Beg You to Trust Me (Lindon U #2)(13)

I was already mortified over the situation, but the short conversation with him made it approximately a billion times worse. And him making it clear that he’d been around the block a time or two only made me positive he was the person I had to thank for the parting gift that he left me with. When the clinic called with confirmation results days after I went to see them, they’d asked me for the name of my partner so he could be informed.

I’d given them nothing after a long, awkward stretch of silence. So, they told me to pass along their number to him that way they could treat him too once he called. But how was I supposed to broach that topic? Hey, remember me? The girl whose virginity you took and then gave chlamydia?

No thanks.

If he’s going around playing the field with a new girl every week, it’ll be a campus wide problem. The clinic told me as much, lectured me on getting the problem treated immediately before it got out of hand. I just was too chicken.

Too…scared.

Because what if it isn’t him?

“You’re not even paying attention.” My father’s voice cuts back in, instantly peeling me from my horrid thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” I apologize again, dropping my things onto the table. “I’ve just been busy with school and…stuff. Listen, I’ll think about the banquet, but that doesn’t mean I’m promising to go. Okay?”

There’s a pause where I wonder if he’ll ask if I’m all right. I don’t know if I should be relieved or not that he doesn’t. “That’s good enough for now. Hopefully it’ll get your mother off my back for a while.”

We both know that’ll never happen.

“Love you, kiddo,” he says.

“Love you too.” My voice is no more than a whisper as we disconnect, and I find myself staring off into the distance and listening to the dull voices carry from downstairs.

Easygoing conversations with friends.

Laughter with peers.

All things I find myself lacking in.

My eyes go to the few people who are on this level, and they’re staring at me. One of them leans in to whisper to the other. They giggle.

An eerie feeling creeps under my skin.

Are they talking about me?



I don’t know how long I have my head buried in my textbook highlighting various passages, but it isn’t until someone stops beside my chair when I peel my tired eyes away from the tiny print and up to the person standing next to me.

The first thing I notice is the small stain on the white T-shirt, partially covered by a half-buttoned striped shirt overtop of it. When I glance up, I’m met with a set of brown eyes and friendly smile. “Hey.”

Stupidly, I glance around as if he’s talking to somebody else. My hands grip my textbook, feeling the edges of the thin pages cut into the pads of my fingertips as I make sense of why he’s here.

“I’m Caleb,” he tells me, smothering a small smile when he sees me give another quick look behind me. “We don’t know each other, but I’m friends with DJ. We play on the football team together.”

My spine straightens as I sit taller in the chair, connecting the dots. He does look a little familiar. I see them walking around together on campus with a few other guys that I can only assume are part of the team too. “Oh.” I flinch at my social awkwardness. “Hi.”

He doesn’t ask to sit down or make a move to pull out one of the three empty chairs. For that, I’m grateful. “I just wanted to say that DJ isn’t so bad. He’s a little quirky, but that’s just him. Usually, he says something stupid without realizing it.”

When he sees that I’m not going to reply because I’m too dumbfounded by his blunt statement, his smile grows. “I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but you’ve got him all twisted up. Haven’t seen him quite like it before. Honestly? It’s pretty funny. But I saw you over here and thought it’d be nice to put in a good word.”

I blink silently, unable to fathom a response. He’s here to put in a good word for DJ, which tells me he has no idea what his friend even wants from me.

Or what he already got.

Caleb continues, unbeknownst to my internal confusion that must not be reflected on my face. “He probably inserted his foot in his mouth again. Once, a girl slapped him across the face during freshman year when he was trying to flirt with her. Definitely didn’t come off that way. I swear he had a handprint on his cheek the rest of the week.”

I glance down at the book I’ve been reading. “I bet he deserved it.”

“He did,” his friend agrees lightly. “But he felt pretty bad about it. All I’m saying is give the guy a shot.”

Give him a shot? The anger I’ve been shoving away starts rising, heating my blood as I grind my teeth. “I know exactly what kind of person your friend is, and I’m not interested in involving myself with him. You and I obviously know two very different versions of him.”

His puzzled expression meets mine. “I usually don’t misread this kind of stuff. He’s mentioned you a couple of times, and I’ve seen the way he looks at you when we cross paths. All I’m saying is that whatever happened—”

“‘Whatever happened’ is none of your business,” I cut him off coolly. I take a deep breath, trying to fight off the panic rising in my throat. I remind myself that my issues aren’t with the brown-eyed boy in front of me. “Look, Caleb. I don’t have a problem with you. You’re just trying to help your…friend. But I don’t want anything to do with him. He can be sorry all he wants. It doesn’t change anything.”