Page 7 of Finding Olivia (Trace + Olivia 1)

Despite the cold temperature outside, he was wearing a white wife-beater, loose jeans, and boots.

Standing, he reached down to help me up.

“Thanks,” I mumbled sheepishly, looking anywhere but at him.

“You okay?” He asked, glancing over my body for any scrapes.

“Wonderful,” I stared at one of the cars on a lift.

Trace chuckled. “You must be accident prone.”

“Huh?” I finally looked at him, chewing on my bottom lip, and nervously wringing my fingers together.

He ran his fingers through his short dark hair, flashing me a peek at a scripted tattoo on the inside of his bicep.

“Last night it was your tire,” he grinned, ticking it off on his finger, “and today you’ve already fallen, twice.”

“Oh—uh—I’m not normally so clumsy,” I explained.

Oh, God. I said uh, again. Why did every word in my vocabulary seem to leave me when he was around?

“Must be the shoes,” he commented, pointing to deathtraps on my feet.

Looking down, I muttered, “Maybe.”

“Where’s your car?” He looked around, like he expected it to be in the garage.

“Outside,” I pointed unnecessarily.

Trace nodded, and wiped his greasy hands off, on a rag sticking out of his back pocket.

I followed him outside, and made a strangled noise in my throat when I saw Avery pressed up against the garage wall, with the vest man attacking her mouth.

I covered my eyes, gagging. No one should have to see that much tongue in a public place.

Trace laughed. “Luca! Where’d you find this one?!”

I blushed, letting my hand drop from my eyes. “She’s my roommate.”

“That right?” Trace glanced over his shoulder at me with a raised brow.

I nodded.

“She seems like a…lovely girl,” he smirked. “Keys?”

“Oh, right,” I tossed him my car keys and he caught them easily.

I stood out of the way while he drove the car into the garage and onto a lift.

“You can come in now,” he motioned me inside.

I glared at Avery, but she was oblivious. She was supposed to be helping me and not making out with a stranger! I’d already made a fool out of myself by falling on top of Trace. There was no telling what I would do next.

“I don’t bite,” Trace grinned, when I didn’t step into the garage.

I forced each foot in front of the other and stopped next to him. He was already removing the spare tire and tossed it into the corner.

He grabbed a new tire from the front corner of the garage and lifted it into place like it weighed nothing.

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