Finding Olivia

Chapter 11

Trace and I sat outside on one of the various benches dotting the campus grounds. It overlooked the pond and a cool wind swarmed around us. I bundled my jacket tighter against me, and Trace slung his arm across my shoulders, pulling me against his warmth.

I burrowed my cold face against his neck.

"Should we go inside? I don't want you to get sick," his lips brushed against my forehead.

A week had passed since the incident at the pavilion. Neither of us had mentioned it, all that needed to be said had already been spoken, and there was no point dwelling on it.

But like Avery had mentioned, actions spoke louder than words, and I could tell Trace was trying.

He showed up a few days ago, on campus, and I spotted him easily. Trace wasn't hard to miss. He waved me over to his car and we ate lunch together, laughing at random things, and getting to know each other better. When I went to get out of his car, to head to my next class, he handed me a single pink peony. I smiled the rest of the day.

"No, I don't want to go in," I answered his question. "I like being outside."

"Me too," he replied, his lips brushing against the top of my head again.

"I don't want to go home tomorrow," I confessed.

"Stay here," he played with the wavy ends of my hair.

"I can't," I frowned. "Residence halls close tomorrow."

"You can stay at my place," he replied.

I snuggled closer to his warm chest as a blast of wind hit us.

"I don't think we know each other well enough for that. Besides, my dad would hunt me down, and drag me home. He's all about appearances," I sneered the word.

"When will you be back?" He asked.

"Sunday," I ground out the word.

Because of drive time, I'd only be at my parents' house for four days, but that was four days too long.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, letting my hair fall from his fingers. "I wish you didn't have to go."

"Me too," I replied.

He grew quiet and I listened to the steady beating of his heart against my ear.

"I think when you get back, you should get a tattoo," he murmured, running his finger down my neck.

"Really?" I asked. "So, is that what I'm doing next? I thought you weren't going to tell me what we're crossing off the list."

"Yeah, well," he scratched his chin, "a tattoo is forever. I want you think about it while you're on break. I want you to be one hundred percent sure of what you want."

"How many tattoos do you have?" I asked.

He chuckled. "You mean you don't know?"

I blushed, figuring he was talking about the day I was ogling his bare chest.

"No," I replied, glad he couldn't see me blush. I still hadn't figured out a way to stop blushing.

"Well, I have Never Regret on the inner bicep of my left arm. A star on my wrist," he showed that one to me. Rolling up his jacket and shirtsleeve, he showed me a cluster of overlapping triangles on the inner part of his right forearm. Some of them were colored in while others were blank. One of the triangles even had a watercolor look. They were beautiful. "There's more, but I think, I'll let you find those on your own," he grinned, rolling his sleeves down.