Chasing Olivia (Trace + Olivia #2) (15 page)

“Exactly,” he snapped his fingers, “and who wants boring?”

“Not me. That’s why I’m stuck with you,” I giggled.

“Stuck?” He raised a brow. “I should be offended.”

“But you’re not?”

“No,” he shook his head, “I know exactly what you mean. I’m stuck with you too,” he grinned. “Because there’s no one else that could handle all of this,” he did an awkward shimmy, since he was sitting, as he pointed to himself.

“Yeah,” I agreed with a laugh, “I don’t think there’s anyone else that could handle you…or put up with your horrible dancing skills.”

He gasped, draping his towel on top of me since I was still shivering, and then wrapped his arm around me. “My dancing is
awesome
. Just because you aren’t familiar with the style doesn’t mean it isn’t good.”

“You look like your having a seizure when you dance,” I smiled up at him, “that isn’t normal.”

“I don’t need rhythm on the dance floor when I have it in the bed,” he grinned, thrusting his hips for good measure.

“Can you—I don’t know—
not
do that in public?” I groaned, fighting a blush.

His smile widened. “What difference does it make when you’re the one reaping the benefits?”

“Do you think before you speak?” I buried my face in my hands, shaking my head back and forth in disbelief.

“No,” he snorted, “where’s the fun in that?”

“Sometimes, you’re as bad as Avery, and that’s saying something,” I groaned, kicking at a pebble.

“There’s no point in sugar coating things,” he shrugged, drawing his knees up and draping his arms on top.

Marcus came over and smiled down at us. “I noticed your license plate and saw that you guys are from Virginia. Are you passing through or might you stay here a bit?”

Trace shrugged. “Maybe. We’re on a road trip and we don’t exactly have much of a plan.”

“Excellent,” Marcus smiled. “I’m having a bonfire down by the lake tonight if you want to stay and hangout. There’s also room at my house if you want to stay the night. My wife won’t mind. I think she’s sick of me anyway and would like some company,” he chortled.

Trace looked at me skeptically. I shrugged in response to his look.

“Sounds good,” Trace smiled at Marcus. “A bonfire would be nice and we just might take you up on your offer for a place to stay.”

“Great,” Marcus clapped his hands together. “I better get back over there. We have a group of college kids coming. They can be a bit rowdy, they tend to show up drunk.”

“Have fun with that,” Trace chuckled.

“Oh, I will,” Marcus cackled as he walked away.

“You hungry,” Trace asked me, raking his fingers through his slightly damp hair.

“Yeah,” I nodded, “but I’m still wet.”

“We’ll go through a drive-thru then,” he stood, shaking off the pebbles that clung to his jeans.

“You really want to get your beloved Camaro’s seats wet?” I eyed him questioningly.

“Damn,” he muttered, “I forgot about that.” He put his hands on his hips, lips pursed in thought. “Why don’t we just change? A bra and panties is equivalent to a bikini,” he pointed at me.

“Are you kidding me?” I protested. “I’m not stripping down in front of strangers. You’re insane.”

“Fine,” there was a challenge in his eyes, “I will.” He marched towards the parked Camaro.

“I hate you so much right now,” I growled as I stood, stomping after him.

“Hate is a passionate word,” he sing-songed, “and I will be rewarded with all that passion
later
,” he glanced at me over his shoulder, holding back laughter.

“I’m sure you’ll think I’m real passionate when I pull your hair,” I glared, stopping by the trunk.

“Oooh, you wanna get rough? I’m down for that,” he smirked, unlocking the trunk.

I punched him as hard as I could and was pleased when he let out a grunt.

“I’ll show you rough,” I mumbled, looking through my duffel bag for dry clothes. I wasn’t at all pleased about the idea of almost getting naked in front of all these strangers, but Trace was kind of right, it was like a bikini. Or so I kept telling myself. “Give me one of your shirts,” I pleaded.

He handed me one of his long sleeved plaid shirts and I pulled it on, quickly doing the buttons and rolling up the sleeves. While I would’ve loved to change out of my wet tank top, people were watching us, and I just couldn’t stomach it.

Since his shirt almost came down to my knees, it made it easy to get the wet shorts off and replace them with dry ones without anyone seeing.

Trace, apparently, didn’t have an ounce of modesty. He was smiling crookedly at me as he stood in just his boxers.

“Put some clothes on,” I rolled my eyes.

“Yes ma’am,” he saluted me, grabbing a pair of jeans and a dry shirt.

I shook my head and got in the car. I knew if I stood there, it would only enable him to do something stupid and embarrassing.

Instead of getting in the car, he jogged over to Marcus and they exchanged phone numbers.

“What was that about?” I asked when he got in the car.

“Thought it would make it easier when we meet up later,” he shrugged, pulling away from the group.

“Oh, of course,” I shook my head. I looked around at the bright green leaves on the trees and the grazing cattle. “Where exactly are we?”

“New York,” he answered.

It was crazy to me that we had just left home and were already several states away. But we had a lot farther to go before we reached Maine.

Trace found a small diner and pulled into the parking lot. Several eighteen-wheelers were parked in back and there were few cars in the front.

“You did mention no fancy restaurants,” he reminded me.

“Yeah, yeah,” I eyed the place with suspicion, “I know.”

We stepped inside the small diner and a bell chimed pleasantly above the door.

“Take a seat anywhere you’d like,” a voice called out from the back.

We found an empty booth in the corner by a window. The table was sticky and looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in years. I tried to hide my frown but it was impossible.

Trace laughed at my expression.

“Don’t tell me you’re not grossed out,” I challenged.

“It’s not the best,” he shrugged, “but spontaneity is what we agreed on.”

“I didn’t agree to get a strange flesh eating disease,” I countered, wishing I had a bucket of Germ-X and a spray can of Lysol.

He snorted. “You’ll live.”

“I didn’t even know places like this existed in New York,” I looked around at the dirty place.

Trace chuckled. “You do realize that New York is more than just Manhattan.”

“Yes, I know,” I narrowed my eyes.

“Just checking,” he smirked.

The waitress came striding up to us with a pleasant smile on her wrinkled face. “Can I get you guys something to drink?” She asked.

I frowned. “Bottled water.” That seemed safe enough.

Trace snorted.

“What?” I glared at him.

“Nothing,” he waved his hand in dismissal. “I’ll have the same.”

“Sure thing,” the waitress smiled. “And menus are right there,” she pointed to the other end of the table, “look things over and I’ll be back with your drinks.”

I picked up two menus and handed one to Trace.

When the waitress came back with our water, I ordered a B.L.T. That seemed safe enough. Trace ordered a cheeseburger. If he got mad cow, well…

I took a sip of water and said, “If I die from this, I hope you miss me.”

He chuckled. “You’re not going to die from the food or the water,” he eyed the bottle in my hand. “I’m sure you’ll be pleasantly surprised by how good it is. Truckers wouldn’t stop here if the food sucked,” he reasoned.

I hoped he was right, because I was hungry.

It didn’t take us long to get our food and it actually looked pretty yummy…but I still had to taste it.

Trace took a bite of his burger, which he’d covered in ketchup, and was very dramatic about how good it tasted. “Mmm, mmm,” he hummed, “delicious.”

I took a deep breath and picked up half of my sandwich. I took a small hesitant bite.

“This is actually really good,” I admitted.

“See?” He smirked. “You got all worked up for no reason.”

“Well,” I looked pointedly at the dirty floors and then the table, “I think had reason to.”

“You worry too much.”

“Someone has to,” I replied.

“Are you implying that I don’t?” He took a bite of a French fry, his face suddenly serious. There was no playfulness in his eyes or tone of voice. “Because I can assure you, I do worry. A lot. About you. About Gramps. About my idiot brother. I worry if I’m good enough for you,” he leaned towards me, staring into my eyes. “I worry that I’m not a good son or grandson. I worry that I’m not the right person to take over my family’s business. I worry about disappointing them if I tell them I don’t want to take it over.”

“Whoa,” I whispered. I hadn’t expected him to…open up so much. Trace was a closed off guy. He didn’t talk about his feelings with me. I was usually able to pick up on what he was thinking or feeling because I’d known him so long. But I hadn’t known he carried all of that around with him.

I placed my hand on top of his. “Trace,” I whispered, “you don’t need to worry about
any
of that. I love you, unconditionally, and so does your family. We could never be disappointed by the decisions you make.”

He entwined our fingers together and stared at our joined hands for a moment. “That doesn’t stop me from wondering.”

“Do you really not want to take over your family business?” I asked hesitantly.

“No,” he answered immediately, “I don’t. I hate it. Bossing other people around is not how I want to make a living.”

“Then
tell
them.”

“I can’t,” he murmured. “I won’t disappoint them like that.”

“So, what? You’ll be miserable for the rest of your life?” I questioned him, trying to meet his gaze but he refused to look at me.

“Sounds about right,” he muttered.

“Trace,” I said his name sternly, “that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah, well,” he pulled roughly at his hair, his burger long forgotten, “it’s what I have to do.”

“No, it’s not,” I countered. “We’re in control of our own destinies, Trace. If you don’t want to run the company, don’t do it. Simple as that.”

“And do what? Sell it? Put a stranger in charge? Gramps is
dying
, this is my responsibility now.”

“Gosh, you’re so stubborn,” I groaned. “Do you even hear yourself? You’re being ridiculous!”

“I’m not—”

“If the situation was reversed, you’d tell me I was being dumb,” I interrupted.

He clenched his jaw, having no comeback for that since he knew it was true.

After a few minutes, he let out a breath. “I have a lot to think about,” he mumbled, unable to meet my gaze.

“You do,” I replied, squeezing his hand, which I’d never released, “and I hope you make the right decision for
you
.”

The fire crackled and sparks flew through the air. I sat in-between Trace’s legs with my head lying against his chest.

“This is nice,” I murmured, “I’m glad we decided to stay for this.”

“Me too,” he whispered, his lips brushing over the scar my hair kept hidden. “There’s no lakes in Winchester to do something like this…but it’s not like that stops people from having bonfire’s. This is just…nicer.”

“Mhmm,” I agreed as his lips passed over my scar again. “Why do you do that?” The words tumbled from my mouth before I could stop them.

“Do what?” He asked, his chest rumbling against me.

“Touch my scar…” I paused. “Does it…bother you?” I tilted my face up to see his reaction.

“Is that what you think?” His brows furrowed together and he seemed shocked that I would come to that conclusion.

I frowned. “It bothers me,” I reached up, running my fingers along the bumpy scar on the back of my head, “so it’s understandable that it would bother you.”

“Absolutely not,” he shook his head forcefully. “You wanna know why I touch it? Why I kiss it?” He asked, his eyes dark with an emotion I couldn’t decipher.

I nodded.

“Because,” he said forcefully, “it reminds me of what I almost lost and how precious life is.”

That hadn’t been the answer I’d been expecting…I don’t even know what I thought he’d say, but it hadn’t been that.

Continuing, he ran a finger lightly over the scar, making me shiver. “I watched you bleed out from here…and I knew then exactly what it means to be helpless.”

“Trace,” I breathed, reaching up to cup his cheek, but he caught my hand and kissed the palm.

“When I watched my dad get hit by that truck…there’s was nothing I could do. With you, I could do something, but I wasn’t sure if I was doing the right thing and that scared me more than anything.”

“I’m here,” I whispered into the night. “You did everything right.”

“It’s been two years,” he rested his chin on top of my head, “two whole fucking years, and I still have nightmares about walking in on him beating the crap out of you.”

I let out a shaky breath. “I still have nightmares,” I admitted. “But I didn’t know you had them.”