Page 53 of Finding Olivia (Trace + Olivia 1)

“I’ve got this,” I muttered, striding forward, passed the leering guys sitting at the bar.

I felt, rather than saw, Trace’s grin at my words.

I found an empty table, sliding into the booth.

Trace slid in across from me, still grinning widely. Did he ever stop smiling?

I glanced over my shoulder at the area where the karaoke was set up. I gulped down the lump in my throat.

“It’ll be fine,” Trace crooned.

“You’re not the one that’s going to have to sing in front a bunch of strangers!” I hissed.

“That’s true,” he chuckled, leaning back in the booth as a waitress appeared.

Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy bun and her pen was poised against a notepad.

“Can I get you anything to eat or drink? Do you need some more time to look at the menu?” She asked.

I looked down at the red and white menu, that had been on the table when we sat down, with a picture of a girl from the ‘60’s and a classic red convertible. I hated to inform her, but I hadn’t even cracked open the menu.

“Sweet tea,” I answered, “and I’m not very hungry.” I picked up the menu and handed it to her.

Actually, I was hungry. But if I was going to sing, it had to be on an empty stomach, or I’d end up throwing up on the floor in front of everybody.

“A chocolate milkshake, that’s all,” Trace replied.

“I’ll be back with that, and if either of you change your mind, and want something to eat, let me know,” she smiled before heading for the kitchen.

“Ready?” Trace asked, nodding to the karaoke setup.

“No!” I shrieked, practically jumping out of my skin. “Give me a few minutes to talk myself into this!” Nervous beads of sweat were forming on my forehead, and I reached up, wiping it off with the back of my hand.

He narrowed his eyes. “Are you talking yourself into it, or out of it?” He leaned forward as he asked the question, the booth squeaking.

“In! I’m talking myself into doing it!” I squawked.

“Sure you are,” his eyes narrowed further and dammit if that didn’t make some part of me want to show him that I wasn’t scared.

I slapped my hand on the table and stood up.

Trace grinned and leaned back. “Challenge accepted?”

“You betcha’,” I pointed a finger at him.

I strode over to the karaoke station, my nerves beginning to catch up with me, but I pushed them down.

I could do this.

I sang at home all the time, even my dad had praised my voice, and tried to talk me into joining the choir at his church. That was one thing I refused to do to please him, I was too shy, and he wouldn’t have taken kindly to me throwing up on his patrons. The only non-family member who had heard me sing was Avery. Which happened by accident when she walked into our dorm early and I was singing. But even Avery had complimented my voice.

I took the microphone from the man working the machine and told him the song I wanted to sing.

“You sure, darlin’?” He questioned me in a thick southern accent, something even more southern than Virginia.

“Positive,” I gripped the microphone tightly in my hand, my knuckles turning white.

I swallowed down the bile in my throat as the first notes of the song filled the air while everyone in the restaurant turned to see who was singing.

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