“I’m pretty sure I drew blood from squeezing your arm. I don’t call that good,” I peered up at him.
He sat next to me and rolled up the sleeve of his shirt.
Sure enough, there were five, very red, half-moon indents. A trickle of blood had escaped one of the marks and dried on his arm.
“Told ya,” I picked up the skates and headed to where I’d left my shoes.
Trace followed behind me, his skates dangling from his fingers.
“I still think you did good,” he stated and I saw him shrug out of the corner of my eye.
“You’re such a liar,” I scolded him, sitting down to put my shoes on.
He smirked, his lips upturned on one corner. “Okay, maybe I am, but I’m not lying now.”
I rolled my eyes and wadded up Trace’s socks. “I’ll wash these before I give them back,” I tried to put them
in my purse, which I had grabbed from the cubby my shoes had been in, but Trace reached out and snagged them from me.
“I know how to work a washing machine, Olivia,” he grinned. “I promise,” he added. “I even know how to add fabric softener. Smell, it’s Mountain Spring,” he said sarcastically, holding the end of his shirt under my nose.
“Fine, wash them,” I stood. “It’s not like they’re dirty from my feet or anything.”
“I’m not afraid of your dirty socks, Olivia,” he grinned, leaning against the wall. His green eyes sparkled with carefully contained laughter.
“Technically they’re your dirty socks,” I walked over to the counter to return the roller skates.
“Ah,” he followed after me, “they may be my socks, but you’re the one that dirtied them.”
“Why are we still talking about socks?” I stopped, throwing my hands in the air, and he ran into me. “I told you that I would wash them.”
“I like messing with you,” he made his way around me, sauntering cockily up to the counter and dropping his skates loudly.
I returned my skates as well and followed Trace out the door.
He made sure to hold each door for me and I thought it was sweet.
Back in the car, he slipped his beanie on and perched his sunglasses atop his elegant nose.
I clasped my hands together so that I wouldn’t reach over and run my fingers along the stubble grazing his jaw.
“I’m hungry,” he announced.
“Okaaay,” I drew out the word.
“Wanna go to Sonic?” He asked, and I remembered passing one before we got here.
“Sure,” I shrugged. “I’ve never been there.”
His jaw dropped. “You’ve never been to Sonic?”
“Nope, never. I don’t think there were very many in New Hampshire,” I explained. “Plus, my dad wouldn’t let us eat out. We always had home cooked meals.”
Trace looked at me like I had spoken a foreign language. “There are so many things I need to show you. You haven’t experienced anything.”
I blushed at his words and hid my face behind the curtain of my hair.
“Don’t do that,” he murmured, reaching up to brush my long hair behind my ear, “Never hide your face from me.”