Page 90 of Chasing Olivia (Trace + Olivia 2)

“You are something else,” I smoothed my skirt down and buckled the seatbelt.

“If by, ‘something else’, you mean wickedly sexy and hilarious, then yeah, that sounds about right,” he chortled.

I didn’t have a comment for that, so I chose to steer the conversation in a different direction. “What song have you picked out for us to sing?”

He squirmed in the driver’s seat, taking an extra long time to put his blinker on and turn.

“I know you’ve picked one. Tell me,” I coaxed. “I agreed to sing. You don’t need to worry about me running away. Besides,” I pointed to the heels I was wearing, “I don’t think I could run in these if I tried.”

He chuckled at that, scratching his jaw. “I—um—actually was hoping you’d sing by yourself.” My jaw dropped open and he hastened to add, “I’ll play guitar and I’ll be right beside you. It’s not like you’ll be alone.”

“No,” I crossed my arms over my chest. “No way. That’s not happening. I agreed to sing with you. Not by myself. I won’t do it,” I glared out the window, fighting an internal panic attack. He knew I hated singing in front of other people and it was completely unfair for him to try to trick me like that.

“Olivia,” he coaxed, “your voice is amazing. There’s nothing for you to be insecure about.”

“I’m sorry,” I shook my head. “But I won’t do it. We can’t all be as self-assured as you.”

He sighed deeply. “It’s not like I’m going to force you to do it, but I’d really appreciate it if you did,” his voice was soft.

His tone of voice tugged at my heartstrings and made me feel bad. I could do it, couldn’t I? He’d be there. It wasn’t like I’d be alone.

“I’ll think about it,” I said quietly, almost hoping he wouldn’t hear me.

“Thank you,” he put his hand over mine and squeezed it.

“Yeah, well, I haven’t agreed yet. So don’t get too excited,” I warned.

“Noted,” he laughed, turning into a parking lot.

Since it was still a bit early, the restaurant wasn’t packed and we could be seated right away.

“Want any wine?” Trace asked.

I rolled my eyes and set my menu aside. “Do you think I want any wine?”

His lips quirked. “No.”

“Then why’d you ask?” I cupped my chin in my palm.

He shrugged, scrutinizing the menu. “I thought if I could get you drunk, you’d be more likely to sing.”

“If you got me drunk, that would result in making me more likely to throw up on you,” I warned, taking a sip of water.

“You’re not going to throw up if you sing. Once you start singing, all your nerves disappear. I don’t know why you make such a big deal out of it,” he put his menu down so he could look me in the eyes.

I fidgeted under his gaze. “I don’t like people staring at me.”

“It’s not like they’re staring at you,” he argued. “They’re…listening to the music.”

“They’re staring.” I took another sip of water to have something to do with my hands.

He shook his head back and forth, chuckling under his breath. “Only ‘cause you’re hot.”

I unrolled the cloth napkin, fanning it across my lap. “I told you I’d think about it. Can you drop the subject?”

He chuckled, tapping his fingers rhythmically against his water glass. “I know your ‘thinking about it’ entails you coming up with ways to get out of it. Just. Do. It.” He leaned across the table, gazing at me from beneath long lashes.

“Are you a Nike sponsor now?” I retorted.

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