Driving Me Mad (14 page)

F
irst impressions
are important, right? If I’m to judge by my first meeting with
Trace’s dad, then I can’t say I’m a fan. Trace and I never really
got to talk about it because we fell asleep after he made sure my
outfit wasn’t pointless. With the surprise visit, I never found the
time to tell him about my phone appointment checkup with Dr.
Gunner. Nothing really happened, so I guess it’s okay.

“Aren’t you supposed to be
with Trace?” Rebecca asks as she walks into our dorm room.

I tilt my head. “Why are you
wearing the same clothes as yesterday?” I raise an eyebrow at
her.

“You first.” She sits on her
bed, facing me.

“His dad and stepmom showed
up unannounced.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, from Texas.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Last night wasn’t all that
great, and then Trace sent me packing this morning.” Her mouth
opens and I add, “Don’t ask; I don’t want to talk about it. Your
turn.”

She grins. “I’ve sort of been
seeing someone.”

“What? Since when? Who? Give
me details,” I demand as I get comfortable on my bed.

“His name is Dustin, and I
met him in one of my classes last semester. I’ve been seeing him
since December.”

My mouth drops and I feel a
little betrayed. “Why haven’t you told me?”

A guilty look crosses her
face. “You’ve been kind of preoccupied with your anxiety and
everything.”

“And? That doesn’t mean I
don’t want to hear about your boyfriend.” How could she wait two
months to tell me about the guy she’s seeing? All because of my
stupid anxiety? Since when does that mean I don’t get to do things
like normal friends, like talk about a new boyfriend? I don’t know
whether to be pissed, feel like a bad friend, or both.

A horrifying thought hits
me.

If my best friend feels like
she can’t tell me about the important parts of her life because of
my anxiety, then what if the same thing happens with Trace? What if
he holds back because he doesn’t want to bother me when I’m dealing
with so much as it is? That wouldn’t be how it truly is, but he
could think so. Rebecca did.

“Brittany!” Rebecca snaps her
fingers in my face. “Are you with me?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. Tell me
about Dustin.”

It takes all of my
concentration to listen to what she’s telling me and to not panic.
What if the real reason Trace asked me to leave today was because
he didn’t want his rude father to stress me out? What if he thought
I couldn’t handle it? I don’t want, nor do I need, for people to
start treating me like I’m fragile.

Rebecca ends up leaving to
spend more time with her boyfriend. I’m tempted to be lazy, but I
don’t want to overthink things more than I already have, so I pull
out my textbooks to do homework. I disregard the time limit
suggested by Mrs. Rumley. It’s either obsess about my homework or
obsess about what’s happened. I’m choosing the more productive
option.

Rebecca shoots me a text that
she’s staying with her boyfriend tonight. My stomach growls,
reminding me that I forgot to eat lunch and dinner. I leave campus
for the restaurant with the best fried pickles. Maybe if I stuff my
face with them, I’ll feel better.

It’s while I’m there that
Trace calls me.

“Hey,” I answer.

“I miss you.”

I laugh. “That bad?”

“No. Things have been fine,
actually. It was a little rocky this morning. He explained the
reasoning behind his visit, so once he checked in on me, he went
back to being himself.”

“So, why did he come?” I pop
another fried pickle into my mouth. God, I love these things.

Trace is silent for a bit.
Finally, he clears his throat. “The anniversary of my mom’s death
is in December. He was worried since I moved across the state,
changed jobs, and hadn’t been answering his calls. He didn’t know
what was going on, especially once he found out I was dating a
college student.”

This is the first time he’s
mentioned his mom, aside from the one time he told me she had
passed away.

“So, everything is better
now?”

“Yeah. I’m taking them to the
airport around noon tomorrow.”

“Good.” The waitress drops by
to check on me and I let her know that I don’t need anything at the
moment.

“Where are you?”

“Out getting dinner. I’m
currently eating fried pickles. Jealous?”

“Yep.”

Part of me wants to ask why
he really told me to leave. I kind of want to tell him what
happened with Rebecca, but I’m scared. I’m worried I’ll find out
he’s doing the exact same thing and how I’ll react to that.

“You’re there by yourself?”
he asks.

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause. “Everything
okay, Britt?”

It shouldn’t, but his
question sets off the ticking time bomb. “Why wouldn’t I be okay? I
can’t go out to dinner by myself? How else am I going to eat?
You’re the one who keeps telling me I need to eat. Well, I can’t
eat with someone every single day, Trace. And why do you keep
asking me if I’m okay? Do I ask
you
if you’re okay all the
damn time?”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

Wrong answer. “You’re
impossible! I can handle myself just fine, okay? I don’t need you
checking and asking if I’m okay all the time. I’m not a mental mess
24/7, Trace.”

His voice softens. “Hey, calm
down. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I grit.

“You just blew up at me
because I asked you a simple question.” His calming voice is
irritating.

“Then stop asking me!” I
vehemently whisper into the phone. The waitress arrives with my
meal. “My food just came. I’ll talk to you later. Enjoy your time
with Clark and Amy.” With that, I hang up.

I poke at my food, feeling
terrible. I keep picking up my phone to call him back and
apologize, but something makes me set it down each time. Blowing up
at him wasn’t my intention, but it’s like I have this excess stress
and I don’t know how to get rid of it, so I’m taking advantage of
whatever opportunity comes my way. It terrifies me to think of
anything going wrong with us. Currently, I’m not helping
things.

Fifteen minutes pass without
me calling Trace and without him calling me back. This time, I pick
it up and hover my thumb over his contact. I need to fix this and
stop causing issues with us. My anxiety can’t get in the way this
time.

“Thinking of calling me?”

Startled by Trace’s sudden
appearance and his lips brushing against my ear, my phone slips
from my hand, clanging onto the table. He slides into the booth
next to me, angling toward me. I don’t have to ask how he found me:
“fried pickles” was all he needed to know.

“What are you doing
here?”

Trace doesn’t answer my
question. “You know, you have a short fuse when you’re stressed,”
he says instead. “I didn’t know that.” He plucks a fried pickle
from the pile and tosses it into his mouth, and all I can do is
stare at him. “What’s bothering you, Brittany?”

“Why did you ask me to
leave?” I blurt out.

He frowns. “So you wouldn’t
have to deal with my dad.”

“Why? Because of the simple
fact that he’s a jerk or because I have anxiety and you didn’t
think I could handle it?”

His mouth parts and his
eyebrows pull together. “Where is this coming from?”

“That doesn’t answer my
question, Trace.”

He sighs, which isn’t a good
sign. “A little of both, I guess. It wasn’t because I didn’t think
you couldn’t handle it, but because I didn’t want you to have to.
Will you please tell me why you started thinking about this?”

“Rebecca has had a boyfriend
for two months.”

“Okay,” Trace says with
confusion.

“She didn’t tell me because I
was, and I quote, ‘preoccupied with my anxiety and
everything.’”

“Oh.”

“Yes,
oh
. So then I
wondered if you were basically doing the same thing, and you are!
Trace, you can’t hold back or make decisions because I happen to
deal with anxiety. It’s not fair. I’m still me and I don’t deserve
to be treated with kid gloves. How is this supposed to work if
you’re more concerned about my anxiety than me?”

Trace takes my hands in his.
“I’m sorry, Britt. I just didn’t want to make things worse for you
if it could be avoided.”

“I don’t want to be treated
like I’m fragile and can crack at any second, even if it’s true,” I
whisper.

He cups my face. “I’ll work
on it,” he promises before kissing me gently. “Now, let’s eat
before this food goes to waste.” He picks up my fork and eats a
bite of my pasta.

“Let’s? This is my food.”

“Yeah, well, consider it my
reward for coming to work things out with my girlfriend.” The
waitress makes her rounds to our table and Trace orders a drink and
asks for another set of silverware.

“That was really sweet.”

He grins, accepting the
silverware the waitress brings. “I figured it would be easier to
solve things in person when you can’t run away or hang up.”

“Your dad isn’t upset that
you left to deal with your crazy girlfriend, is he?”

Trace shakes his head. “No,
and he said to tell you he’s sorry about his behavior.”

“Really?” I sound way more
skeptical than I’d like, but I can’t help it.

“No.” Trace sighs. “He’ll
come around, though. Or maybe he won’t. It doesn’t matter either
way because he’ll be back in Texas.”

Fair enough. We continue to
eat my pasta and fried pickles while talking about our days.
Trace’s frown tells me he isn’t happy that I spent all day doing
homework, but he doesn’t say anything about it. Once we finish
eating and I pay for my meal, he walks me outside to my car.

“Want to come over tomorrow
afternoon? We never got to finish our
Dateline
date,” Trace
says.

“Am I spending the night?” I
ask.

“If you would like to, then
I’d be thrilled.”

“Okay. Let me know when you
leave the airport.”

We’re at my car now, and
Trace pulls me against him, wrapping his arms around me. My head
rests against his sternum. I can feel his heart beating, faster
than I expected, and his chest hums as he speaks.

“I care about you a lot,
Britt. I hate that you have to deal with it, and sometimes, I hold
back because I don’t want to make it worse. I know you as well as,
if not better than, you know yourself. Is it so bad that I might
want to save you from having to worry with some stuff?”

“No, but you see where I’m
coming from, right?”

“Yeah, I do,” he sighs. “I
wanted to make sure you knew where I was coming from, too.”

I tilt my head back with a
smile. “Know what will make this night better?”

“What?”

“If you kissed me.”

Trace grins. “I love the way
you think.” He leans down and presses his lips to mine. He manages
to quickly warm my body up, those large hands running down my back
to grab my hips and tug me closer.

Kisses used to be just
kisses. Sure, they could be heady and needy or soft and sweet, but
they were still just kisses. With Trace, there’s no mistaking the
passion and how much he wants me and cares for me with each kiss.
He lifts my legs around his waist to make us face to face. When his
lips move to my neck, I know his mind is undeniably on sex now.
I’ve realized that he’s kissed me on the neck right before we have
sex. It’s a way better tell to have than him grabbing the back of
his neck when he’s anxious.

“Trace,” I breathe. “We’re in
a parking lot, and you have to go home.”

His lips never leave my skin.
“Why can’t you come with me?”

My brain is slow to figure
out why. “Because I’d have to go back to campus for clothes and my
meds.”

He lifts his head to look at
me, those hazel eyes bright from the lights in the parking lot.
“You wouldn’t need clothes.”

“But I’d need my meds,” I
point out.

“You should start carrying
them in your purse.”

“Or you shouldn’t get so
horny all the time.”

Trace laughs. “I’m sorry that
I happen to really enjoy kissing you.” He lowers my legs to the
ground slowly, so I have to slide down his body. “Let me know when
you get to your dorm, so I know you got there safely.”

“Same for when you get
home.”

He gives me another quick
kiss before opening the door for me. My relationship with Trace is
a little weird. In the best way, though. We can get mad or get in
an argument, and we’re back to normal within a few hours because we
resolve it. I’ve never had that before. In previous relationships,
arguments could last for days before the making-up part happened. I
definitely like the way we do things better. Maybe it’s a sign that
we’ll work out and last.

I sure hope so.