Chasing Olivia (Trace + Olivia #2) (12 page)

A waitress came along, looking frazzled and exhausted, to take our order.

“Can I get a drink for you guys?” She asked, fumbling for her pen.

“Sweet tea, please,” I smiled at her.

“Uh…” Trace paused, “A beer.”

“What kind?” She asked.

“Surprise me,” he grinned, showing his ID. “I’m adventurous. Oh, and we want an order of cheese fries.”

“Alright,” her hand fluttered over her notepad and she seemed even more flustered than before. I wasn’t sure if it was because she was nervous over his request, or his appearance. I’d probably looked much the same when I met him the first time. “I’ll be right back with that,” she smiled, tucking wispy pieces of blonde hair behind her ear.

“So,” I nodded towards his guitar case, “I take it you’re going to play.”

“Of course,” he smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he played with the fedora, “and I’m hoping this really hot girl I know will sing with me,” he batted his eyelashes.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” I snorted. “Nice try, bud.”

“Aw, come on,” he bumped my shoulder with his and then ran his hand up my thigh, “I can be very persuasive,” he whispered huskily, his lips brushing against my cheek.

My eyes fluttered closed and my breath faltered. Damn him.

“Quit it,” I pushed his hand away before he had me agreeing to things I shouldn’t be.

“You have such a beautiful voice, Olivia,” he ran his finger lightly up my bare arm and I shivered in response.

“But-but,” I stuttered, “there are a lot of people here.”

“They don’t matter,” he coaxed. “
Please
, one song?” His eyes pleaded with me to give in.

“I-I-I-don’t know,” I closed my eyes to avoid his gaze.

“You know you want to,” his voice grew husky as his lips tickled the curve of my ear. “I’ll reward you later, and trust me, it’s a prize you don’t want to miss out on.”

“O-o-okay,” I agreed. I was a weak person, but I didn’t know anyone on the planet—especially one with ovaries—that could resist his charms.

“I knew you’d agree,” he removed his hand from my body and sat on his barstool looking mighty proud of himself.

“You don’t play fair,” I glared at him.

“No one said I had too,” he smirked, taking a bite of one of the cheese fries.

I stared at the food and drinks in shock. I hadn’t known the waitress even brought them. Trace had managed to make everything else disappear. It was an annoying talent he had. Although, it might prove useful since I’d agreed to sing and I would need to be sufficiently distracted so I didn’t throw up on anyone. Talk about embarrassing.

“Not bad,” he muttered after taking a sip of beer. “Want some?” He held the bottle out to me.

“No thanks,” I slid my glass of sweet tea closer to me, “this is fine.”

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged, taking another sip. “It might…loosen you up a bit,” he winked.

“Gosh,” I groaned, “how do you make
everything
sound like a sexual innuendo.”

“I’m…
very
talented,” he waggled his eyebrows.

“You’re a pain in my ass, that’s for sure. I’m not sure about talented though,” I reached for a fry covered in cheese and drenched it in ranch.

“That hurts,” he chuckled, his lips turning up in a small smile.

“I didn’t know your ego could be bruised,” I joked, adding a sugar packet to my supposedly ‘sweet’ tea.

“My cockiness is a ruse to hide the hurt little boy I am behind the handsome face,” he stared at me seriously for a moment before busting into laughter.

“How do you come up with this stuff?” I asked rhetorically, but he answered me anyway.

“My mind works in mysterious ways,” he smirked, grabbing a handful of cheese fries and stuffing them into his mouth.

I wrinkled my nose in disgust. “That’s gross, Trace.”

“What?” He mumbled around a mouthful of food. “I’m hungry…
somebody
had me working off all my energy earlier.”

“Oh please,” I rolled my eyes. “You’re insatiable and you know it.”

“Only when it comes to you,” he smiled widely, his green eyes light and playful.

“Good to know,” I laughed.

Between the two of us we managed to eat almost all of the cheese fries. I think we’d both been starving. “Well,” he stood, grabbing his guitar case, “I better get ready.”

“You already signed up to sing, didn’t you?” I questioned. “Before we even got here?”

He nodded. “I always have an agenda, babe,” he kissed my cheek before heading for the stage area. He bent to speak with someone, whom I assumed was a manager at the bar, and then he was escorted behind the stage.

I
really
hoped he didn’t do something to humiliate me. But knowing Trace, the lengths to which he’d go to embarrass me were endless.

I turned in my barstool, so I could see the stage better.

Somebody’s arm brushed mine and I jerked in response.

“Sorry,” they said, and their voice was way too close for comfort. I turned my head sharply and found a guy about my age sitting in Trace’s vacant chair. He had curly blonde hair and pale blue eyes clouded over from alcohol.

“Can I help you?” I questioned, giving the guy the benefit of the doubt.

“I just saw you sittin’ here and thought you looked lonely,” he slurred with a grin, leaning much too close to me. Somebody needed to teach this guy the rules of personal space because he was all up in my bubble, and if it popped, I could not be held accountable for my actions.

“I’m not lonely,” I said sternly, glaring at him, “so run along now.” I waved my hand in dismissal, hoping he got the message.

He grabbed my arm, squeezing much to tight. I bit down on my lip, breathing in and out sharply, hoping to avoid a panic attack. I hadn’t done well with strangers touching me after what Aaron did to me.

“There’s no need to play hard to get,” he flipped a stray blonde curl out of his eyes.

“I’m not playing anything,” I tried to yank my arm from his grasp but he was too strong. “Let me go!” I screamed as panic crawled up my throat. Tears burned my eyes. I pulled my arm again and this time I managed to get him to let go, but I went falling from my seat in the process and landed on the ground, smacking the side of my face sharply against the concrete floor.

“Olivia!” I heard Trace yell, his voice echoing around the whole bar as he yelled into the microphone. I’d been so preoccupied with Mr. Touchy Feely that I hadn’t seen him come out on stage.

Before I had a chance to move, Trace’s familiar scent surrounded me, and his large hands were on my body picking me up.

“Olivia,” he whispered, looking me over. “You’re bleeding.”

I reached up and felt around my eye. My fingers came away with a small smearing of blood. “It’s not that bad,” I shrugged.

His jaw was clenched tight and his eyes screamed murder. “You’re
hurt
.” He shoved me behind him and glared at Mr. Touchy Feely who was still sitting in his former seat.

“I didn’t do anything,” he held his hands up in surrender. “She just fell.”

“She didn’t just
fall
,” Trace seethed. “You grabbed her arm and you wouldn’t let go. When a girls says no, it means
no!
” Suddenly, he was reaching out and grabbing the guy by the shirt collar and lifting him out of the chair.

Holy shit, I knew Trace was strong, but this guy was double his size and built like a linebacker.

“Dude, let me go,” Mr. Touchy Feely tried to pry Trace’s hands off of him, but it was pointless. Trace was in a rage and there was no stopping him. “I wasn’t gonna hurt her.”

“I don’t care what your intentions were,” Trace growled, right up in the guy’s face as he shoved him into a wall. “When a girl tells you to let her go, guess what?
You let her go!
” He shook the guy forcefully.

I hadn’t seen Trace get this angry in a long time…not since Aaron attacked me. Trace was an easygoing guy and it took a lot to get him riled.

“Trace,” I whispered, placing my hand on his taut arm. “I’m okay.”

Slowly, he turned his head towards me, and some of the anger drained out of him. He released the guy, but not before giving him a hard enough shove that he went sprawling to the ground. The guy looked up in disbelief. For a second I thought he might attack Trace but instead he chose to pick himself up and walk away. I guess he wasn’t as dumb as he looked.

“Stay here,” Trace growled, bowing his head as he walked away. The brim of the fedora hid his gaze from me and I chewed my lip nervously.

Within seconds he was back, his guitar case slung over his shoulder. “We’re leaving,” he took my hand and practically dragged me out of the building.

People stared as we passed, the blue lights in the bar making them look strange—almost alien.

We drove back to the motel in silence, his grip so tight on the steering wheel that his knuckles turned white, and his jaw was clenched. I wanted to say something, but I figured silence was better.

He opened the motel door, letting me in first. I sat on the edge of the bed, nervously fiddling with the edge of my tank top. “Trace—”

“I’ll be back,” he said in a steely tone, slamming the door closed behind him as he left. I jumped at the noise.

My bottom lip trembled with the threat of tears, but I wouldn’t cry. I
couldn’t
.

Frustrated, I tore off my clothes and changed into pajamas.

I climbed under the itchy covers; eyes wide open.

Let him leave.

I didn’t care.

Honestly, I didn’t.

Okay, I did.

And that’s why it hurt.

“Baby, wake up. Wake up,” someone shook my shoulders. But I didn’t want to wake up. I’d been dreaming and it had been so good. “Olivia, wake up. I need to see your face. Come on. That’s my girl.”

My eyes opened to see Trace smiling down at me.

Why the heck was the jerk smiling at me when he’d left me in a rage?

I scooted away from him, my brows furrowing in anger. “Leave me alone,” I snapped, glaring at him.

“Olivia,” he whispered my name, reaching over to turn on the light. “I went to the drugstore and got some things,” he held up a plastic bag, shaking the contents.

“You just…
left
,” I seethed.

He bowed his head, his forehead wrinkling. “I’m sorry. I was angry, but not at you, never at you,” his green eyes pleaded with me for forgiveness. “That guy
hurt
you, Olivia. It made me mad and I’m sorry you had to see me like that. But I’m not sorry for protecting you.” He reached a tentative hand out to me. After a moment, I placed my hand in his. “Come here,” he coaxed.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before scooting close to him.

He brushed a piece of hair behind my ear, his fingers skimming over my cheek and hovering there.

Anger flashed in his eyes again.

“You’re going to get a black eye,” he growled.

I placed my fingers just below my eye and winced. The skin was surprisingly tender. I didn’t think I smacked the floor
that
hard. I guess I was wrong.

“I fell,” I frowned, “it’s not like he hit me or anything.”

“If he hadn’t grabbed you, you wouldn’t have fallen,” he growled, the tension returning to his body.

I grabbed his forearm. “I’m fine, Trace. I promise. It doesn’t hurt.”

“Whatever,” he grumbled, standing. He strode into the bathroom and I heard the faucet running. He returned a moment later, kneeling in front of me. He reached up, gently rubbing a wet washcloth against my face. I closed my eyes, letting him work. When I opened them, he was staring down at the pale pink smear on the white cloth with an angry look on his face.

Shaking his head, he grabbed the shopping bag and pulled out a bottle of Advil and water. He shook one into his hand and gave it to me. “Take this so you don’t get a headache.”

I felt fine, but I took it anyway to make him feel better.

Then he pulled out one of those instant cold packs and gently laid it against my eye. I hated to admit it, but it actually felt pretty good.

I put my hand overtop of his. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” he growled. “If I hadn’t left, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

I rolled my eyes. “Trace, you can’t blame yourself for every bump or bruise I get. This wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes, it was.”

I pushed his hand off my face, the cold pack falling to the bed, and cupped his cheeks in my hands as I stared into his eyes. “Why do you insist on taking the blame for everything?”

“When things are my fault, I like to accept responsibility.”

“What happened back there wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t mine, and it wasn’t even really that guy’s fault.” Trace growled at my words. “Okay, maybe it was a little bit his fault.”

“That’s better,” he forced a smile.

“But you’re not my bodyguard, Trace. You can’t be there for me all the time. I’m going to stumble and fall and have to pick myself back up sometimes. You can’t save me.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m ever going to stop trying,” he leaned in, resting his lips against mine. He didn’t really kiss me; he just held his lips there, brushing them against mine. It was the sweetest almost kiss I’d ever experienced…even if I was still mad at him.