What am I doing? Trace Weston, oh my. He shows interest, even though he has one of the worst reputations around. Jordan doesn’t like it. But then again, he never cares for anyone. Trace is hot: sexy, dark hair, and piercing deep-dark eyes.

Drowning—what an idiot. Why would I go swimming in the huge Atlantic Ocean when I have never had a proper swimming lesson?

Why did I agree to a date? I’m not the kind of girl who will hop into bed with him. Virgin? No, not me, but I respect myself more than that. He’s a guy who has sex with a girl and never calls. No, thank you. Not what I’m looking for. C’est la vie! Fancy French term for “well, he asked, and I accepted, so no backing out now” I’m sure that isn’t the exact meaning, but close.

Backing Maxine’s car out of the beach parking lot, I glance over at Trace as I pull away. He stands there, watching after my car. In board shorts with no shirt on, he shows off the most amazing chest I have ever seen. He has the kind of pecs you take pictures of… Hope he didn’t catch me checking him out earlier.

I run into the house, throw off my swim suit, and hop in the shower. With time to spare, I walk out the door and head off to work, picking up an energy drink along the way.

Work is the same as it is every day: I check my zone and side work and then prepare myself for the shift. The first hour, the restaurant is slow so it’s the perfect time for chit-chatting with co-workers (although I don’t think the boss sees it that way: “If you have time to lean, you have time to clean,” is one of his favorite lines).

I walk over to the side stand where Megan and Kristine are busy stocking glassware for the dinner rush. Sometimes I love the rush: running around like a crazy person, not even remembering your own name.

“Hey, how was Maxine’s party?” Kristine says.

“Yeah, it was okay. I almost drowned.”

Both girls’ mouths drop. They both ask if I’m okay and what exactly happened.

“It’s okay. Trace Weston saved me. Do you know him?”

“Is that Darren’s roommate?” Megan asks.

“Yes, the one with the dark hair,” Kristine chimes in. “He’s hot, Vanessa. Like, really hot.”

We are still gossiping when our manager walks up to us.

“Get to work, ladies. Do you know tonight’s soup, Vanessa?” He looks right to me.

Now, this should be an easy answer. We rotate each night between two soups, so I have a fifty-fifty chance of getting this right. I should have paid attention to the chart. My manager is getting frustrated as I go over my choices. Tomato Bisque or Italian Wedding?

“Tomato Bisque,” I say with a smile.

“Wrong. Now get to work.”

Damn.

I glance at the front door and picture Trace strolling into the restaurant. Whoa, how did that thought get there? He said he wouldn’t stop by, but why am I watching the door like a hawk?

I half expect that maybe he didn’t listen and will come in for dinner. While I am thinking of everything Trace related, I get my first table of the evening.

I walk over to the nice-looking older couple as they browse the menu.

“Hi. Welcome to Pesto’s. My name is Vanessa, and I will take care of you this evening.”

I start my spiel featuring the specials when the woman cuts me off with, “Water.”

Lovely—I just hadn’t gotten to the part where I ask you that yet.

The man with graying hair sitting next to her doesn’t look at me, so I ask, “And for you Sir? What would you like to drink?”

He looks up in shock, as if he thought he was sitting alone at home.

“Oh, I want nothing to drink. I’ll just have water,” he says in a gruff voice.

Alrighty then, last I checked you drink water. I walk away from the table and go to fetch their drinks. Lost in daydreams of Trace, I top the waters off with a lemon as a co-worker Georgie walks up.

“Hey, did you hear?”

“Hear what?”

“We’re getting a new manager.”

“Really? Who is leaving?” I ask.

“Douglas.”

Oh, thank god. I love working here, but my manager Doug’s an ass. He’s the one who asked me to name the soup of the day. He never smiles, and to be honest, the guests don’t care for him.

I glance up at Georgie, a nice older man who has been working here since day one.

“Oh well, then I guess I won’t be quitting this week.” I laugh.

The management always works with my schedule for school, and if I need time off for studying, it’s easy to find someone to cover for me. So I would never really quit.

Georgie just smiles as I walk away with the waters in hand.

When I arrive to the table, I have two more tables. Fun.

One quick glance toward the front door and I continue my work.

The night goes by in a blur. We’re busy, and I deal with a few impossible guests. One lady tells me she’s allergic to garlic. I head to the chef and relay her message. The chef glares as if I’m making it up and says, “Allergic to garlic? Everything we cook has garlic.”

“Will you talk to her?” I ask, shrugging my shoulders in frustration.

“Tell her she can have noodles and butter.”

The rest of the night is smooth, with only a few mishaps here and there. The new busser drops a huge tray of glassware; Doug might kill that poor kid. When the restaurant slows, I begin to do my closing side work.

Upon finishing my duties and making sure everything is in pristine condition, I head to Doug to check out. After a long night, I’m ready to leave. After watching the door all night, I’m only a little disappointed that Trace didn’t stop by.

Kristine catches up to me on my way out the door. “Hey, I hear there’s a party at your house.”

“What? Where did you hear that?”

“Maxine texted earlier, told me to stop by.”

Great. I just want to go home and forget about tonight. Hanging at the beach all day wore me out. Now I just want a shower and my bed.

I smile at Kristine anyway. “So, are you going to head over?”

“Yes, but I need to wash the smell of garlic from my hair.” We laugh as we walk through the parking lot.

I grab my phone out of my purse and find two text messages. The first is from Maxine:

Hey Biotch, I am having people over… So hurry up and get your ass home. Trace is here.

The second is from Trace and my fingers grip tighter around the phone so it doesn’t fall out of my hands.

Hope work is going okay. I’m at your house and can’t wait to see you again.

My stomach fills with butterflies at the thought of seeing him. He’s at my house. What if he went in my room? Oh shit, did I clean? I run a mental checklist and think how my beach clothes are sprawled across the floor. How could Maxine bring people over to the house? I love —Maxine—she’s my best friend—but sometimes she doesn’t think. I walk to Maxine’s car and hop in. Flipping down the vanity mirror, I try to tame my hair.

As I pull up to the driveway, cars are everywhere. Fortunately, it’s still early in the evening so the neighbors shouldn’t be complaining yet.

Loud music blares as I step inside our house. I spot Trace on the couch, laughing with Tony. Darren sits next to Maxine, her hands resting on his lap. She sees me, hops off the couch, and rushes over.

“Oh yay, Nessie’s here. Now the party can begin.” She laughs as she throws her arms around me.

My eyes meet Trace’s, and his mouth lifts into a smile.

Sticky and gross after a long shift at work, I must appear horrid. My eyes travel around the living room. Most everyone here is people we know from work who had the night off. Mark and Kyle, two guys we work with who have the major hots for Maxine, hang on her every word. A few girls from one of my study groups are here, too: Ivy and Gretchen. I notice Maxine’s best friend, Fallon, sitting near Trace, her long red hair cascading along her shoulders. I feel a tad jealous, but I smile as I look around. Everyone is old enough to drink except me: it’s a few more months still until my twenty-first birthday, and let’s just say the countdown has already started.

Half-eaten pizza on paper plates litters the tables and counters. Some people dance while others sit around laughing and talking. I look out to the back porch where people smoke and converse.

Jordan is nowhere to be seen, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Jordan isn’t here?” I whisper to Maxine.

“He was earlier but left.” She smiles back.

“Cool. I’m gonna head to my room and change.” Stepping over random people who are sprawled out on the floor, I smile at Trace. Crossing my fingers that my room isn’t a make out destination, I sneak through the open door, close it behind me, and start picking up a few things off the floor. My bikini from earlier is thrown across the desk chair. I stuff it into the hamper in the closet. I throw on sweats and a comfy T-shirt and pull my hair out of its bun.

There is a knock at the door just as I decide to rejoin the party.

Trace is standing there when I open the door. His hands are pushing on the doorframe. He leans his head into the room.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” I answer back. Standing and staring at him like the moron I am, I watch his eyes wander around the room.

“Can I come in?”

Blocking the door that leads to my personal space, I frown. Part of me knew he’d end up in here anyways. Why else did I clean? With a huff of my breath, I slide to the side so he can enter.

“Sure.”

He steps inside and heads over to the desk. A notebook is lying on top, and he takes great interest in it, thumbing through page after page.

“Excuse me, Mr. Nosy. What are you doing?”

“I thought it might be a diary.” He chuckles, closing the notebook and returning it to the desk, then turns to take in the rest of the room.

“Diary, ha! Like I would let you read that,” I snort.

“Ah-ha, so there is a diary?” He struts around as I close the door. The party blares on, and it’s almost too quiet in here.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I grin, sitting on the bed.

He moves across the room and sits down next to me.

“I would.” His nearness does things to me, and I find it hard to concentrate on the conversation at hand. I haven’t been attracted to anyone in a long time. Things didn’t end too well with my last boyfriend, and since then I haven’t wanted to date. Usually, if guys ask me out, I turn them down. It’s not as if men are lining up at the chance to date me, but I get a few offers.

I stare at his eyes and get lost for a moment. They are so dark, it’s hard to see where the iris begins and the pupil ends. His mouth parts as he tries to speak but then seems to decide against it. He breaks our gaze and looks under the bed.

“Umm, why are you looking under there?” Who knows what can be under there? Old magazines, pictures I haven’t looked at in ages, maybe even a bra or something just as embarrassing. He drops to the floor and proceeds to crawl under the bed in search of something.

“I’m looking.”

“You’re nosy! Whatever you’re looking for, I can guarantee it’s not there.” I shake a finger to him.

He scoots out from under the bed and is on all fours, looking up at me. His hair hangs in his eyes, and I have the urge to brush it out of his face. Then, as I stare down, it’s as if my lungs refuse the air trying to enter. In one quick movement, he is on the bed, sitting next to me.

“So, where is this infamous diary?”

“Who says I have one?”

“Oh you do. Believe me, I can tell.”

“Even if I did, which I’m not saying I do, why would I let you read it?”

He leans in closer as I hold my breath.

“I think you would let me.”

“You‘re confident, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely.” He grins.

Thinking of my diary and all the naughty things I wrote about him last night, I change the subject.

“Tony and you are best friends, huh?”

“Yep. Why?”

Not wanting to tell him that Tony irks the hell out of me, I attempt a smile.

“No reason. So, where are you taking me on this date?” I hope he doesn’t notice my obvious attempt to change the subject from Tony. I feel uneasy with Tony in my house, especially after what happened between us at the party last night.

“I can tell you this: wear something comfortable.”

“Will this work?”

He takes in my sweats and ragged tee as he chuckles to himself. The sound sends chills over my body. “Uh yeah, except for the awful team it promotes. Otherwise, it’s perfect.”

I pretend to be offended as I grab the hem of my shirt.

“What’s wrong with this team?”

“Miami Dolphins—need I say more?”

“Oh, not a Fins fan, huh? Well, you can get out right now.” I point to the door and cast toward him my most stern face. I’m not a football fan and don’t even remember where I got this shirt, but watching him fumble around is brilliant.

“Well, I can see this not working out.” He stands up, heads to the door, and grabs the knob. Maybe I went a little too far? Just as I’m about to confess my joke, he turns around and laughs.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily. The outfit is perfect, although with the Florida weather, you may get a little hot.” His eyes bore into mine, setting me on fire. My skin prickles when he reaches his hand out. I take it and rise off the bed until I’m standing so close to him, I can smell his scent. He must have gone home and showered after the beach because he smells of fresh soap and some cologne that sends a chemical reaction through me. I take a lingering sniff as I smile at him.

“Did you want to go back to the party?” I ask, dropping his hand. Holding his hand any longer may lead to other things, naughty things that play like a movie through my head. He’s that sexy. I regain control of my hormones and head towards the door.

“Anywhere you are is fine with me.”

I can see now why girls throw themselves at his feet. His voice is low, and his stare is mesmerizing. I can’t tear my eyes away from him. Remain strong, and don’t succumb to this spellbinding effect he has on girls that leads to no phone call in the morning. I open the door and head back out to the living room.

The party continues well into the night. Trace doesn’t leave my side. He’s the kind of charming that people write stories about—I can see why everyone likes him.

As the party winds down, Maxine has already headed into her room with Darren. I wonder why she puts up with him. It’s obvious he isn’t serious.

Trace is the last person to leave. I walk him to the door, where he stalls, standing in the entryway.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say.

“Yep, I really am looking forward to this.”

“You are? Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure. Anything.” His posture stiffens, and he seems nervous.

“Why were you so mad last night at the party? I saw you lose your temper.”

He looks down, his body mere inches from mine. His eyes flicker as he seems to remember the card game thing last night. I’m hoping he doesn’t anger easily, because it raises a red flag for me.

“Oh that.” He loops his fingers into the belt buckle of his shorts as he rocks onto his heels. “I just kind of lost my mind in a hand of poker.”

“Poker, huh?” I purse my lips and shake my head as the skepticism oozes from my mouth.

“Have a good night, Vanessa.” He almost hums my name when he says it—it’s the sexiest sound. I could get used to the deep melodic rumble of his voice.

“Goodnight.” I turn and close the door.

Looking down the hallway, I survey the house. Trash is everywhere. Perfect. Can we hire a maid just for tomorrow? Maybe I’ll look into it in the morning when my brain can function better.

Walking down the hall, I trip over empty beer bottles. In my room, I grab my notebook and something falls out. A letter flutters to the floor, and I bend over to retrieve it.

Glancing around the room to ensure I’m alone, I read the words again.

You are mine.

Is this a joke? How did this get into my room? I stuff the letter into the dresser and slam it shut. “You are mine” floats through my head as I try to sleep.