Trace + Olivia Series Boxed Set (3 page)

I rolled my eyes. “Woman, you are ridiculous.”

“It’s in the How to get a Guy Handbook,” she grinned.

“This handbook sounds stupid,” I joked.

“Hey,” Avery raised her hands in front of her chest in mock defense, “
I’m
the one actually having sex, so it must be working.”

“Whatever,” I laughed, “we’ll do it your way.”

“Good,” Avery grinned manically, “poor Trace Wentworth doesn’t stand a chance.”

I looked at myself in the floor length mirror on Avery’s side of the room.

I don’t know how she did it, but I actually looked good.

My jeans hugged my legs and hips in all the right places. The small portion of the yellow tank top that showed, made me look like I still had a tan, from the summer. The gray sweater looked casual, like I wasn’t trying too hard. And the shoes? Oh, the shoes. They made the whole thing come together.

Avery clapped her hands together. “I told you so.”

“Yeah, you did,” I agreed, smoothing a hand down my leg. “But are you sure I don’t look, you know,
too
fixed up,” I fingered the end of the fishtail braid Avery had done. I had insisted on doing my own makeup. If I let Avery do my makeup I’d end up looking like I had my face painted on.

I turned around just in time to catch Avery rolling her eyes. “You look hot. Stop worrying about everything. Tracey-poo won’t be able to take his eyes off of you.”

I made a face of disgust. “You did not just say Tracey-poo.”

“I do believe that those were the words that left my mouth,” she winked, before looking in the mirror, and swiping on
another
layer of her favorite lip-gloss. If she put on one more coat, her lips would stick together.

She had curled her red hair so that it hung down her back like a shimmering curtain. Despite the fact that it was autumn, and definitely not warm outside, she was wearing a pair of high waisted shorts with ripped black tights underneath. The shirt she wore was red and glued to her body, covered by a pale jean jacket with studs on the shoulders. Her high heels were super pointy and could double as a weapon. I definitely wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of one of those spikes.

“Alright, we can go now,” Avery gave her hair a final fluff and then looked me over.

“Great,” I snapped. “Maybe, we’ll get back in time, and I won’t be late for my afternoon class.” It was already close to noontime.

“Oh puh-lease, Livie, it’s not even lunchtime,” she bent to retrieve her purse.

I pouted. “Don’t remind me, I haven’t even had breakfast yet.”

“You’re such a baby,” Avery scolded. “Seriously, chillax.” She rummaged through her purse and produced a Special K Bar. Holding it up proudly, she waved it through the air. “
Here
is your breakfast.”

“That cardboard hardly constitutes breakfast,” I grumbled, but snatched the bar from her hand anyway. I ripped open the wrapper and began nibbling on it.

“Don’t be dramatic,” she dragged me behind her and down the stairwell.

The glass double doors opened to the campus grounds and I was happy to see that it was a sunny day. The past week had been full of bleak, overcast, gray skies.

I unlocked the doors to my beat up Ford Focus and Avery eyed it like it was the grossest thing she’d ever seen. She constantly looked at my car like that, but it had always been reliable. At least, until last night, but it wasn’t really the car’s fault for getting a flat tire. It was mine. No, it was the nail’s fault. Better yet, it was the person’s fault that lost the stupid nail.

I brought up directions to Pete’s Garage on my phone, and pulled out of the campus parking lot, into the morning traffic.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t far, maybe only ten minutes from campus and in the older part of the city.

I parked the car and stepped outside, searching for dark hair, searing green eyes, and a cocky smile.

Avery slipped out of the car elegantly and looked around for her next conquest.

Licking her lips, she said, “I really hope that’s not Trace, over there, because I’m about to be all over that guy.” She swayed her hips dramatically.

“Avery!” I hissed.

“What? Look at him,” she pointed.

I did, and thankfully, it wasn’t Trace.

The guy was probably the same height as Trace but broader. The thick-corded muscles of his arms were on full display because he only wore a vest; one of those vests that guys usually wore with suits. His jeans were loose on his wide frame and riddled with stains, his hands shoved into the pockets. On his head he wore a fedora, the wavy ends of his shaggy golden brown hair sticking out from underneath. Sandy brown stubble dotted his prominent jaw and his eyes were a piercing light blue. In fact, I didn’t know eyes could be that light. And between his pouty lips, sitting there as if an afterthought, was a lit cigarette.

“Is it him?” Avery asked.

“Huh?” I shook my head, turning away from the guy and toward her.

“Is that Trace?” She pointed to the guy in the vest again.

“No,” I answered, “that’s not him.”

“Thank God for that,” she sighed in relief, making sure her clothes were in place, before sauntering towards him.

Vest man looked up and smirked, taking the cigarette from between his lips and dropping it to the ground, crushing it with the toe of his boot. He looked Avery up and down, much the way she had studied him, and I hoped that she had finally met her match.

Not caring to stay around for the PDA that was bound to ensue, I walked into the garage.

No one seemed to be around but I heard the clinging of tools.

Several cars were up on lifts, with various parts scattered about.

The windows in the back of the garage, were clouded over with age, making it even darker in the space.

“Hello?” I hesitantly called out.

“Hey,” a voice answered from behind me. The sound of wheels scooting met my ears, like whoever had spoken was on a scooter.

I turned around, expecting to face a person, but found no one.

“Down here,” the voice said again, with a chuckle.

I glanced down and found Trace staring up at me from this plastic bed looking thing with wheels.

A scream crawled up my throat and echoed around the empty garage. In my haste to scoot away, my feet tangled together in those darn heels, and I fell across the top of his chest.

He grunted from the impact and my cheeks colored every shade of red in existence.

“Well,” he chuckled, “this is interesting.”

My eyes widened and I hastily scrambled away, somehow pushing my hand into his chest, causing him to grunt.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, falling back on my butt, only serving to embarrass myself further.

Trace laughed, shaking his head, and swung his legs over the side of the bed thing.

Despite the cold temperature outside, he was wearing a white wife-beater, loose jeans, and boots.

Standing, he reached down to help me up.

“Thanks,” I mumbled sheepishly, looking anywhere but at him.

“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 you 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 corners. 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.”