How far would you
go to find yourself?
That’s the question that’s been
haunting Olivia Owens for years.
All
Olivia has ever wanted to do is live
and make mistakes, but her preacher father has made that impossible. She
believes that her years at college will be her ticket into the real world and
her chance to be wild and spontaneous.
But she’s
never been able to do it on her own.
At the
start of her sophomore year, she only has four things crossed off her Live
List, but that’s all about to change thanks to a chance encounter with Trace
Wentworth. She’s about to learn that there’s more to this reformed bad boy than
just his looks and panty dropping smile.
Trace
can’t explain what it is that draws him to Olivia.
All
he knows is that he wants to get to know the girl with the sad smile but
sparkle in her eyes.
When she
tells him about her list, he knows that this is his chance to get to know
Olivia Owens. Trace is determined to show Olivia that she can do all the things
she’s ever wanted to do. So, he begins to help her cross things off her list,
even the more outlandish requests.
What
happens along the way is more than what Olivia or Trace ever expected.
Love, laughs, and a list.
That’s the name of the game when
you’re Finding Olivia.
4 Stars
Sometimes in life you wonder if there really is someone up above watching you and waiting for the perfect opportuniy to place your "soul mate" in your path. This may be exactly what happens to Olivia Owens. As luck would have it, one night she gets a flat time and this stranger pulls over to the side of the road to help her out. See, she has no idea how to change a flat, so this Drop Dead Gorgeous guy comes at the right time to help her out. She has lead a rather structured life. Her father is the preacher in a small town and has every strict ideas as to how a girl should behave. No music, no roller skating, no carnivals, no pets, pretty much study and make him proud.
So as luck would have it Trace Wentworth comes to the rescue. She jokes that he is her Prince Charming and little does she realize, that is exactly what he becomes.
From the beginning you are rooting for these two to make it work. She needs a little fun and he needs her to realize that life has not ended and that there is someone out there for you. Olivia has made a list called her Live List. On it, she has things that she wants to do to live, since her father pretty much dictated what she should do. On this list is every college girls regulars-like get drunk, lose your virginity, get a tatoo, stuff like that. What is fun about her list is things that normal kids take for granite. Like roller skating, going to a concert, have a pet, and go to a carnival. The best would be to fly in a hot air balloon.
I really liked this book. I love that chemistry between Olivia and Trace. They have both been hurt in different ways, and need each other to heal. The way that Trace keeps her on her toes as to what they are going to do next on the list is so fun to read. At first I thought this might be your typical rich boy/poor innocent virgin book, but it wasn't. It was refreshing to read about these two falling in love and learning about themeselves along the way.
1.
“No, no,
no, no!” I beat my steering wheel
with the heel of my hand. “No! You’ve got to be kidding me!” I pulled off the
road, my tire bumping along.
I put my
car in park and climbed out to assess the damage.
My feet
crunched on the gravel scattered alongside the road.
Immediately,
the oily burnt smell of my peeling tire met me.
Calling
this a flat tire didn’t do it justice. This was complete and utter carnage.
I looked
behind me, at the trail of tire pieces leading straight to my car, like a path
of breadcrumbs.
It was
starting to get dark and this wasn’t exactly the safest road.
I was
also a twenty-year-old girl, ripe for the picking.
I kicked
the side of my car. “I don’t have time for this!”
I stalked
around the back, to the trunk, lifting it and looking for the necessary tools
to change a tire.
Which was
pointless because, unfortunately, I didn’t know the first thing about changing
a tire. My father had made sure that I only knew how to do a woman’s work.
I slammed
the trunk closed and stalked back to the driver’s side, pulling at the ends of
my hair. I glared at the offending nail, that had to be four inches long,
sticking out of the tire. How many nails did people drive over a day and I was
the one to get a flat freakin’ tire?
Not cool.
Not at
all.
I opened
the door and reached for my phone to call my roommate to come pick me up.
The sky
was darkening and I didn’t want to be stranded here.
I wrapped
my lightweight jacket tighter around my body, as the wind gusted around me,
blowing leaves off of the nearby trees. I watched the red, yellow, and orange
leaves fall down and scatter over my car. One, unfortunately, got caught in my
hair. I reached up and pulled it out before letting it drift to the ground.
Gravel
crunched behind me. I turned quickly, to see a guy getting out of a black car
that looked like something old, but classic.
I hadn’t
even heard him pullover.
I backed
a step away, thinking he might be a murderer, or a rapist.
But when
I got a look at his face I was stunned.
He was
tall, with a lean body, but muscular. He had short, dark brown, almost black,
hair and the greenest eyes I had ever seen. Five o’ clock shadow covered his
cheeks and chin. My eyes trailed down, over the white t-shirt glued to his
chest, and stopped there. I could see black ink underneath the white shirt and
licked my lips. The fact that he had tattoos only made him hotter. To protect
against the cold, he was wearing a long-sleeved plaid shirt.
“Uh-can I
help you?” He asked, smiling pleasantly at me, and putting my earlier fears
about him being a murderer or rapist completely to rest.
Help?
With what? I needed help?
“Huh?”
He
grinned crookedly, tilting his head. “With your tire. Do you need some help?”
He had
the deepest, huskiest, voice I had ever heard. I shivered at the sound. I was
pretty sure I’d be happy for him to help me with a lot of things, and none of
them included my tire.
“Help
would be great,” I blushed, ducking my head.
He
chuckled. “You do have a spare, right?”
“Yeah,
it’s in the trunk,” I pointed, like he didn’t know where the trunk was.
He
grabbed the spare, and all the necessary tools and sat down, next to the ruined
tire.
“I-uh-would’ve
changed it myself, but-uh-my dad never taught me,” I ran my fingers nervously
through my wavy brown hair. “He said something about it not being appropriate
for a girl to do and if I ever got a flat tire, I better hope Prince Charming
came along. My dad’s very-uh-old fashioned,” I stammered.
He looked
up at me. “Does that make me Prince Charming?” He grinned.
“Oh-uhm-Prince
Charming is fictional, so I guess not, and he-uh-usually rides a white horse or
something… I think.”
Somebody,
stamp AWKWARD across my forehead already.
The guy
threw his head back and laughed. “I guess a shiny black 69’ Camaro doesn’t
count as a white horse. You watch a lot of Disney movies or something?”
“No,” I
blushed tomato red. “At least not anymore.”
“You’re
funny,” he squinted up at me, shielding his eyes from the orange glow of the
setting sun.
“I hope
that’s a good thing,” I muttered. Unfortunately, I wasn’t trying to be funny.
“It’s a
very good thing-” He paused, waiting for my name.
“Oh-uh-Olivia.
Olivia Owens.”
“I’m
Trace,” he reached a hand up to me and I took it. It was warm and calloused,
swallowing mine whole. “Trace Wentworth,” he grinned when my hand jerked at his
touch.
2.
Christmas music played softly in
the background, and the smell of hot chocolate permeated the air, along with
the scent of freshly baked snickerdoodle cookies. Not only could Trace cook,
but he could bake as well. Was there anything he couldn’t do?
“How many marshmallows do you
want?” He asked from the kitchen.
I sat on the couch and turned so
I could watch him. “Are they mini’s?”
“No, the big ones,” he looked up
at me, and held the bag aloft, shaking it for emphasis.
“Two, then,” I smiled.
He fixed the hot chocolate in
coffee mugs, and added the marshmallows, then carefully carried them to where I
was. He placed them on the coffee table and winced. “They’re a little too hot.”
Before he sat down, he went back
to the kitchen, to grab the plate of cookies.
He held the plate out to me and I
took one of the cookies. It was cooked to perfection and every bite was chewy,
just the way I liked them.
“You’re Betty Crocker,” I
laughed.
“It’s not like I made them from
scratch or anything,” he defended, sitting down beside me so that the sides of
our legs touched. “It’s not that difficult to heat up the oven and stick em’
in. You just have to watch them so they don’t burn.”
“They’re delicious,” I finished
off the first and reached for a second.
“I’m glad you like them, but you
haven’t tried my hot chocolate yet. Now, that
I do make from scratch,” he grinned, a cookie crumb sitting on the corner of
his mouth.
I couldn’t help myself. I leaned
over and licked it away.
When I pulled back, his eyes were
closed, and his Adam’s apple was bobbing.
“That wasn’t nice,” he whispered
and opened his eyes. The green was light and playful.
He pounced on me and my second
cookie fell to the floor as I squealed.
He pressed me into the couch as
he hovered above me.
“Fair is fair,” he grinned,
pinning my wrists to my sides as I squirmed against him. He bent and licked the
side of my mouth in the same spot I had licked his.
“Now we’re even,” he gazed down
at me and pressed his hips into mine.
“No, we’re not. I didn’t have any
cookie crumbs on my mouth,” I panted.
“I can fix that,” he folded both
of my hands into one of his and lifted them above my head. With his free hand,
he reached for a cookie. He broke a corner off of one and held it above my
mouth, crushing it in his palm, and letting go so that the crumbs covered my
mouth and cheeks. I’m pretty sure a few went down my shirt but I wasn’t telling
him that.
He appraised his handy work, and
before I could come back with something snappy, he covered my mouth with his,
sucking the crumbs away.
My body responded and my mouth
opened underneath his. I felt his tongue nudge its way inside and I welcomed
it. He growled low in his throat and released my hands so his fingers delved
into my hair.
I grasped his ears in my hands,
forcing him closer to me.
“Olivia,” he gasped my name.
“Don’t stop,” I begged, clutching
at his shirt.
Micalea Smeltzer is an author from Virginia. Her name is
pronounced Muh-call-e-uh. She is permanently glued to her computer, where she
constantly writes. She has to listen to music when she writes and has a
playlist for every book she’s ever started. When she’s not writing, she can be
found reading a book or playing with her three dogs.
You
can email Micalea at:
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