A Trace of Passion (2 page)

Lizzy gasped. “You went to school with us?”

Trace blushed and ran his fingers through his hair. The curls immediately fell over his eyes again. “I lived in the States for a year.”

“His real name is Mathew Curtis,” Ophelia mumbled. Trace narrowed his eyes at her.
Oh no. Why did I open my mouth?
She clenched her jaw and looked at the floor.

“Mathew?” Lizzy said the name as if she could taste it. “Mathew…Curtis?” Her eyes lit with recognition. “Not the Mathew Curtis that was always hitting on the lunch ladies?”

Trace blushed. “I only did it for the free pizza.”

Lizzy’s squeal had everyone cupping their ears. When she finally stopped, Alana placed a hand on Trace’s arm and smiled. “Why don’t you come with us? It’s Ophelia’s birthday and we’re having a party at my apartment; nothing wild, just some friends and some beer. We can catch up.”

What?
Ophelia glanced at her friend in horror and wet her lips. “I’m sure Trace is busy.”

“Actually, I’m not at all busy.” Trace narrowed his gaze and grinned at Ophelia. Her breath hitched. “Happy birthday, by the way,” he said, winking.

* * * *

Trace found himself seated on Alana’s couch, surrounded by people he didn’t know. Alana introduced her husband, Joel. Trace recognized the former football player and bantered with him about their youthful shenanigans. Trace enjoyed himself. The way they referred to him as Mathew made him feel at home instead of another disposable celebrity. But Alana and Joel had only known him for one year. When his father passed, his mother decided to sell everything and move them back to London. Eventually, the fun shifted to other high school memories Trace was not a part of.

The fan-girl, Lizzy, plunked herself thigh-to-thigh on the couch with Trace, oblivious to the discomfort of everyone around her. She watched and listened to the conversation, laughing and nodding her head at all the correct times. Trace knew Lizzy’s type from years on the road. She was the swooning chick who dreamed of fucking him, but would never actually do it. Trace had no intention of leading her to think there was a chance anyway.

He pressed the beer bottle to his lips and took a swig, letting his thoughts wander. His initial plan was to entertain her friends for a little while before stealing Ophelia away and demanding an explanation. But when he recognized Alana from his junior year in an American high school, a piece of the puzzle fell into place and he ran with the decision to stick around her friends a bit longer.

Now that the attention was off him, he let his gaze linger around the cramped apartment. Ophelia was silent through the quick car ride here and then disappeared into the group of guests the second she got a chance. Trace couldn’t spot her while sitting, but he didn’t bother to get up. He had a clear view of the front door and was certain she hadn’t left. She was embarrassed and avoiding him.
Good, let her sweat
.

Someone mentioned Ophelia and cake. He turned his attention back to the conversation.

“Yeah, where
is
the Birthday Girl?” Alana glanced around.

Trace leaned toward Lizzy. “Why don’t you go find her?”

Bright red colored her cheeks. She nodded and rose. “I’ll get her.” Once Lizzy was out of earshot, Trace spoke up. “So Ophelia went to school with us too, right? Why aren’t there any stories about her?”

Alana glanced at Joel. She shrugged. “Ophelia was never much of a party goer.”

But she likes to go to bars by herself
, thought Trace.

“She was a big fan of yours,” Joel grinned. “Followed you around like a shadow.” Alana punched her husband’s shoulder. He winced and sagged to the side. “What?”

Trace tensed. “She did?”

Alana twirled her drink and smiled. “She had a little crush on you since that first day of junior year when that dumb jock pushed her aside while going up the stairs. She dropped all her books and you helped her pick them up. Remember?”

He didn’t. He would have picked up a book for anyone; it was common curtsy, not an act of heroism. He cleared his throat. “So…what happened?”

Alana rolled her eyes. “You became super popular and Ophelia didn’t.”

Trace shrugged. “She could have asked me out.”

Joel laughed. “Dude, she
did
ask you out. You turned her down flat in the middle of the lunch room.”

That Lizzy chick had damn good timing. She picked that moment to rush back into the room. Her face flushed from giggles and she paused to catch her breath. “Guys, Ophelia’s drunk and she refuses to come into the living room.”

A grin spread across Alana’s features. “About time that girl loosened up. Come on, I want pictures with the cake before she passes out.” The women made a beeline for the kitchen. Trace stood and followed.

When he entered, Alana leaned halfway inside the refrigerator. It didn’t take long to spot Ophelia. She sat face-down on the kitchen table with a hand wrapped around the base of a whiskey bottle. Trace scoffed. “I think you’re too late.”

“Oh crap.” Alana set the cake she pulled out of the fridge onto the counter and went to Ophelia’s side. She took the whiskey bottle and wrinkled her nose. “She never drinks anything stronger than beer. She’ll be out until tomorrow. I should get her to bed.”

Trace wet his lips. “Let me take her home.”

Alana’s brow rose.

Trace sighed. “Do you have an extra room?”

“No…”

“She’s not going to sleep on the couch. I’ll take her back to her house and put her in bed.”

Alana narrowed her eyes. “I don’t know...”

Trace placed a hand over his heart and gasped, pretending to be offended. Alana swatted at him, but he twisted out of her reach and chuckled. “Seriously, Joel can give us a ride and you guys can keep having a good time. I’ll tuck Ophelia in and be on my way.”

Alana bit her lip, but nodded and tossed him a set of keys.

* * * *

Trace assumed they were car keys, but they turned out to belong to Ophelia’s house. She lived in a faded brick duplex on—of course—the top floor. He gave Joel the keys before hoisting Ophelia into his arms. She smelled sweet, like honeydew melon and whiskey. Her thin frame weighed nothing, but he wasn’t going to chance dropping her down the steep stairs. She pressed her head against his chest and mumbled nonsense in drunken slumber. Trace couldn’t help but smile. She was adorable when she slept, with all her carefully guarded walls down.

Inside, the apartment was clean, tidy, but plain. The coffee-brown walls seemed dark and cold, even after Joel flicked on the lights. The drapes were a drab gray. No pictures, no flowers in decorative vases. Weren’t chicks all about color? “Did she just move in?”

Joel shook his head as he continued down the hall and opened Ophelia’s bedroom door. “Going on six years.”

Trace cocked his brow. Six years in a duplex that resembled a shoe box? He wasn’t metrosexual or anything, but the place was depressing, even for him.

He shifted her weight to one arm and yanked the comforter back with the other. He laid her down on the cool sheets. She gripped his wrist and he jumped in surprise. She mumbled and Trace thought he heard her say “Stay.” He leaned forward to be sure, but the only sound Ophelia made after that was a soft snore. He gently pulled his arm out of her grasp, removed her shoes, and covered her with the blanket.

In the living room, Trace noticed Joel had left the keys on the counter.

“She all right?”

He nodded. “Sleeping like a baby.”

Joel headed for the door. Trace quietly snatched the keys and stuffed them into his jeans pocket. He followed Joel into the hall and down the steps. “You need me to take you somewhere? Hotel or something? I’d invite you back to the party, but I’m pretty sure Alana already kicked everyone out.”

“Nah, I’m good. I’ll catch a cab.”

Joel nodded. “You’re a good guy, Matt. Don’t be a stranger.”

Trace headed down the sidewalk a little way until the headlights from Joel’s car rounded the corner and were out of view. He back-tracked and raced up the stoop to Ophelia’s duplex, fishing the keys from his pocket. He let himself into the building and into her apartment. He found the thermostat and increased the temperature by a couple of degrees. Not because it was cold, but because he hoped the walls would seem less callous.
First thing tomorrow, I’m hiring an interior decorator.

He searched until he found the linen closet and picked a blanket at random. He found the TV remote control and made himself at home on Ophelia’s tweed couch. His night was not going as planned, but he wasn’t going to let Ophelia get away from him scot-free again. Especially since he knew how he recognized her now.

As Trace zoned out in front of the glowing screen, his thoughts went back eleven years to the day Ophelia Martinez asked him out. It was two weeks after his father’s death, but to everyone else, it was two days before the Sadie Hawkins’s Day dance; the one dance where the girls asked the guys to go with them.

Trace had no shortage of invitations, but he also had no desire to go to a stupid social. After he lost his father, school felt like a bunch of shallow bullshit. He’d squandered away his teenage years chasing after ass, and for what? Pretty girls were just as mean as good-looking guys. Some of the girls asked him out of pity; Trace knew because they said things like “Come on, it’ll take your mind off everything.” It was so much worse than wanting to use him for social status.

By the time the lunch bell rang, Trace couldn’t take it anymore. He tried to call his mom, but got caught by the hall monitor. The dean confiscated his cellphone and sent him to lunch. When Ophelia approached him in the middle of the cafeteria, in front of all his friends and even the lunch ladies, he thought she was being cruel. He wouldn’t let his friends see him cry over his dead father and the girls pitying him. So when Ophelia asked her question, Trace answered with “Grow some tits first.”

In retrospect, it probably took a mousy girl like Ophelia a lot of guts to ask him out. He shouldn’t have been rude. He wasn’t mean to the other girls. Ophelia was just the last straw, the breaking point. She was a victim of bad timing. But she had gotten some twisted form of revenge on him.

* * * *

Ophelia stood before the couch in her flannel pajamas, a steaming mug of coffee in her hands.
Unbelievable.
She sighed and held the cup under Trace’s nose so the scent would waft into his nostrils. He blinked against the sunlight pouring through the windows, his lips stretched into a smile with his eyes closed.

“That for me?”

Ophelia scoffed, taking a sip of the black coffee. “You wish. Now get off my couch.”

He rubbed his eyes and scowled. “What time is it?”

“Six o’clock.”

His frown deepened. “Who the hell wakes up at the crack of dawn after drinking a bottle of whiskey?”

“Ugh, you have some serious morning breath.”

Trace slid a hand over his lips and rose from the sofa. Ophelia gasped as the blanket fell away from his mostly naked body. All that cover him were his boxers.
Good Lord!
She glanced away.

“Don’t act like you haven’t seen me naked before,” he said with his hand still over his mouth as he waltzed into her bathroom like he owned it.

“Now I have to buy a new couch,” she yelled over her shoulder. Okay, she was acting like a juvenile bitch but she didn’t care. She had to wake up and find Trace freaking Curtis asleep on her couch. It could have been worse—she could have woken up to find him curled up next to her in bed with both of them sans clothing. She woke up wearing the same outfit she’d put on yesterday so she was positive they hadn’t had sex. That was a relief and a disappointment, but mostly a relief. Only she couldn’t figure out why the hell he was in her house if they hadn’t done it.
Alana will pay for this.

Trace exited the bathroom smelling of mouth rinse. He had the decency to put his jeans on before he sat on the couch.
God, please put your shirt on too before I do something stupid.
She wanted to ask why he slept on her couch, but she knew questions would only prolong his stay and lead to trouble.

Trace nodded at her mug. “Aren’t you going to offer me some coffee?”

“No.”

“That’s not very hospitable. I carried you up two flights of stairs and stayed on your couch to make sure you didn’t have a concussion or choke on your own vomit.”

Ophelia narrowed her gaze. “I didn’t vomit.”

“But you could have.”

“Get out of my apartment, Trace.”

“Well now you’re just being rude.”

She pressed her fingers to her temple and sipped the coffee.
This cannot be happening
. “Trace, I don’t have time, I have to go to work in an hour.”

“So go to work,” he shrugged. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

Her jaw dropped. “You wouldn’t…you can’t…don’t you have band practice or something you have to do?”

He grinned and leaned back while spreading his arms over the back of the couch. “They won’t miss me for a day.”

Ophelia gulped the last sip of coffee while weighing her options. She moved to the breakfast bar near the mounted telephone and slammed the cup against the counter. “All right, I get it. You’re pissed that I gave you a fake phone number last year. But if you don’t take a hint and leave
now
, I’ll call the cops, Trace. I’m not kidding.”

He stood and cocked his brow. “And tell them what, exactly? That I helped you into bed after you passed out drunk? That I stayed on the
couch
to make sure you’d be okay?”

She bit her lip and glanced at the floor. “Trace, you’re seriously freaking me out.”

“All I want, Ophelia, are answers. Honest answers.”

Tears welled in her eyes. She blinked them way and tried to draw up courage that wasn’t there. “Jesus Christ, do you ask every woman why they slept with you?”

Trace pursed his lips. He sat on the edge of the couch and ran all ten fingers through his hair. She saw the agitated wrinkle in his brow before the black curls fell over his eyes again. “I didn’t mean to scare you, okay? I only wanted to confront you last night. Call you a bitch or something like that,” he scoffed. “But now I feel like a dick. I owe you an apology, Ophelia. I’m sorry I hurt your feelings when you asked me to the Sadie Hawkins’s Day dance.”