Blurb
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.
Add on Goodreads:http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/17931161-finding-olivia
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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Website:
Excerpt:
“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.
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