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“How do you come up with this stuff?” I asked rhetorically, but he answered me anyway.
“My mind works in mysterious ways,” he smirked, grabbing a handful of cheese fries and stuffing them into his mouth.
I wrinkled my nose in disgust. “That’s gross, Trace.”
“What?” He mumbled around a mouthful of food. “I’m hungry…somebody had me working off all my energy earlier.”
“Oh please,” I rolled my eyes. “You’re insatiable and you know it.”
“Only when it comes to you,” he smiled widely, his green eyes light and playful.
“Good to know,” I laughed.
Between the two of us we managed to eat almost all of the cheese fries. I think we’d both been starving. “Well,” he stood, grabbing his guitar case, “I better get ready.”
“You already signed up to sing, didn’t you?” I questioned. “Before we even got here?”
He nodded. “I always have an agenda, babe,” he kissed my cheek before heading for the stage area. He bent to speak with someone, whom I assumed was a manager at the bar, and then he was escorted behind the stage.
I really hoped he didn’t do something to humiliate me. But knowing Trace, the lengths to which he’d go to embarrass me were endless.
I turned in my barstool, so I could see the stage better.
Somebody’s arm brushed mine and I jerked in response.
“Sorry,” they said, and their voice was way too close for comfort. I turned my head sharply and found a guy about my age sitting in Trace’s vacant chair. He had curly blonde hair and pale blue eyes clouded over from alcohol.
“Can I help you?” I questioned, giving the guy the benefit of the doubt.
“I just saw you sittin’ here and thought you looked lonely,” he slurred with a grin, leaning much too close to me. Somebody needed to teach this guy the rules of personal space because he was all up in my bubble, and if it popped, I could not be held accountable for my actions.
“I’m not lonely,” I said sternly, glaring at him, “so run along now.” I waved my hand in dismissal, hoping he got the message.
He grabbed my arm, squeezing much to tight. I bit down on my lip, breathing in and out sharply, hoping to avoid a panic attack. I hadn’t done well with strangers touching me after what Aaron did to me.
“There’s no need to play hard to get,” he flipped a stray blonde curl out of his eyes.
“I’m not playing anything,” I tried to yank my arm from his grasp but he was too strong. “Let me go!” I screamed as panic crawled up my throat. Tears burned my eyes. I pulled my arm again and this time I managed to get him to let go, but I went falling from my seat in the process and landed on the ground, smacking the side of my face sharply against the concrete floor.
“Olivia!” I heard Trace yell, his voice echoing around the whole bar as he yelled into the microphone. I’d been so preoccupied with Mr. Touchy Feely that I hadn’t seen him come out on stage.
Before I had a chance to move, Trace’s familiar scent surrounded me, and his large hands were on my body picking me up.
“Olivia,” he whispered, looking me over. “You’re bleeding.”
I reached up and felt around my eye. My fingers came away with a small smearing of blood. “It’s not that bad,” I shrugged.
His jaw was clenched tight and his eyes screamed murder. “You’re hurt.” He shoved me behind him and glared at Mr. Touchy Feely who was still sitting in his former seat.
“I didn’t do anything,” he held his hands up in surrender. “She just fell.”
“She didn’t just fall,” Trace seethed. “You grabbed her arm and you wouldn’t let go. When a girls says no, it means no!” Suddenly, he was reaching out and grabbing the guy by the shirt collar and lifting him out of the chair.
Holy shit, I knew Trace was strong, but this guy was double his size and built like a linebacker.
“Dude, let me go,” Mr. Touchy Feely tried to pry Trace’s hands off of him, but it was pointless. Trace was in a rage and there was no stopping him. “I wasn’t gonna hurt her.”
“I don’t care what your intentions were,” Trace growled, right up in the guy’s face as he shoved him into a wall. “When a girl tells you to let her go, guess what? You let her go!” He shook the guy forcefully.
