a finger, “it’s not a date. Secondly,
do you only think about clothes?”

“Oh, it’s a date. And no, sex comes before clothes,” she grinned.

“Ugh,” I groaned. “You act like a horny teenage boy.”

“And someone sounds jealous,” Avery twirled around in her pink swivel chair.

“Of the fact that you’re practically a horny teenage boy? Hardly,” I snorted.

“But seriously,” she whined, still twirling, “what are you going to wear?”

She finally came to a stop and swayed dizzily.

“Probably jeans and a sweatshirt,” I shrugged.

Avery made a strangled noise in the back of her throat. “
No!
You can’t wear that!”

“W
e’ll be in the park and it’s cold out,” I shrugged.

“You still can’t wear that! A sweatshirt is completely unsuitable!” She gawked at me like I had grown three heads.

“I want to be comfortable,” I reasoned.

“You can be comfortable when you’re dead!” She squawked.

“Avery,” I rolled my eyes, “don’t be dramatic.”

“I am
not
being dramatic,” she spun in her chair again. “I’m just telling you what everyone with a vagina knows about the rules of dating,” she scoffed. “Everyone, except you, that is,” she added.

“Why does there have to be rules?” I groaned. “It’s stupid,” I
complained, falling back on my bed, the textbook on my lap falling to the side.

“There are rules for the sake of our sanity,” Avery answered, striding across the room
, and sitting on the end of my bed. I kicked at her with my feet, trying to dislodge her.

“I’m wearing a sweatshirt,” I mumbled, “whether you like it or not. I don’t want to be cold.”

“Olivia,” she whined, “that’s the point, you’re supposed to get cold, so he can offer you his coat.”

I sat up, staring her down.
“What is this? The colonial age? I swear, what handbook are you reading this from?” I grumbled.

“The one that’s been around since the dawn of time,” she reasoned with a wave of her manicured hands.

“And that’s exactly why it needs to be thrown away,” I pointed out. “Women should be able to stand on their own and not depend on a guy. Let alone these stupid rules that are the so-called guide to dating. It’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Avery grinned. “I don’t
need to depend on a guy. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I just like to take a ride on their fun stick every now and then.”

“
Avery!
” I blushed. “You did
not
just say that!”

“I did,” she smirked, smoothing a finger over her red lips. “I love how when I say dirty things your little virgin ears turn red.”

I reached up, grabbing my ears. “They do not!”

“Oh, they do,” she nodded, grinning. “Back to the important matter at hand, these rules are a means to getting laid. To a guy, a sweatshirt is like practically wearing a chastity belt
, telling him that these goods are not for sale.”

“Oh my God,” I buried my face in my hands, my hair falling around me. “When did this turn into a mission for me to get laid?
Besides, my
goods
are definitely not for sale.”

“Girl, you’re a sophomore in college
, who’s still a virgin. This has always been a mission to get you some sex, some
great
sex, and Trace is just the guy to do it. I can tell. It’s in the way he walks.”

I let my hands drop. “I’m not a virgin.”

“What? I thought you-”

“Remember last year, at that party you dragged me to?” I asked.

Avery’s mouth formed a perfect O. “No! Olivia! Not that guy! He looked like an ape!”

“He was pretty hairy,” I snorted.

Avery shuddered. “There’s no way that was a pleasant experience.”

“It wasn’t,” I shrugged. “Is it supposed to be?”

She looked at me like I had completely gone off my rocker this time. “Yes! It’s supposed to be amazing!”

“It lasted like two minutes, how is that amazing?”
I asked, avoiding Avery’s gaze by scrunching the bottom of my shirt in my hands.

Avery’s eyes threatened to bug out of her head. “Two minutes? That’s it?!”

“Well, yeah,” I shrugged.

“Oh, girl, you can do sooooo much better than that,”
Avery chuckled. “So much better,” she reiterated.

“What did you mean by
, it’s in the way he walks?” I asked.

“What?” She asked
, looking down at her hot pink nails.

“You said that you could tell Trace would be good in bed, that it’s in the way he walks,” I repeated her earlier statement.

“Oh!” She exclaimed. “Some guys have this
walk
they do. They don’t even know they’re doing it. If my experience speaks for anything, every guy that I’ve been with, that has
the walk,
knows exactly what he’s doing.” She rolled her hips and licked her lips to further drive home her point. “Trust me, Olivia, Trace can show you a good time.”

I hid my face behind my hands again. “I think I’ve reached my sex talk quota for the day.”

“Whatever,” Avery hopped up from my bed, scampering to her side of the room, “you suck.”

I turned my attention back to the homework I really needed to finish
, and forced myself to stop thinking about Trace’s walk, and wondering if Avery was right.

★★★

I no u said Friday but do you think we could do something sooner?

I gazed down at the text message from Trace, wondering what I should do.

I had some free time before my next class and planned to drive to Starbucks. So…did I go on my own, like I had planned? Or did I invite Trace?

Finally, I sighed, and replied.

I’m getting Starbucks. Meet me there?

What was the harm in getting coffee with him?

See u there. :)

My stomach rolled nervously. How could I be so affected by Trace? Why him and not another guy? What was so special about him? There had been plenty of guys in the last year who had tried to make a move on me, but I felt
nothing
, for them, while Trace caused a funny stirring in my stomach.

I tried not to think about the way he made me feel as I got in my car and drove to Starbucks.

He wasn’t there when I arrived, and I stepped up to the counter, ordering a Cinnamon Dolce latte.

The guy handed me my drink and I slipped a cardboard sleeve on it.

Surprisingly, Starbucks was mostly empty.

I took a seat at the bar in front of the window. My eyes zeroed in
on a sleek black car approaching and the butterflies started.

Oh, God.

Why had I agreed to this?

I had alread
y been crazy nervous for Friday, agreeing to see him again was only serving to make my nerves worse.

I watched him slip from his car
, and pull off his sunglasses, folding them, and hooking them onto his shirt.

He opened the door
, and looked up, smiling when he spotted me.

His cheeks were dotted in day old stubble and his eyes were a light green.

“Hey,” he grinned.

“Hi,” I squeaked, my eyes darting away from his, and connecting with the tile floor.

“Save my seat,” he winked, before getting in line, behind the few people that had trickled in.

I sipped slowly at my coffee so I didn’t burn my throat.

The stool beside me pulled out and Trace dropped into it.

I didn’t know what to say, so I stared awkwardly out the window.

He cleared his throat. “Olivia?”

I reluctantly turned to him.

“Are you okay?” He asked, looking me over.

I nodded. I couldn’t tell him that it scared me the way my body responded to him. Already, I found myself scooting closer to him. It was like he was the sun
, and I was a flower, stretching up to reach his rays.

I knew I needed to say something and stop sitting here like a mute. “I’m glad you text
ed me,” I squeaked.

“You are?” He tilted his head. “Because you don’t look that happy.”

I bit my lip. “You…you make me…nervous,” I admitted.

He grinned. “
I make lots of people nervous,” he skimmed his fingers lightly over my hand that rested on the top of the bar. “It’s a perfectly normal reaction.”

I shivered in response to his words.

“Seriously, though,” he pulled his hand away, “there’s no need for you to be nervous around me. I’m just a guy.”

I begged to differ. He was a freakin’ Adonis. And he was nice. And caring. And-

I swallowed thickly.

I might not have known Trace for long, but I had always been able to read people well, and I knew he was a genuinely good person…even if he was a little on the cocky side.

“Is your car doing okay?” He asked. “The tire’s okay?”

“Huh?” I stuttered. “Oh…yeah,” I shook my head. “It’s fine.”

“Do I fluster you, Olivia?” He grinned, wetting his lips.

“No!” I answered too quickly.

“There’s no reason to get defensive,” he chuckled, rubbing his jaw.

I glanced at him quickly
, before my eyes flickered back to my cup of coffee, studying it intently.

I stared out the window, across the road
at the strip mall, like it was the most interesting thing I had ever seen.

I shuffled my cup of coffee back and forth, scooting it along the tabletop, but then, it went flying from my fingers and tipped over. The contents spilled out on the counter and straight onto Trace’s jeans.

He jumped from his stool to avoid more of the hot liquid. My cheeks flamed. This would only happen to me.

“I’m so sorry,” I exclaimed, setting the cup upright, and grabbing a wad of napkins to dry the mess I had made. Trace would have to take care of his
pants because I wasn’t going near that.

“It’s okay,” he assured me, wiping his jeans.

I bit down on my lip to hold back tears. I was the most embarrassing person on the planet.

I threw away the soiled napkins and frowned at the stain covering his jeans.

“Hey,” he grabbed my chin. “It’s no big deal. They’re only jeans. Look at them,” he pointed at the material, “they’re already covered in grease stains. What’s a little coffee?”

“Stop trying to make me feel better,” I mumbled, stepping away from his touch.

He let his hand fall to his side. By now, the people gathered in Starbucks were watching us.

He shook his head, a small smile gracing his lips as
if he was holding back laughter, and threw away his empty coffee cup.

“I have to
get back to work,” he slid his sunglasses on. “And change my pants,” he chuckled. “I’ll see you Friday.”