Page 35 of Chasing Olivia (Trace + Olivia 2)

“Mhmm, suuure,” he narrowed his eyes.

I shook my head, fighting a smile. I picked up the sandwich and attempted to take a bite without the whole thing falling apart.

“Mmm,” I moaned, “this is actually really good.”

“See?” He brightened. “Don’t doubt me.”

“When have I ever doubted you?”

“You doubt my awesomeness on a regular basis. It wounds my delicate heart,” he placed a hand over his chest.

“There’s nothing about you that’s delicate,” I snorted.

“I am delicate…like a little flower,” he joked.

I was glad that we were both able to put our earlier conversation behind. But that was one of my favorite things about Trace. He was always genuinely happy and able to make jokes. He didn’t like to dwell on bad things.

Something I had learned was the bad things don’t matter, it’s our reaction to them that does.

Darkness had fallen by the time we made it to Philadelphia. Trace found a small motel and pulled into the parking lot.

“You said you didn’t want five star. Does this suffice?” He asked.

The place definitely wasn’t the best, but it didn’t appear to be the worst either, it was perfect.

“It’s great,” I smiled.

The truth was, I didn’t need fancy hotels or cars or lots of money. I had Trace and that’s all I’d ever need. Everything else was just the…icing on the cake, as some people liked to say.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, slipping out of the car. “Lock the doors…just in case,” he warned. “This area seems a bit sketchy.”

“Sure thing,” I saluted him, causing him to chuckle.

He returned a few minutes later with the room key and I unlocked the doors, stepping outside, and stretching my sore muscles. Riding in a car practically the whole day was not the most comfortable thing.

Trace grabbed both of our duffel bags, carrying them easily. I put a hand over my mouth to stifle my giggle at the sight of him carrying my flowery bag. It was a stark contrast compared to his plain black one.

I followed him down the pathway a short ways. He stopped in front of a room that had once been labeled 3, but now half of the number was missing, its imprint still visible in the slight discoloration of paint on the door.

“Here goes nothing,” he pushed the door open.

I immediately pinched my nose closed. “Oh my gosh! Did something die in there? It smells awful!”

His lips turned down in a frown and his brows furrowed together. “The dude seriously wants to charge me a hundred dollars a night for this dump?” He asked incredulously.

“I’d rather sleep in the car,” I took a step away, gagging at the pungent smell, and too scared to glance in the room and see what it actually looked like. If it was as frightful as the smell—I shuddered at the thought.

“I think we might have to,” he closed the door. “I know you said no fancy hotels, but I refuse to sleep anywhere that smells like five people died in it.”

He put our bags back in the car and then went inside to argue with the man working there in the hopes of a refund.

I buckled my seatbelt and then double-checked to make sure I’d locked the doors. After smelling that room, Trace was right to be concerned about possible creepers.

Ten minutes later, he came outside shaking his head. I unlocked the doors and he settled himself inside. “That fucker only wanted to refund me fifty percent of what I paid.”

“Is he crazy?” I gasped. “We didn’t even go inside the room!”

“But apparently, since we opened the door housekeeping has to clean the room,” he shook his head in exasperation.

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