Page 24 of Finding Olivia (Trace + Olivia 1)

“Thanks,” I smiled up at him as I lowered myself into the car.

“No problem,” he mumbled, closing the door.

He slid inside, the car rumbling to life with a roar.

He exited the campus, turning right, and then right again, at the stoplight.

He drove the short distance, turning into the park’s entrance, and then into the parking lot.

“I hope you’re hungry,” he commented, reaching into the back of the car for a large paper bag.

“Starving,” I inhaled the scent of pasta, wafting from the top of the bag.

“Good,” he slid from the car, bag in hand, “because I made enough to feed your entire dorm.”

“Wait, you made that?” I asked, hurrying out of the car after him, as fast as I could.

Trace stopped walking so that I could catch up to him. I was only five foot two and he towered above me.

“That’s what I said,” he grinned cockily.

I shook my head in disbelief. “What exactly did you make?”

“How about we find a picnic table and then you can find out?” He suggested with a wink.

We didn’t walk far, until we veered off the path, and found a table. Trace set the bag down, before sitting on the tabletop, his feet resting on the bench.

“Here, I brought you some blankets,” he spread one out over the top of the table so I could sit down beside him and then draped one over my shoulders.

Just like the other day, he was wearing jeans, a wife-beater, and plaid shirt; only this one was red instead of green.

He reached into the bag and I noticed a tattoo on his wrist. It was small, maybe only an inch, and it was a solid black star.

He pulled out several containers full of food, a thermos, two plates, and utensils.

“Geez, you’re prepared,” I commented, staring at everything. “Do this often?”

“No,” he brushed his dark hair out of his eyes. Flashing me a crooked smile, he added, “Honestly.”

I rolled my eyes. “I doubt that.”

“To be honest with you, I’ve never done anything like this before,” he waggled a finger between us. “I haven’t always been a…” He floundered.

“Nice guy?” I suggested.

“Yeah,” he sighed.

“I kind of figured that,” I shrugged.

“Why?” He tilted his head, brows raised.

My cheeks flamed. I waved my hands at him and stuttered, “You’ve got that whole bad boy vibe. The tattoos, the hair, the boots, and that smile! It’s pretty obvious that you’ve left a string of broken hearts.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and husky, sending shivers down my spine. “I don’t think it’s that many broken hearts.” Quieting his laughter, he opened one of the containers, and said, “Besides, I’m not that guy anymore. I didn’t like him very much,” he smirked.

“Is that a line or something?” I questioned, hugging the blanket closer to my chest as the sun went down, and the air grew cooler. I really hoped Trace wasn’t trying to use me, but I was beginning to question why he was wasting his time with me. I was nothing special.

“No,” he handed me the container and I looked down to see a stuffed shell with tomato sauce. It smelled heavenly, the scent of garlic lingering in the air. “Some things happened in my life, that sent me in a different direction, but now, I’m on the right path and I plan to stay on it.”

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