Trace + Olivia Series Boxed Set (67 page)

Trace pulled a loose blue and gray plaid shirt on over his wife-beater, leaving it unbuttoned. Grinning, he shook his head like a dog, spraying water droplets from his hair all around the room.

“That’s a cute look,” I giggled, assessing the mess he’d made of his hair. It was currently stuck up in random directions.

“Thought I’d try something new,” he smiled proudly. “You don’t like it?”

“It’s … interesting,” I tilted my head, studying him, as I leaned against the doorway to the bathroom.

He reached up, brushing the strands down. “Better?”

“Better,” I crossed the room, flopping on the bed. “I’m so tired and I didn’t even drive any,” I groaned, stretching my aching and sore muscles … although, they were tired for a completely different reason now.

“Get up,” he reached for my hand, pulling me into a sitting position, “we’re not going to sleep yet.”

“We’re not?” I frowned, looking at the bed longingly. All I wanted to do was curl up in the bed and go to sleep.

“Nope,” he shook his head. “Today’s fun hasn’t ended yet.”

“Ugh,” I covered my face with my hands, “how are you always so … chipper?”

“I have a lot to be happy about,” he kissed my cheek. “There’s no point in wasting time on being sad or miserable when there are so many amazing things you can be doing instead.”

“At least let me put on some mascara and eyeliner,” I pleaded. Thankfully I was dressed in shorts and a tank top. If I had already put on pajamas, no amount of pleading on his part would have gotten me to agree to leave.

“Fine,” he said as I stood. “But make it snappy, woman,” he smacked my butt.

“Trace!” I groaned. “Honestly,” I shook my head back and forth as I squatted on the floor to search through my duffel bag for my makeup case.

“What? You have a nice ass. My hands can’t control themselves.” He held his hands in the air, smiling like an innocent little boy. But we both knew he was far from innocent.

“Sure they can’t,” I rolled my eyes, heading for the dingy little bathroom. I put some mascara and eyeliner on, like I said I would, and then fluffed my damp hair. It still looked like crap so I ended up pulling it into a side bun and securing it with a ponytail holder. It still wasn’t great, but it was better than nothing.

“I’m ready—are you wearing a fedora?” I stopped in my tracks, staring at Trace like he’d grown three heads.

“I am,” he took it off doing some kind of fancy trick with it on his hand before replacing it. “I think I look mighty sexy in it.”

“You say that about everything,” I laughed because it was true. “I have to admit you look pretty hot though. Did you steal that from Luca?”

Trace stretched his legs out on the bed and crossed his arms behind his head. “Yes, yes I did, and you better not tell him or he’ll kill me for stealing one of his beloved hats. He has about—”

“He has as many fedoras and vests as you have plaid shirts and ripped jeans,” I interrupted.

“Exactly,” he nodded, “so he shouldn’t notice.”

“He’s probably already called the police,” I laughed, tying the laces of my converse sneakers.

“What can I say? I like to live dangerously,” he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood. “Ready?”

I nodded, curious as to what he had up his sleeve, but I knew better than to ask. Besides, surprises could be fun. Sometimes.

He got in the car and we drove a few miles away from the motel, parking outside a bar.

“A bar? Really, Trace? No. Just no,” I shook my head. A bar was definitely not my scene. True, I was twenty-two and legal to drink, but I didn’t enjoy contending with annoying drunk people. I had better things I could be doing, like sleeping.

“Calm yourself,” he snorted, “it’s not what you think.”

I pointed to the lit up sign in the window of the establishment. “See that? It says bar. B.A.R.”

“Now’s not the time for your adorable sarcasm. See
that
sign,” he pointed to one above it, nearly smacking me in the face by accident. “It says,
music lounge
. Now untangle your panties from the wad they’re currently bunched in and get that cute ass in there.”

“So demanding,” I sighed, fighting a smile as I opened the car door and stepped outside.

He grabbed his guitar case and we headed inside.

The place was packed with people. I didn’t know how they all managed to fit inside. Trace took my hand, pulling us through the crowd. The walls and bar were covered in a dark wood, and the concrete floor was painted black. Instead of the typical white or yellow light bulbs, they were all blue, giving the space an almost ethereal glow.

Trace found an empty high-top table and snagged it before someone else could.

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 too 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.