Chapter 15
WOLFE
Losing my journal had been stressful enough without then having to sit around the fire with both Trace and Jake wafting out pheromones like asshole wolves from competing packs.
Thankfully, Trace had the decency to step away and give me space. But Jake had turned up his attention dial to a thousand.
The entire experience had been exhausting to the point that I was glad to see the back of both of them.
It had taken Imani’s perceptive intervention to get me out of an unwanted goodnight kiss from Jake. She’d suddenly needed me for something urgent in the skoolie and had managed to thank Jake profusely for allowing her to steal me “for the rest of the night.”
Once she’d given me the all clear that his truck was gone, I’d slunk back to my van and prepared for bed. Then I’d lain there alone, staring up through the skylight at the twinkling stars above for what felt like hours… before finally giving up and sneaking out of the van as silently as possible.
When I got to the orange tent, I tried telegraphing my presence so I didn’t scare Trace. The loud crunch of my footsteps sounded like gunshots in the sleepy campground until the sharp zzt of his zipper joined it.
“Wolfe?”
I crossed my arms in front of my chest, finally noticing the bite in the air. “Yeah, uh. Hi.”
He crawled out of the tent and stood, his hair already sticking up on one side from lying down, though he didn’t appear to have been sleeping. “You okay?”
I shifted from foot to foot, trying to decide whether to laugh and say never mind and make my way back to the van. “Um.” I twisted my lips together tightly before just saying it. “Would you maybe want to…” I thumbed over my shoulder like an idiot.
Trace’s body relaxed a little, and I could tell he was trying to hide a smile. “Go for a walk?” he teased. “Check out the stars?”
I inhaled shakily before rubbing my hands over my face. Okay, maybe I deserved that. “Yeah. We can check out the stars. But I’m a little cold, so maybe we can do it through the skylight over my bed?”
He yanked off his SERA fleece and dropped it over my head. “Put this on. Let me grab my shoes.”
His scent clung to the warm fabric and wafted around me as I stuffed my arms in the sleeves. I huffed the fabric like the sweet-smelling laughing gas at the dentist.
“You’ll be cold,” I said belatedly.
“Then I’ll have to find someone to warm me up,” he said with a wink before closing the tent.
His palm was warm and dry and seemed to engulf my hand as he threaded our fingers together and tugged me after him toward my van.
For some reason, just being near him made me feel like I could breathe better. Like maybe the missing journal wasn’t the end of my life.
“You don’t seem surprised,” I pointed out. “Were you expecting me?”
“Definitely not. But I’ve spent the past two hours wishing it into existence. To be honest, I’m a little proud of the power of my own mind.”
Trace was so relaxed, so easy, I couldn’t help but smile despite my anxiety.
He’d always been this way.
One time when I was in middle school, I’d overheard my parents talking about Trace’s past. About homophobic parents who’d kicked him out before he’d even graduated high school.
About how he’d been couch surfing when Dad had met him.
He hadn’t had an easy life, and after coming to San Francisco, he’d worked hard to prove himself at every job he’d had.
Somehow, through all that, he’d gained an easy confidence that drew me to him like catnip. I wasn’t sure the man had ever experienced a moment of indecision. When he came to a fork in the road, he picked a direction and strode ahead.
Meanwhile, I felt like I plopped myself down at the fork and made camp until I’d thoroughly overthought the decision.
That’s why I was grateful Trace didn’t allow me time to get weird when we stepped into the van. He simply shucked off his sweatpants, peeled off his T-shirt, and climbed into my bed in his boxer briefs.
I stared at his body shifting in the ambient glow from the tiny night-light that illuminated the floor by the sliding door.
“If you changed your mind, let me know. I don’t have to stay,” he said.
I blinked at him, suddenly aware of how long I’d been staring. “I didn’t. Change my mind.”
“Baby.” The look on Trace’s face was understanding, amused, and incredibly sexy. “We don’t have to do anything if it feels weird. Just get in here and let me warm you up.”
Maybe it should have been weird.
Should have been awkward, at the very least, to see my father’s best friend settling himself in my bed.
Should have been odd hearing the word baby spoken with such easy affection by the man I’d fantasized about for half my life.
I was more stunned by how normal it felt. How right.
I yanked off Trace’s fleece, taking one last greedy inhale before tossing it behind me into the driver’s seat. Maybe he’d conveniently forget to take it back if it was out of view.
When I slipped beneath the covers, I decided to be brave and moved close enough to snuggle into his side. Blood thrummed in my veins, a mix of nerves and sexual attraction.
I wasn’t clear on why he’d agreed to come with me so readily. Was it to get his dick sucked? If so, I was fine with that. But if it was more than that, I wanted to know.
Trace’s fingers moved into my hair as soon as I settled my head against his shoulder. After a moment, he spoke softly. “Do you want to tell me why you were so upset tonight?”
The question surprised me. I shifted up onto an elbow to peer down at him. “Upset? At you?”
He studied me for a beat. “Well, no… I didn’t think so. Were you upset at me?”
I shook my head quickly. “No.”
He smiled and reached out to smooth his thumb along my cheek. “You kept looking around. Rubbing your fingers together. You seemed… nervous.”
I shifted up until I was sitting sideways, leaning against a partial wall that kept my pillows from sliding off the bed at night.
I hadn’t wanted to tell him about my journal earlier because I’d worried he’d think I was overreacting. But Trace was a tracker. If anyone had ideas on how to find a lost item, it would be him. And now that I’d already tried everything to find it, I was desperate.
“I lost something.” I hesitated, suddenly unwilling to admit how much the journal meant to me. “Uh, my… notebook. I’ve looked everywhere, and I’m beginning to think… maybe someone took it.”
“Hey,” he said gently, reaching over to cover my hands where they’d been clasped too tightly together in my lap. “We’ll find it, okay?”
I pulled my hands away and snapped. “You don’t need to talk to me like I’m five.”
Which was probably a great way to behave if I wanted to be treated like I was five.
“Wolfe, I wanted to comfort you because I know you’re upset. I don’t think of you like you’re five. I would hope that was clear when I had sex with you earlier today.”
I blew out a breath and glanced up at the roof of the van to keep from looking at his eyes. I didn’t want to see concern or frustration. Or worse, patient kindness.
“I just… it’s important. The… notebook. I was writing… song lyrics in it, and I don’t have a digital backup or anything.”
It was hard to admit my suspicions. I didn’t want to think any of my friends would do such a thing. I didn’t want to overreact.
But to my surprise, Trace took my concern seriously. Very seriously.
“Walk me through the last time you saw the notebook.” Though he kept his voice calm, his shoulders straightened.
I took him through my afternoon—the visit from Jake and Shay, how Brennan had stopped by, where I’d looked afterward.
“Did you ask Jake tonight if he remembered seeing it earlier?” Trace asked.
I shook my head and hesitated before explaining why. “I think I was afraid of saying it out loud and making it real. Also… I don’t want anyone to know how important it is to me. Which is ridiculous because all someone would have to do is read it to know.”
I pressed my lips together to keep from saying anything else, but Trace wasn’t stupid.
“Were you writing something important, Wolfe?”
“What, like… like a diary?” I wasn’t a great liar, so this was torture. I flicked my eyes up at him and down to the hands in my lap. “You think I wrote about… what, you?”
Trace’s face turned from focused concern to heated curiosity. “Did you write about me?”
I felt the blood rush to my face. “Of course. I gave our hookup today a chili pepper rating. One and a half chili peppers.”
His mouth opened in an O shape before I let out a laugh and clapped a hand over my mouth. “Your face!”
Trace’s eyes were wide in shock. “That was only one and a half chili peppers? What the fuck have you been doing with other people?” He sucked in a breath. “You know what? Don’t answer that. I don’t want to hear about you with other men. Christ.”
My chest expanded. Was Trace… jealous? That was unexpected.
And exciting.
I took a chance and crawled over to straddle his lap, putting my hands on his bare chest before moving them up to cup his neck. His late-day stubble turned me the fuck on, and so did the scent of him. Dried sweat. Campfire smoke. Clean mountain air.
My sheets.
“Maybe we could try again. Go for a better score this time,” I suggested, smirking at him enough to let him know the whole thing had been a joke.
I had written about him, but I hadn’t used his name. And I’d sure as hell not given him a chili pepper rating. The Scoville scale didn’t go that high anyway.
Trace’s hands moved up my thighs to my hips and pulled me closer. “Yeah? You want me to pull out my fancy tricks?”
I leaned in to press a kiss to his sandpaper cheek. “You have tricks? Thought old dogs didn’t have those.”
He squeezed his arms around me and flipped us so I was on my back with him propped above. “Brat.”
My laughter felt free, like a balloon escaping the helium tank and slipping up-up-up into a bright blue sky. “I may have given you an unfair rating,” I admitted.
“Ya think?” He tilted his head down to kiss my neck.
I hadn’t thought it was possible, but my stress over the journal slid away with every brush of his lips against my skin.