Trace + Olivia Series Boxed Set (7 page)

“Livie! Really? I need to give you lessons on being normal around guys,” she shook her head, pursing her red lips.

“And how would you do that?” I asked.

“I’d wear a dildo, of course,” she chuckled.

“Avery,” I groaned.

The waiter appeared, clearing his throat, and my cheeks colored at knowing he’d heard what Avery said.

“What can I get you ladies to drink?” He asked.

Avery ordered water and I asked for sweet tea.

When he was out of earshot, I hissed, “Can you
not
say stuff like that when we’re in public?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s a free country. I’ll say what I want, when I want.”

“Ugh,” I groaned.

“So,” she leaned forward, smiling, “you’ve still got your date, on Friday, right?”

“It’s not a date!” I cried, banging a closed fist against the table.

“Oh, it’s a date,” she smirked. “I hope you have some sexy lingerie hiding underneath your wimple.”

“Avery!”

“What?” She shrugged. “I didn’t use any bad words.”

“How did I end up with you as a best friend?” I asked rhetorically.

“It was a match made in heaven,” she giggled. “You tame me…somewhat…and I bring out the naughty in you.”

The waiter brought our drinks and we ordered our meal.

“If you want me to be honest,” Avery said, taking a sip of her water, “I think Trace is a good guy. I don’t get any weird vibes off him or anything. And girl,” she pointed a finger at me, “I know my vibes. He seems like a good fit for you. As your best friend, it’s my job to steer you away from the wrong guys, and there’s nothing that strikes me as,” she paused, tapping her lip, as she searched for the right word, “worrisome when it comes to Trace. I say, go for it. You’re only young once, it’s time to live it up,” she threw her hands in the air.

If only she knew her words had more impact on me, than just pushing me towards Trace. They gave me the final nudge to know that I could tell him about my list. The question was,
when?

Friday night, I reluctantly let Avery dress me for my ‘date’ with Trace. I was starting to think I was her personal Barbie doll or something. She let me wear my jeans but paired it with one of her sweaters. Calling it a sweater was kind of pointless though; it was so lightweight it would do nothing to protect me from the cold. It was orange with a pink heart on the front and one on each sleeve. It was cute, but not suitable for the weather. I was going to end up a Popsicle by the time the night was over.

“Sit down,” she ordered, pushing me into her rolly chair.

“Can’t you ask me nicely?” I grumbled as she pulled on my hair.

“I wasn’t asking,” She chuckled, braiding the front pieces of my wavy hair before gathering it into a side bun.

Thankfully, I had already done my makeup before she came storming into our dorm room, like a woman on a mission.

“You’re good to go,” she gave the chair a nudge. “Oh, wait! Don’t forget these!” She tossed the deathtrap bootie heels at me, the ones I wore when I fell on top of Trace.

“I’ll fall,” I grumbled, purposely leaving out the part where I’d be falling
again
. I hadn’t told Avery that I fell on top of Trace. She’d find it hysterical and then claim that it was a sign from the sex gods that I was meant to ‘fuck’ Trace.

“No, you won’t. Don’t be a baby,” she grabbed her phone off the desk.

I mumbled something unintelligible, sitting down at my own desk chair, to put the shoes on and ditch my Converse’s.

Avery looked me up and down before nodding her consent. “Those shoes make any outfit look ten times hotter.”

She was definitely right, but I’d never tell her that.

“Get out of here, you’re already late,” she scolded.

“Oh, crap,” I looked at the clock on the small nightstand next to my bed.

“I’ll see you later,” I told her, heading for the door.

“Stay out all night, I don’t care,” she laughed and I turned in time to catch her wink.

Rolling my eyes, I left.

I held onto the stair railing like it was my life support as I made my way downstairs.

Outside, I spotted Trace’s familiar black car.

I took a deep breath before heading his way.

He eased out of the car and rested his crossed arms over the hood. “Hey,” he grinned, “I thought we could walk to the park but with those,” he eyed my shoes, “my guess is you’re going to say, no way.”

“You’ve got that right,” I replied.

“I’ve got it,” Trace grinned, coming around the front of the car to open the passenger door before I could get there.

“Thanks,” I smiled up at him as I lowered myself into the car.

“No problem,” he mumbled, closing the door.

He slid inside, the car rumbling to life with a roar.

He exited the campus, turning right, and then right again, at the stoplight.

He drove the short distance, turning into the park’s entrance, and then into the parking lot.

“I hope you’re hungry,” he commented, reaching into the back of the car for a large paper bag.

“Starving,” I inhaled the scent of pasta, wafting from the top of the bag.

“Good,” he slid from the car, bag in hand, “because I made enough to feed your entire dorm.”

“Wait, you made that?” I asked, hurrying out of the car after him, as fast as I could.

Trace stopped walking so that I could catch up to him. I was only five foot two and he towered above me.

“That’s what I said,” he grinned cockily.

I shook my head in disbelief. “What exactly did you make?”

“How about we find a picnic table and then you can find out?” He suggested with a wink.

We didn’t walk far, until we veered off the path, and found a table. Trace set the bag down, before sitting on the tabletop, his feet resting on the bench.

“Here, I brought you some blankets,” he spread one out over the top of the table so I could sit down beside him and then draped one over my shoulders.

Just like the other day, he was wearing jeans, a wife-beater, and plaid shirt; only this one was red instead of green.

He reached into the bag and I noticed a tattoo on his wrist. It was small, maybe only an inch, and it was a solid black star.

He pulled out several containers full of food, a thermos, two plates, and utensils.

“Geez, you’re prepared,” I commented, staring at everything. “Do this often?”

“No,” he brushed his dark hair out of his eyes. Flashing me a crooked smile, he added, “Honestly.”

I rolled my eyes. “I doubt that.”

“To be honest with you, I’ve never done anything like this before,” he waggled a finger between us. “I haven’t always been a…” He floundered.

“Nice guy?” I suggested.

“Yeah,” he sighed.

“I kind of figured that,” I shrugged.

“Why?” He tilted his head, brows raised.

My cheeks flamed. I waved my hands at him and stuttered, “You’ve got that whole bad boy vibe. The tattoos, the hair, the boots, and that smile! It’s pretty obvious that you’ve left a string of broken hearts.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and husky, sending shivers down my spine. “I don’t think it’s
that
many broken hearts.” Quieting his laughter, he opened one of the containers, and said, “Besides, I’m
not
that guy anymore. I didn’t like him very much,” he smirked.

“Is that a line or something?” I questioned, hugging the blanket closer to my chest as the sun went down, and the air grew cooler. I really hoped Trace wasn’t trying to use me, but I was beginning to question why he was wasting his time with me. I was nothing special.

“No,” he handed me the container and I looked down to see a stuffed shell with tomato sauce. It smelled heavenly, the scent of garlic lingering in the air. “Some things happened in my life, that sent me in a different direction, but now, I’m on the right path and I plan to stay on it.”

“Wow, that was deep,” I laughed.

“Are you laughing at me?” He feigned anger.

“Yes,” I stifled a giggle. “So,” I dug my fork into the pasta shell, “what was it that caused you to stray off your path?”

He sighed, looking out into the trees. “You know how the other day you didn’t want to talk about something?”

“Yeah,” my brows furrowed.

“Well, I don’t really want to talk about it,” his green eyes had darkened so that they shone like emeralds.

“Oh, okay, it’s no big deal,” I took a bite of the stuffed pasta shell and moaned in pleasure.

“One day, I hope to tell you, but not today,” he shrugged, “just like one day I hope you’ll tell me why your smile’s so sad but how you still manage to have this sparkle in your eye.”

I started to choke on the pasta. I did the whole coughing-sputtering thing and no doubt my face turned an unattractive shade of red.

Swallowing a sip of the sweet tea he’d poured into the lid of the thermos, I asked, “Why do you say my smile is sad?”

“Because it is. You smile like you’ve been hurt and you’re just holding the pain inside, not letting it go, but you want to…you definitely want to be free,” he pointed to me, “and that’s where the sparkle comes from.”

I tried to get my breathing back to normal after nearly choking to death.

I was completely shocked by what Trace said. Most people didn’t notice the pain that I kept carefully hidden, and the fact that Trace had picked up on it so quickly, blew my mind. I didn’t think he’d noticed much about me. Apparently, he was far more observant than I gave him credit for.

I knew it was silly, since I didn’t know him, but I found myself wanting to open up to him, and tell him everything. It wasn’t like I really had that much to tell and I felt like I
had
to tell someone.

“My dad,” I whispered.

“Huh?” He asked, wiping tomato sauce from his lip.

I took a deep breath to steady myself. It wasn’t like this was some big secret. My dad didn’t abuse me…at least not physically, but I always found it hard to talk to people about him. I felt like they always thought I was making it up, since he was a preacher and supposed to be all about God, kindness, and whatnot.

“My dad, he’s the reason I’m sad,” I answered. “He’s very controlling. That’s why I came here for college, instead of staying in New Hampshire. I needed to get away, and find myself, but I haven’t been doing a very good job,” I chuckled humorlessly, plucking at an invisible piece of lint on my jeans. “I don’t know why I’ve let it bother me so much,” I shrugged. “It was just hard, growing up and always being told what to do, what to say, and how to dress. I was expected to be the perfect child and my mom the perfect mother, while he was the perfect preacher, father, and husband. But he’s none of those things,” I sneered, shaking my head. “He’s mean and a bully. Maybe it was selfish, and maybe it was weak, but I had to get away. I have to
try
to find who I am, but what if I can’t?” I looked over at Trace. “What if I’m just this broken girl that can never be put back together? What if I can never find who I
really
am?” I took a shaky breath, shocked that I had told him all of that. Maybe, it was easier to tell him because he was a stranger, and I didn’t fear his judgment.

“Whoa,” Trace’s eyes widened, “that’s some tough shit.”

“Tell me about it,” I shuffled my feet along the bench and took another bite of the delicious pasta shell. “I know a lot of people have to deal with a lot worse, so I feel bad complaining about it,” I shrugged, looking away from his inquisitive gaze.

“Olivia,” he grabbed my chin in his calloused hand and forced me to look at him, “it sounds to me like your father verbally abused you, and that’s not something to be taken lightly. That’s very serious, and people tend to overlook it, because it’s not always as noticeable.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” I smoothed my hands over my jeans. I wished he’d let go of my chin, because I was starting to feel warm inside, and pretty soon, I’d be begging him
not
to let go.

“Of course it matters, you’ve obviously been hurt by it,” he finally released me.

Unconsciously, my fingers went to the piece of paper in my jeans that contained my Live List. I never went anywhere without it.

“Olivia,” he murmured when I remained quiet, “I know you don’t know me that well, and you have no reason to trust me, but you
can
.”

I looked over at him, expecting his signature cocky grin, but it was missing. He was completely serious, and his green eyes were warm, inviting me to tell him everything.

Could I do it?

I had told him about my dad, but could I really tell him about my list?

I’d never shared it with anyone and it had almost become sacred to me.

For some reason I trusted Trace. Which was odd. People should earn your trust and I hadn’t known Trace long enough for that to happen. But I did trust him. There was something about him that made me feel…safe. It was a feeling I wasn’t used to.

He was right though. I
didn’t
know him that well. So, I had no idea why I was telling him everything.

I refused to tell him about my list though. I wasn’t ready.

But my fingers had a mind of their own, pulling it out, and folding it into the palm of my hand.