It had been two weeks since I had seen Trace in person, but we were constantly texting.
Every time a text from him popped up on my phone, I smiled goofily, or at least that's what Avery told me. I wasn't sure if she could be trusted though, because she was miffed that she hadn't heard from Luca.
"Seriously," she whined for the thousandth time today, "why hasn't he called or text me?"
"Avery," I laughed, spinning around in my chair to face her, where she sat on her bed. "I have never seen you so worked up over a guy before."
"He was amazing, Olivia! I've never kissed anyone like that before! Excuse me if I want to see what else he has to offer!"
I snickered quietly. "I'm seeing Trace tomorrow. I can ask him about Luca, if you want me to."
"You are? And you would do that for me?" Her eyes sparkled to life.
I hid my giggle. Normally, Avery would have told me that asking a guy's best friend about him was breaking the dating code, but obviously she was getting desperate.
"Yep," I replied to her first question. I had no idea what we'd be doing though. All Trace had told me was that we'd be crossing something off my list. Unfortunately, that sounded ominous to me, because he could have picked any of the sixteen things left. "And of course I would do that for you. That's what best friends are for."
She nibbled on her fingernail. "I'm not sure. I don't want to seem desperate."
I hated to inform her, but she had passed desperate a long time ago.
"You won't seem desperate," I replied, because that was the nice, best-friend thing to say.
"No, no," she shook her head, a grin spreading across her face. "I have a better idea."
"Oh Lord," I muttered, turning back to my computer, and the homework that wasn't going to do itself. "With that smile, I'm a bit worried for Luca's wellbeing."
"Don't worry, he'll be fine," she giggled behind me. "After all, I need all his parts in tact and in perfect working order for what I want to do. I just need to find a really short skirt and some 'fuck me' heels. No guy can resist that."
I knew there was no point in scolding her or trying to talk her out of whatever her plan was.
"Have fun plotting," I muttered. "I need to finish this," I pointed to my computer.
"Mhmm," she mumbled, already scheming poor Luca's demise. He didn't stand a chance against whatever Avery was coming up with. When she set her sights on a guy, she didn't give up, which is why I found it odd that she had waited this long for him to take action. Maybe she really did like him.
I looked over my shoulder at her as she typed away on her laptop; her long hair fell around her like a curtain and her red lips were pursed.
This was definitely an interesting development.
★★★
"Are you going to tell me where we're going?" I begged, peering out the windshield of Trace's car.
"No," he snorted, "if I'm going to help you cross these things off, we do it on my terms, which means you'll never know which one we're doing."
I swallowed thickly, starting to regret that I told him about my list. I didn't like the idea of not knowing what thing I would be doing. He could've picked anything. There were some I could easily eliminate though. Like riding in a hot air balloon...or skinny-dipping...or falling in love. But that still left too many possibilities for my liking.
I rang my fingers together, nibbling on my bottom lip nervously.
I knew I shouldn't be nervous, it wasn't like he was making me do anything that I didn't want to do. I mean, I'm the one that made the stupid list!
"You look really pale," he commented.
"I do?" I squeaked, looking over at him.
"Don't worry, I'm taking it easy on you. We're doing one of the simpler things," he explained, but I still didn't feel any better. "It's okay, Olivia," he added, comfortingly.
"I just don't like not knowing which one I'm doing," I whispered, picking at my chipped blue nail polish.
"Hey," he said softly, tugging on the beanie he was wearing, with one hand, "you made the list. You said that every single one is something that you want to do. It'll be fine."
"You're right," I swallowed, "I'm freaking out over nothing."
Trace exited off of the Interstate and onto Route 7.
His change of direction still didn't give me a clue as to where we were headed.
I was tempted to sit on my hands so I would stop fidgeting. I didn't like feeling this antsy.
Trace came to a stoplight, turning on his left blinker.
I bit down on my lip so that I didn't ask him where we were going again.
"Hey," he grabbed one of my hands, steadying the dance it had been doing across my leg. "This is an easy one, no strip poles, or skinny dipping is about to go down. Relax."
Sadly, I still wasn't relaxed.
"Olivia," he glanced at me, out of the corner of his eye, and released my hand, "you trusted me with your list and you can trust me now."
He had a point.
I nodded. "Okay. You're right," I conceded, but my nerves didn't ease.
The stoplight turned green and he drove a short ways, passing a strip mall, and Dodge dealership on the left.
He turned suddenly onto an unmarked dirt road. I gripped the side of the car, holding on, and he chuckled at me.
I glared across the car at the side of his face. "You could've warned me!"
"And where's the fun in that?" He peered at me through his aviator sunglasses, his cheeks and chin covered in stubble.
I grumbled something unintelligible, only serving to entertain him further.
We came to a stop in front of a large rectangular building. My eyes lit upon the words, skating rink, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
Trace removed his sunglasses, beanie, and leather jacket.
Underneath his jacket, he wore a light blue plaid shirt, buttoned about halfway up his chest, and a white wife-beater underneath. I was beginning to think all he owned were plaid shirts. I had yet to see him in anything else.
"What?" He asked, looking down at his shirt. "Is there something on it? I swear, I got it out of the clean clothes pile," he grumbled, picking at the bottom edge of the shirt, looking for a stain.
"Nothing's on it," I promised, "I was just thinking about how you only wear plaid shirts."
He grinned, letting his shirt fall back in place. "I like plaid."
"I can tell," I laughed.
"I also," he leaned close to me, which wasn't hard in his car, and his breath skimmed across my bare collarbone, "really like these shoes you keep wearing." His fingers grazed over my knee and I held my breath so I didn't start hyperventilating.
"They're Avery's," I squeaked, "but she gave them to me."
"You'll have to thank her for me," he whispered, brushing my hair off my shoulder, and my pulse accelerated.
"Mhmm, I can do that," my eyes followed his fingers as they skimmed down my neck.
He leaned even closer, and I thought this was it, he's going to kiss me.
But instead, he grinned cockily, and slid back to his side of the car. "We've got some roller skating to do."
I squished my eyes closed and took a deep breath.
Damn him for getting me all worked up like that. It wasn't fair.
When I opened my eyes, he was already out of the car, and closing the door.
I scurried after him as fast as I could.
He held the door for me and I followed him to where we paid for our skates.
Luckily, I outsmarted him by cutting in front of him, to pay for my own roller skates.
"That won't happen again," he whispered in my ear as we walked away from the counter. "I'm onto you," he narrowed his eyes as he walked backwards, passed me.
I sat down on a bench and pulled off my shoes, then realized, I didn't have socks. I sighed in disgust.
"I'm not wearing socks and that's not exactly something I carry around in my purse," I grumbled, glaring at my bare feet, and then at the skates I knew were far from sanitary.
"Don't worry, I've got you covered," Trace winked, sitting down beside me, and handing me a pair of socks. "They're clean but they'll be a little big on you."
"I'll make do," I smiled gratefully at him, taking the wadded up ball of socks from his hand. "I hope you're prepared to handle my suckiness." I looked out onto the rink where a group of teenagers was skating. It was clear they knew what they were doing and that scared me further. I'd fall flat on my butt as soon as I set foot on the rink.
"That's what the beginner's rink is for," he pointed to a different rink on our right.
It was full of small children and their parents.
"Great," I rolled my eyes. "This is going to be wonderful."
"You're the one that wanted to do it, so stop complaining," he bent to lace up his skates. "We'll have fun and I won't let you fall."
He was probably right. I wouldn't fall. Why? Because I'd be crawled halfway up his body, holding on for dear life.
I had put roller-skating on my list, because I'd always wanted to do it when I was younger. Now, looking at the four wheels on the bottom of the skates and the slippery wood floor, I didn't think it was a good idea. I had already proven myself to be clumsy around Trace, and this would make it worse.
"Ready?" He asked me.
There was nothing I could do to stall.
"Yeah," I mumbled reluctantly.
Trace held out a hand for me and I placed mine in it. His hand was warm and rough from hard work.
"I won't let you go," he promised, guiding me across the carpeted floor.
This wasn't so bad, but I knew the carpet was giving me false hope.
Trace stepped onto the rink first and my heart began to race in fear.
I did not want to fall and bruise my butt. Not only would I embarrass myself, but I'd also be sore.
"You can trust me," he coaxed. His green eyes were encouraging.
I placed one foot onto the hardwood rink and immediately felt myself slip. I reached out, grabbing the half-wall that separated the rink, from the carpeted area.
"Olivia," Trace warned.
I whimpered, letting go of the wall, and latched onto his arm.
I'm sure we looked strange, with him holding my left hand in his right, and me gripping his right forearm.
Trace made a face as my nails dug into his skin.
"I told you, I won't let you fall," he looked into my eyes. "Relax," he added, soothingly.
Unwillingly, I let go of his arm.
I instantly felt even more off balance.
Why on Earth had I ever wanted to go roller-skating? I think I'd rather be pole dancing!
I held onto Trace's hand like...well, like it was the only thing holding me up, which it was.
"It's okay, Olivia," he squeezed my hand, studying my tense face. I'm sure I looked like someone who just spotted a giant ass spider, but I couldn't wipe the look of fear off my face. I hated that Trace was seeing me freak out like this. He didn't know me well, and I didn't want him to think I was a scaredy cat...which I was. But my father had made me that way, by sheltering me so much. Things that seemed normal to most people were completely foreign to me.
I eased off a bit on the death grip I had on his hand.
He smiled encouragingly.
I looked at the children around us. For most of them, this was probably the first time they'd been roller-skating. If they could do this without holding onto their moms and dads, then I could do this without hanging onto Trace.
I let his hand slip from mine and began to wobble.
His large hands clasped me by the waist before I could fall.
"I've got you," he hummed, his chest pressed against my back.
I smiled in relief even though he couldn't see. "Thank you," I whispered.
"I told you I wouldn't let you fall and I meant it. I'm a man of my word, Olivia," he murmured and my stomach fluttered.
I had been attracted to plenty of guys over the years. I even had a few schoolyard crushes like everyone else. But no one had ever made me feel the way Trace did. The nerves and heart fluttering I felt around him were entirely new.
"How does this feel, Olivia?" He asked, resting his chin on my shoulder.
"Like freedom," I smiled, closed my eyes, and let him guide me.
★★★
Trace didn't make me skate for long, which I was grateful for.
It was okay, but I didn't like it that much. Maybe, if I had tried it when I was younger I would have enjoyed it, but not now.
He helped me back to the carpeted area and I sat down on the nearest bench, yanking off the skates.
"You did good for a first timer," Trace grinned, mussing his hair.
I laughed. Who was he trying to fool?
"I'm pretty sure I drew blood from squeezing your arm. I don't call that good," I peered up at him.
He sat next to me and rolled up the sleeve of his shirt.
Sure enough, there were five, very red, half-moon indents. A trickle of blood had escaped one of the marks and dried on his arm.
"Told ya," I picked up the skates and headed to where I'd left my shoes.
Trace followed behind me, his skates dangling from his fingers.
"I still think you did good," he stated and I saw him shrug out of the corner of my eye.
"You're such a liar," I scolded him, sitting down to put my shoes on.
He smirked, his lips upturned on one corner. "Okay, maybe I am, but I'm not lying now."
I rolled my eyes and wadded up Trace's socks. "I'll wash these before I give them back," I tried to put them in my purse, which I had grabbed from the cubby my shoes had been in, but Trace reached out and snagged them from me.
"I know how to work a washing machine, Olivia," he grinned. "I promise," he added. "I even know how to add fabric softener. Smell, it's Mountain Spring," he said sarcastically, holding the end of his shirt under my nose.
"Fine, wash them," I stood. "It's not like they're dirty from my feet or anything."
"I'm not afraid of your dirty socks, Olivia," he grinned, leaning against the wall. His green eyes sparkled with carefully contained laughter.
"Technically they're your dirty socks," I walked over to the counter to return the roller skates.
"Ah," he followed after me, "they may be my socks, but you're the one that dirtied them."
"Why are we still talking about socks?" I stopped, throwing my hands in the air, and he ran into me. "I told you that I would wash them."
"I like messing with you," he made his way around me, sauntering cockily up to the counter and dropping his skates loudly.
I returned my skates as well and followed Trace out the door.
He made sure to hold each door for me and I thought it was sweet.
Back in the car, he slipped his beanie on and perched his sunglasses atop his elegant nose.
I clasped my hands together so that I wouldn't reach over and run my fingers along the stubble grazing his jaw.
"I'm hungry," he announced.
"Okaaay," I drew out the word.
"Wanna go to Sonic?" He asked, and I remembered passing one before we got here.
"Sure," I shrugged. "I've never been there."
His jaw dropped. "You've never been to Sonic?"
"Nope, never. I don't think there were very many in New Hampshire," I explained. "Plus, my dad wouldn't let us eat out. We always had home cooked meals."
Trace looked at me like I had spoken a foreign language. "There are so many things I need to show you. You haven't experienced anything."
I blushed at his words and hid my face behind the curtain of my hair.
"Don't do that," he murmured, reaching up to brush my long hair behind my ear, "Never hide your face from me."
My breath came out in short gasps. He'd said something similar the day he took me to lunch.
He smoothed his thumb over my cheek and let his hand drop.
★★★
"This, is Sonic?" I asked, looking around the parking space he'd pulled into, that was surrounded on both sides by a menu. Other cars were parked in different spots, all with the same setup.
"Yep," he grinned, turning off his car, and manually rolling down his window.
"This is weird," I glanced at the two different menus.
Trace chuckled and I whipped my head in his direction. "What?" I snapped.
"Your face is priceless," he snickered.
"This is kind of overwhelming," I looked from the menu on his side of the car and back to the one on mine.
"Relax, it's really not. This is the food menu," he explained, pointing to the menu on his side, "breakfast, lunch, desert, the whole shebang. That one," he pointed to the one beside me, "is just for promotional stuff."
"Oh," I nodded, feeling relieved. I tended to overreact whenever I was presented with something new.
I leaned towards Trace, careful not to touch him, so I could read the menu.
"You have to try their tater tots, they're the best," he commented.
I scooted back to my side of the car. "Just order me whatever you're having."
"You sure?" He raised a brow.
"I'm not picky," I smiled.
"Okay," he hesitated for a moment, before pushing the red button, and waiting for someone to respond.
After he ordered our food, I looked over at him and probed, "Tell me something about yourself. You know about my dad and my list, but I really don't know anything about you. That doesn't seem fair."
He grinned, flashing only a small amount of his straight white teeth. "What do you want to know?"
"Anything you want me to know," I relaxed into the seat.
"Hmm," he mused, "I have a little brother, Trent. He's seventeen and a senior in high school. We're close despite the fact that I'm five years older."
"So, you're twenty-two?" I asked.
"Someone knows their math," he joked.
"Is there anything else you'd like to tell me?" I pestered, curious to find out more about Trace. I had opened myself up to him, for some reason, and I wanted him to do the same with me. I wanted to know the real man behind the cocky panty-dropping smile.
He grew quiet and I could hear the wheels turning in his head. He snapped his fingers and grinned. "I like to dance."
"Dance?" I questioned, my brows raised. Trace didn't strike me as a dancer.
"Yeah," he replied, "I suck at it, but I enjoy it. I dance while I work on cars, I dance while I cook, you never know when it's gonna happen."
I put a hand over my mouth to stifle my laugh, as I pictured Trace dancing in the middle of the grocery store, or some other odd place.
"That's very—uh—interesting," I giggled.
"Hey, you're the one that wanted to know something about me," he shrugged, with his residual smirk.
"Right you are," I smiled as a girl appeared on Trace's side of the car, with a tray full of food, and drinks.
Trace sat up, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. I didn't even bother fumbling through my purse for mine. I knew Trace wouldn't accept any money for my meal. Stubborn man.
He took the food and drinks, placing them on the bench seat in his car.
He handed her a bill and waved her away.
"Raspberry tea for the lady," he handed me a Styrofoam cup. Since there were no cup holders, I held it between my knees. "Tater tots and a hotdog," he placed the items on the seat with a wad of napkins, before pulling out identical items for himself. "And," he pointed to the two extra cups, "these are our desert."
"What is it? A chocolate shake?" I inspected the top of it.
Trace grimaced. "No, it's a chocolate malt. There's a big difference. Prepare to have your world rocked," he chuckled, ripping open a packet of ketchup, and dumping it on his tater tots. "Want some?" He held up another packet.
I shook my head. "I hate ketchup."
He gasped. "How is it possible to hate ketchup? It's one of the single most delicious food items ever."
"It's gross," I glared at the red goo covering his tater tots.
"Suit yourself," he popped one in his mouth.
I happily ate a plain, non-ketchup drenched, tater tot, and Trace chuckled.
"You are one interesting girl, Olivia Owens," he commented, wiping his mouth with a napkin.
"Interesting is always better than boring," I smiled, biting into the hotdog. "This is really good," I pointed to the food.
He stretched his arm along the bench seat. "Told ya."
We finished eating and stayed parked to drink our chocolate malts. It was thick but delicious. Trace kept smiling at me as I drank the malt.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing," he grinned, shaking his head. His dark hair fell over his green eyes and he promptly pushed it back.
"No, you're thinking something," I insisted. "Tell me."
"It's just...who would've thought that the girl I stopped to help with her flat tire, would be sitting in my car right now. I'm just...I'm glad I met you," he shrugged.
"I'm glad I met you too," I smiled.
He grinned cockily. "I'm sure you are."
I rolled my eyes. "You're so cocky."
"No, I'm confident. There's a big difference in confident and cocky," he winked, taking the straw into his mouth, and my eyes followed the movement of his lips. Those lips should be illegal and I hadn't even had a taste yet.
I blushed at my thoughts and turned away from him.
"Why do you do that?" Trace asked, perplexed.
"Do what?" I questioned, reluctantly turning to face him.
"Blush and then look away. I know you're still blushing even if I can't see you," he leaned against the driver's side door to face me fully.
"I don't know," I shrugged. "I guess it's a defense mechanism."
"Why do you need to be defensive about blushing? It's a perfectly normal reaction," he licked a drop of chocolate malt from his lip and my heart stuttered in my chest.
I took a deep breath and stuck my finger into the whipped cream. "You don't understand the kind of home I grew up in," I reasoned, licking off the whipped cream.
His green eyes darkened as he watched my finger. I blushed again. I wished I could turn off the blushing, but around Trace my cheeks seemed to have a permanent rosy hue.
"Then make me understand," he insisted.
"Not today," I sighed. "I'm having a good time and I don't want to ruin it by talking about things that I wish would stay in the past."
"Fair enough," he grinned, changing the subject by talking about random things, like music and favorite colors.
I liked how Trace understood when not to push me. He would let me tell him about myself on my terms. It was nice not having someone trying to pry information out of me.
I smiled the rest of the afternoon we spent together and even late into the night. Not even grumpy Avery could sour my mood.