Beg You to Trust Me (Lindon U #2)(20)

I can’t help but look to Dee hoping she’ll defend me in some way. Because I don’t know what act I’m supposed to be putting on.

But Dee only shrugs at me when Becca goes back to whatever they were doing before I walked in, not giving away her thoughts on my roommate’s cold nature. I can’t say I’m surprised. If sides are chosen between the war waging between us, I know Rebecca will have the most people on hers.

I try thinking of something to say.

A defense. An argument.

But what would it matter?

I make a choice then.

Kill her with kindness.



After my eyes start crossing from all the math equations I force myself to work on, I find myself staring out the tiny window by the foot of my bed facing the track and soccer field.

As I grab my keycard and walk out, I hear Becca murmur to Dee, “I’d convert her bed into a couch if she left and finally have some peace around here.”

Grinding my teeth, I let the door to our suite close harder than normal behind me. They can trash-talk me however much they like, but I don’t want to be around to hear it.

I shoot a text to Olive on my way to the track, examining the blue skies and white clouds rolling through.

Me: Meet by the Sports Complex for a walk on the track?





I’m waiting by the large brick building with a huge painting of Lindon U’s dragon mascot on the side of it when I hear footsteps approach me from behind.

My spine straightens when the footsteps stop directly behind me causing my heart to jam itself into my throat.

“Heading to the track seems appropriate, Jesse Owens,” the voice teases.

I let out a tiny breath that releases the tension in my back when I turn to see DJ standing there in a pair of athletic shorts and sleeveless muscle top that shows off impressive arms. I quickly look away before he notices me checking him out.

My phone buzzes and I glance at it.

Olive: Sorry! Meeting a few people at the library to study. Rain check?





DJ grins when my wary eyes meet his playful ones again. “I’m just messing with you, Skylar. You want some company?”

The question makes me gape before I thumb out a quick reply to Olive.

Me: Yeah, next time.





He laughs at my silence. “One lap around?”

I stay quiet, wondering what his game is.

He tilts his head, slightly amused by my lack of reaction to him. But what did he expect?

I don’t understand how we got here considering our other interactions have been unpredictable.

He jabs his thumb behind him. “I can just fuck off if you want. Say the words and I’m gone. But I just got done with a workout and usually take a lap or two to cool off before heading back to the house to work on homework.”

The house.

An involuntary shiver rakes down my back until the hair on my arms stand up.

The more I look at the boy in front of me with an easygoing smile, the more I find it harder and harder to paint him as the villain in my story. He hasn’t done anything that makes me think he’s to blame for what happened to me, regardless of him being at that party or not.

I replay his phone call in my head for the umpteenth time, picking apart the casualness of his conversation.

Since hearing him say ‘coach’ when he answered his cell I’ve made it my mission to do Google searches on not only Coach Pearce, coach of the Lindon U football team, but the players as well when insomnia strikes. I’ve studied the players’ faces, the level of smugness, and try to rule out the features that come appear fuzzy in the depths of my mind until sleep would find me.

But it’s never enough to pinpoint any singular face—somebody to place the blame on so it isn’t just crushing me.

The only face that I stare at longer than the others is the one currently waiting for my response. I take in the glint in his blue eyes and eased stance of his lean body that give off no warning bells like with other men who give me their undivided attention, and I wonder if that’s a sign.

Maybe not one to trust him. Not yet.

But to give him a chance.

So, I find myself saying, “You can walk with me.”





CHAPTER NINE





DANNY





I do normally walk off my brutal training sessions after I get my ass kicked in the weight room, but I wasn’t expecting her to tell me yes.

I figured she’d put on her big girl pants again like she started to at Reavers, stand her ground, and tell me to fuck right off. Hell, I was looking forward to hearing my favorite F-word on those lips.

But I’m not disappointed either.

The way she regards me with caution makes me curious about her. She doesn’t act like a lot of girls I know, especially not the jersey chasers I assumed she was part of. That’s on me, and something I plan on fixing so long as she gives me an opportunity to.

As we walk, I’m tempted to ask where her snobby friends are, or about her connection to that dickhead Patrick Malone. He’s got a pretty boy smile that make girls think he’s a good one until he shows his true colors. I’ve seen it before. He leaves broken hearts in his wake while carving another notch on his bedpost with somebody new.

I’d warn her away, but if he’s not following her around like a lost puppy she probably doesn’t need my say in the matter.