Beg You to Trust Me (Lindon U #2)(16)

For some reason, I like that she’s not invisible to the public eye but not basking in the attention either.

“You ever going to tell me your name?” I ask, cocking my head.

She blinks. “I’m surprised your friend didn’t tell you when he came up to me pleading your case,” she states after a few moments. Not that I know who she’s talking about.

“Which friend is that? I have a few.”

Her jaw ticks. “Must be nice.”

My eyes study her tense jaw. “I’m surprised that dazzling personality of yours doesn’t draw more people in begging for your friendship.”

Hurt flashes in her eyes, causing her to look away. I cuss to myself and swipe at my jaw. “Do you know who Jesse Owens is?” I question, picking up the pizza and taking another bite while she watches skeptically.

Her throat bobs in a heavy swallow. Her right eyebrow twitches. It’s lighter. Almost blonde, which makes me think she’s not a natural brunette even if she can pull it off. I almost hate that the dark color of her hair brings out the bright color of her blue eyes.

Her hands clasp at her sides and then loosen again. She’s losing her feigned strength.

She eventually nods. “He was a famous runner.”

I hum past the food I’m eating, finishing off my first slice in another two large bites and brushing crumbs off my fingers. “Did you use to run track or something?”

It’s hard to refrain from laughing at the weird expression she gives me. “Why would you ask something like that?”

The grin already on my face stretches higher. “You run a lot. Thought you were trained in high school. 5,000-meter? Hurdle? That could be it. You seem to be good at avoiding things.”

Like me.

I don’t add that part.

“You’re…you’re—” Her nostrils flare in agitation, and it’s pretty amusing. “Rude.”

“I haven’t been called that since I was at least eight,” I tell her, shaking my head and snickering as I eye my second piece of pizza. I want to eat it. Badly. But if Ma were here she’d be glaring me down until I showed some of the manners she raised me with. “You eat something yet?”

That gets another blink from her.

“It’s chicken, bacon, and ranch.” I pick it up and wave it around, watching a piece of bacon fall off and bounce onto the table. “Freshly made every day. Delicious. I even added a little parmesan on top.”

Now I’m just making myself drool. I mean, when was the last time I offered up my food to anybody? I don’t even remember. Fairly sure I threatened to stab Caleb with a fork when he tried taking one of my chicken wings during our championship celebration last season.

“You…want to share your pizza?”

Not really. “Yeah.” Though, I’ll probably buy myself another one once she’s gone. “Don’t you know sharing is caring?”

She chokes on air.

“What?” I ask.

All she does is shake her head, but there’s color creeping up her neck and shading her face an unflattering shade of pink.

I wiggle the pizza again, this time watching ranch drizzle off the side. “So, pizza?”

Her lips part, then close again. It isn’t until her eyes linger on the food I’m offering that I heft out a sigh, slide the paper plate with the food on it to the seat across from me, and gesture toward the empty chair.

I don’t think she’s going to accept the offer, but she pulls out the chair and slowly sinks into it. Before she can take the food, though, I pull it away.

She gapes.

“Gonna need your name if I’m sharing my food with you,” I bargain. “It’s only fair. Or else I’ll have to get creative with what I call you. And believe me. My imagination is weird.”

My lips press together to stifle a smile when her eyes widen, then lower to the pizza I’m holding hostage.

Quietly, she murmurs, “It’s Skylar.”

Skylar.

I repeat it a few times in my head while I give her a once over. Those pretty eyes are framed by thick lashes that she watches me through. Fidgety fingers rest on the tabletop as I do my not-so-subtle investigation, the nails painted a blue darker than her eyes. From what I can remember, she has a nice rack, perky ass, and some grab-me hips, but it’s not noticeable in the clothes that swallow her right now. Little to no makeup covers her fair skin, but she definitely doesn’t need any. I like the bare-faced girl sitting here. Vulnerable yet strong. I can see the fight in her eyes.

Skylar is fitting for her.

Not overly-girly or tom-boyish.

Somewhere in between.

“Huh,” is the only intelligent thing that comes out of my mouth as I shove the pizza toward her again. She lets her hair fall around her face like a shield as she studies the food.

“My real name is Daniel Bridges Junior.” I cross my arms over my chest as she stares at the food, not touching it for some reason. “That’s why people call me DJ.”

There’s a moment of pause. “Why?”

“Why not?” I counter, lifting a shoulder. The gray T-shirt stretching from the movement was a gift from my ma before I bulked up. It started out looser than most of the ones I own because she always sizes up like I’m going to keep growing. But ever since I began hitting up the weight room more often, most of my clothes fit snugger on my body. Something Skylar seems to take notice of even if her eyes never stay on me for long.