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Oh, sweet baby Jesus.
I watched as a droplet of water trickled down his chest, into the dips and curves of his abs, and finally disappeared into the towel.
My eyes roamed over his tattoos and my tongue flicked out to moisten my dry lips.
Trace chuckled and I blushed, turning away, embarrassed that he caught me staring. I wished I could be bold all the time, like when I showed him my belly button piercing, but those moments were few and far between.
His bedroom door clicked closed and I breathed out a sigh of relief.
The door opened again and my heart stuttered in my chest. He came out in a clean pair of jeans, a white V-neck tee that showed off his tanned collarbone with the edge of the tattoo over his heart peeking out, and shrugged into a red and blue plaid shirt.
He ran his long fingers through his damp hair, trying to dry it.
He fixed the collar of his shirt and nodded at the door.
I stood, following him outside, and around back where his newer car was parked.
We were both quiet as he drove, getting on the Interstate, and heading north.
Trace got off at the exit that led to Target and a strip mall. But instead of turning right, to head towards that area, he went left.
We passed a Denny’s on our right and a Sheetz on the left. Neither of which gave me a clue as to where we were going.
I glanced over at Trace, who was staring straight ahead at the road, a smirk lifting his lips.
I kept quiet, wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans, as we turned, and headed into a part of town I’d never been to before.
He pulled into the packed parking lot of a restaurant called, Backseat Bar and Grill.
“We’re here,” he announced, as if I hadn’t figured that out already. The question was, why were we here? The mischievous grin Trace wore told me that we weren’t here to eat.
I trailed along behind him, trying not to reach up and slap that smirk right off his face.
He held the door open for me and I stepped inside, my eyes greeted by red and white old-fashioned tiles and booths.
“This way,” Trace nodded to the other side of the restaurant where the bar was.
My eyes lit upon a sign. I read the words carefully. Once. Twice. Three times.
Karaoke night! 7pm to Closing!
“Hell no!” I backed away, but somehow Trace had moved so he was no longer in front of me. Instead, he was behind me, and I bumped into his chest, his hands gripping my upper arms.
“Don’t even think about running away, Olivia,” he whispered in my ear. “I will chase your ass down and drag you back in here.”
“But-but-”
“You’re getting up there, and you’re singing,” he responded.
I took a deep breath. I really had to stop freaking out every time we did something on my list.
The problem was, I was scared to do those things, which was why I had wanted to do them in the first place. Maybe that was strange, but I was sick of being sheltered.
My dad wasn’t holding me back anymore.
I was.
I straightened my shirt, steeling myself for what I was about to do.
