"Where are you going?" Avery asked, pushing away from her desk as I headed towards the door.
"I have plans with Trace. I'm supposed to meet him at the garage. He gets off work soon," I explained, lifting my purse onto my shoulder.
"Oh," she frowned.
"Still upset over Luca?" I asked.
"No," she answered hastily, turning away from me.
"You are," I grinned.
She turned back around and my smile faded. Avery truly was hurt.
"I just...I thought I understood men, but Luca seems to be entirely different. I can't read him at all," she shrugged, playing with the ends of her hair. "Normally, I know when a guy's into me, but with Luca, I'm clueless. I can't tell whether he hates me, tolerates me, or actually likes me. He doesn't say much," she mused.
I felt bad for her, I did, but I also found her situation funny too, because it wasn't like her to be this...worked up over a guy. Avery's confidence level was through the roof, but something about Luca made her...insecure.
"Maybe that's because you're too busy kissing each other to carry on a conversation," I laughed, crossing my arms over my chest.
Avery had finally met up with Luca, and apparently, they'd ended up doing the deed on the hood of his car. At least, that's what Trace told me, because he said he walked in on them. Avery had told me nothing, which was unusual. Normally, she told me everything, even the gory details that I had no desire to hear. I was really starting to think she had feelings for Luca, which made me all kinds of excited. I wanted Avery to find a guy she loved and stop fooling around. She needed to learn that someone could truly care about her for her. I knew from what she had told me that her parents were wealthy, and had only looked at her and her brothers as an accessory. Which led her to believe that no one could ever love or want her.
"That could be it," she laughed. "But I have tried to talk to him before and he gives me grunts for answers."
I snorted.
"He's a total caveman," she giggled, "but I kinda like that about him. Plus, he has these big man hands, and you know I love me some man hands."
"Avery, you're something else," I laughed. "I've really got to go though, can we talk later?"
"Sure," she spun in her chair. I swear, one day I was going to find a way to mess up that chair, so it couldn't twirl. "I don't have any plans for tonight. I'll just be here, all by myself, while my so-called best friend ditches me for a hot piece of ass."
"Bye," I called over my shoulder, rolling my eyes.
"Have fun, Livie!" She hollered as I closed the door.
I let out a sigh of relief, dashed down the steps, and out of the building.
I walked quickly to my car, holding on tightly to the mace on my keychain. You never knew when a creeper could pop up.
I giggled to myself as I got in my car; I certainly hadn't been reaching for the mace when Trace pulled up behind me.
Shaking my head, I drove to Pete's Garage, and parked beside Trace's car.
I walked around to the front of the building. The large garage door was open, exactly like when I'd been here to get my car fixed.
Music was playing loudly, the lyrics saying something about blowing the roof off the place.
I stepped inside, looking around, hoping that Trace didn't scare me like last time.
I walked around a car and saw him.
He was completely oblivious to me, and I put my hand over my mouth, to stifle my giggle. He was dancing like...well...there were no words to describe Trace's dancing style. It was interesting to say the least. In fact, I wasn't sure if it could be considered dancing.
He held a metal car part in his hands while shaking his whole body.
This was not dancing; it was more like a seizure.
I kept my mouth covered so that I could watch him longer.
It would be cute if it wasn't so funny.
He hadn't been lying when he said he liked to dance, but he was right when he said he sucked. The man had no rhythm whatsoever.
He turned and spotted me.
And holy hell, I had been too taken by the dancing to notice he was shirtless.
Shirtless and coated in a sheen of sweat.
I had never seen a man's chest like Trace's. It was lean and tan, but muscular, just like his arms. A light dusting of dark hair started at the bottom of his naval, and disappeared under the edge of his boxers, that I spied above the edge of his jeans.
I covered my eyes and turned around like I had caught him naked.
I was the epitome of smooth.
Not.
His chuckle rumbled through my body and I let my hand drop. Slowly, I turned back around to face him.
He'd turned the music down, and leaned against the car he was working on, grinning cheekily at me.
"You're early," he pushed his hair out of his eyes. I was discovering it was a nervous habit for him.
"And you're naked," the words slipped out of my mouth before I could stop them.
His smile grew. "I'm not quite naked yet, but if you'd like to help me get there, that's fine by me."
Oh. My. God.
"I'm kidding, Olivia," he added when I stood there with a stunned look on my face. "You're definitely a preacher's daughter," he commented. "But you're going to have to get used to my sexual innuendos if you're going to spend time with me. I can't help myself."
Lord, help me. Please.
"Got it," I replied awkwardly.
My parents really should have made Awkward my middle name. It suited me better than Camille.
Olivia Awkward Owens, it had a nice ring to it.
Trace wiped his hands on his jeans, and moved around the front of the car, with the part he'd been dancing with.
I followed him, watching as he fiddled easily with the car parts.
It looked complicated to me, but he made it seem easy.
"I'm almost done here," he glanced over his shoulder at me. "And then we'll cross off something else."
"Uhmm," I replied, trying not to look at his muscular back, and the way his muscles rippled as he worked on the car. Why did he have to be so good looking?
I turned away, bobbing my head to the music. I needed to stop thinking about how good he looked. He was my...friend and it was wrong to have these kinds of thoughts about him.
"Alright, I'm done for now," Trace announced and I spun back around. "The owner won't be by to pick it up till tomorrow night, so I have time to finish it," he shrugged.
"Are you sure?" I asked, taping the toe of my right heel on the concrete floor.
"Yeah, I'm sure," he grinned.
A noise sounded at the front of the garage and I turned rapidly.
The sudden movement caused me to lose my balance and I started to fall.
"Whoa," Trace grabbed my arm to steady me.
"Sorry," I mumbled, fiddling with a strand of hair.
"I didn't mean to scare you," Luca mumbled in his deep voice. He was dressed much like he was the first time I saw him. Jeans, vest, and a fedora. Apparently Luca and Trace stuck to very rigid dress codes. Except when Trace was making me drool by not wearing a shirt, although, he was definitely drool-worthy fully clothed.
Luca pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one.
I wasn't sure if he ever actually smoked one, they seemed to be a part of the whole look he was going for. I still hadn't figured out what the vests meant though.
A grin spread across Trace's face, and he grabbed me by the hand, dragging me over to Luca.
"Looks like we can cross two things off tonight," he smirked.
"Huh?" I was confused.
"Luca, give me one of those," Trace held his hand out for a cigarette.
"But you don't smoke," Luca grumbled, "and these are expensive."
"Luca," Trace groaned. "Just do it."
Luca mumbled something unintelligible but handed over a cigarette.
"Lighter," Trace continued to hold out his hand.
Luca slapped the lighter into his palm. "I expect that back."
Trace led me outside and released my hand.
It was chilly outside, in the forties, but Trace was still shirtless. I was sure he was doing it on purpose because his bare chest was all kinds of distracting.
"Here," he handed me the cigarette.
I glanced down at it, perplexed.
"You put smoking on your list so stop looking at it like it's going to bite you," he told me.
"I don't know how to hold it," I explained.
"Oh, like this," he fixed my fingers around the slender white cigarette.
He motioned for me to hold it up and I did.
He lit the end of it and waited for me to do something.
"I don't know what to do!" I exclaimed, terrified that the thing was going to burn my fingers.
Trace chuckled and motioned for me to bring it up to my lips. "Just inhale."
I did and it was horrible. Smoke flooded my lungs and I felt like I was being suffocated. I dropped the cigarette and Trace stomped on it to snuff it out.
Coughing, I gasped, "That was horrible."
My eyes watered and I felt like I couldn't breathe.
Either I'd done it wrong or other people were nuts for sucking on those things. It was awful.
"You okay?" Trace asked.
"I'll be fine," I wiped my eyes and struggled for air.
I couldn't get the horrible taste out of my mouth.
Trace took my hand, and led me to the other side of the building, the side I had never been on, and up a flight of steps.
He pulled a key out of his pocket and unlocked the door.
"This is my place," he explained, leading me inside, and straight into a small kitchen area. He grabbed a bottle of water and handed it to me.
I swirled the water around my mouth and spit it out in the sink. I did that several times before rinsing out his sink.
"Better?" He asked, leaning a hip against the linoleum countertop.
"Much," I smiled. "But I am never doing that again."
He laughed. "I figured you wouldn't."
"Why do people like that?" I asked, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand.
"Beats me," he shrugged. "My grandpa used to smoke a pipe all the time, and let me tell you, that thing smelled horrible."
I finished off the bottle of water.
Trace took it from me, and tossed it in a recycling bin, then handed me another.
"I'm going to shower," he nodded towards the door that led to the bathroom, "and then we can get out of here."
"'Gonna tell me what we're doing?" I coaxed.
"Nope," he grinned. "I told you before, you're never going to know which one I've picked. It makes things exciting." He motioned to a nice beige couch. "Sit down and relax. Watch TV. I don't care," he shrugged, heading into the only bedroom.
"Okay," I mumbled, sitting down, and looking around at the darkened space.
In front of the couch were two crates, flipped upside down to create a makeshift coffee table. A bowl of skittles sat on top. Across from the couch was a nice sized flat screen TV.
Trace came out of the bedroom with clothes in his hands and flicked on a light. "You don't need to sit in the dark, Olivia. Make yourself at home," he smiled and closed the bathroom door.
I heard the shower turn on and breathed a sigh of relief.
My feelings for Trace were quickly escalating and even though, at this point, we'd known each other for almost a month, it seemed too quick to be falling for someone. But could you put a time limit on something like that?
This was bad.
I couldn't fall for Trace. He was my...friend and he could do so much better than me. He could have any girl he wanted, not just because of his looks, but because of his personality too, and I needed to stop pining over someone who would never be mine.
Friends, I told myself. We. Are. Just. Friends.
I buried my face in my hands.
I couldn't let Trace know I liked him. There was no way he returned my feelings and he'd just give me some song and dance about how we'd never work. That's what most guys did, right? I didn't have any experience and was basing my assumption off of movies. Which was stupid because movies always got it wrong.
I took a deep breath before I had a panic attack.
I used to have them all the time as a child but I had grown out of them. Now, would be the worst time ever for them to return.
The door to the bathroom opened, steam billowing out, effectively cutting off my internal tirade.
Droplets of water clung to Trace's dark hair, making it appear black instead of brown. He'd shaved, but short prickly stubbles of hair still remained. I liked that he was never clean-shaven. I always thought that the guys with smooth cheeks looked babyish.
"I'm ready," he announced, running his fingers through is hair rapidly, trying to dry it.
"Okay," I stood, running my hands down the front of my jeans.
He locked the apartment behind us and led me to his car.
"I can drive," I pointed to my car.
"Nice try," he grinned, "but I'd have to tell you where we're going and that's not going to happen."
"Fine," I slid into his car. "I don't care." Which was a lie. I did care, very much. It seemed completely unfair that he wouldn't tell me where we were going. But I knew there was no point in arguing with him.
He hadn't driven far, when he stopped in front of a small building, in the old part of town.
"That was fast," I looked up at the building, reading the sign.
It was an art gallery.
"I'm learning to paint?" I grinned, excitedly.
"Yeah," he eased out of the car and jogged around to open my door.
"This is going to be so much more fun than roller skating!" I squealed and Trace chuckled in response.
★★★
"I suck at this!" I exclaimed, causing the other people in the room to turn, and glare at me.
It was mostly older people there, aside from Trace and me.
"It's not that bad," Trace glanced from his canvas to mine.
"It looks nothing like it!" I pointed to the purple blob I had painted and to the purple vase it was supposed to look like. "Yours looks good compared to mine!"
Which was pretty sad, because his sucked too.
"You can't expect to learn to paint in one evening," the teacher breezed over to me. She looked at what I had done and wrinkled her nose. "Then again, there are those who can never learn."
"I take it I'm in the never category?" I huffed.
She didn't bother to answer.
I tried to pretty up the mess I had made on my canvas but it was hopeless. Completely and utterly hopeless. It was obvious I didn't have an artsy bone in my body. At least, when it came to painting and drawing...I could write pretty well. But then again, it was impossible to judge yourself.
I was tempted to say, 'Screw it, let's get out of here,' but I knew that wouldn't fly with Trace.
Plus, he was completely engrossed in talking with the old man beside him. Apparently, the man had served in one of the wars and was telling a curious Trace all about it.
I cleaned my paintbrushes off and then placed the canvas on a drying rack.
"You done?" Trace asked when I sat back down on the stool.
"Yeah," I sighed grumpily. "I'm never going anywhere near a paintbrush again. I'm an insult to artists everywhere."
Trace chuckled. "That's not true and this is only a beginner's class. I think you're supposed to suck."
I frowned.
"Olivia," Trace swiveled in his stool to face me and leaned down to my level. "You don't have to be perfect. It's okay to suck at things."
His words were like a stab straight to my heart, even though he hadn't meant them that way.
He was right. I didn't have to be perfect. But when you've been striving for perfection, all your life, it's hard to let it go.
"Hey," Trace whispered, lifting my chin up. "Don't be sad. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings or anything."
"I know," I mumbled. "And you're right. I don't have to be perfect but with my dad..."
"You've always tried to be," he added. "It's okay to mess up though, Olivia. I thought you wanted to live? You can't live if you don't mess up. Life's all about mistakes, and sometimes, those things you think are mistakes, turn out to be the thing you were searching for."
I nodded at his words. They made sense.
"Life isn't about perfection," he added, "perfection doesn't exist."
"I know," I replied, playing with the ends of my hair.
"Do you?" He questioned, his green eyes studying me. "Because I'm not sure you do."
★★★
I kept turning Trace's words over in my mind.
I knew that perfection didn't exist, but since my dad had always expected it, I strived for it.
My list was supposed to be my chance to make mistakes, so why was I holding myself back?
I wanted to mess things up, and live a little, but when you had worked so hard to be perfect, for so long, it was hard to let that go.
But I was going to, because if I didn't, I would never find the real Olivia Owens.
We were back in the car but we hadn't pulled away from the building.
"You may not be the next Picasso," Trace grinned, causing me to smile in response, "but you tried, and that's what really matters."
He pulled a pen and piece of paper out of his pocket.
I quickly realized it was my list.
He carefully unfolded it and held the crinkled piece of paper out to me, along with the pen.
"Would you like to do the honor?" He asked, eyes sparkling.
I didn't bother to reply, I took both items from his hands, crossing off smoking and learning how to paint.
My Live List
1. Get drunk
2. Fly in a hot air balloon
3. Go to the carnival
4. Go to a concert (even if it's someone I've never heard of)
5. Go to a party
6. Lose my virginity
7. Dance in the rain
8. Go roller skating
9. See the ocean
10. Learn to paint
11. Get a dog...or a cat...or a rabbit. Any pet will do.
12. Sing in front of real people. Avery doesn't count.
13. Make more friends
14. Shoot a gun
15. Smoke
16. Get a tattoo
17. Learn to pole dance
18. Go skinny dipping
19. Pierce my belly button
20. Fall in love
It was so rewarding seeing two more things get crossed off my list. I had been too scared to do them on my own. But with Trace's help, it was finally happening.
I was living.