Beg You to Trust Me (Lindon U #2)(22)

She stumbles to a stop, tripping over who knows what. I reach out to steady her, but she jerks her arm away before I can even make contact. “You’re gay?”

What the fuck? Not that I have anything against gay people. Live your best life and all that. But seriously. The fuck? And why does she sound hopeful? “I’m not gay.”

“I don’t know any other man who would gossip about men with me. Or let me paint their nails.”

I blink. “I was being funny.” Shaking my head, I palm my face and stifle a partial laugh. “Sorry, I guess my sarcasm didn’t come through there. I wasn’t joking about the friend thing, though. I still think we should be friends. But I’d be a shit gossip, don’t know how to make friendship bracelets, and I doubt I’d be any good at painting your fingernails. We could try, I guess…”

“Why?”

“Because practice makes perfect, and I won’t get any better at if I—”

“Not about the fingernail painting,” she cuts me off, rolling her eyes. There’s something playful about the gesture that makes me smile. “I meant why do you want to be my friend? We don’t necessarily get along.”

“That’s because we don’t know each other, but when we become friends—”

“If,” she corrects.

“When we become friends, we’ll both realize we’re better off. I’ll pull you out of the shell you’re hiding in—” She makes a weird noise. “—and you’ll…well, I don’t know what you’ll do. Entertain me somehow, that’s for sure.”

She stares wide-eyed at me, like whatever I said is unfathomable to her. Replaying the words, I snort.

“Mind out of the gutter, Skylar. I didn’t mean sexually.” Though, the idea makes my dick twitch which is probably a sign that this proposal is a bad one. But whatever. A girl can’t look at you with her mouth open like that without your mind wondering how your cock would fit between her lips. It’s a fact. “You don’t like me that much, and I find that sort of amusing. Girls usually say and do whatever it takes to get my attention. I like that you don’t. Except that one time at Reavers. Could have gone without you ditching my ass after I offered you my last slice of pizza. My ego is fragile.” I offer a shrug and show her a teasing smile. “But considering you ditched without even telling me whatever you were set to, I guess it doesn’t matter.”

Her face turns red. “What I wanted to say to you didn’t matter anymore.”

“And why is that?” I ask, genuinely curious. She seemed determined to make me hear her out, then left like her conviction disappeared.

When she doesn’t answer, I want to shake her. But I don’t. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in life, it’s that patience gets you a lot farther than impatience does.

“You’re flighty, but we’ll work on that,” I inform her, tipping my chin toward the track and walking again. Whether she follows or not is up to her, but I keep talking. “You need to stand your ground more. Like with your friends. If that’s what those chicks were from the café. Didn’t seem super friendly to me.”

They were at the party too that night. I don’t know when they left, or if they planned on leaving Skylar behind from the moment they showed up, but that’s none of my business. And the idea of the Skylar wanting to spend the night with anyone there makes me feel things I have no right to, so I force myself to brush it off.

For now.

“They’re…” Her voice fades and footsteps jog closer until her body is a few inches away from mine. “Becca is my roommate. The redhead. The others are people I met when I first got here. Deanna and Aliyah.”

“I don’t know them, but they seem two faced.” I think back to what her redheaded roommate said at Bea’s and feel my eye twitch. How’s that saying go? With friends like that, who needs enemies. “This just proves that you need me.”

“I don’t need anyone.”

I shake my head, giving her a solid stare down. “That’s total bullshit and you know it. Everybody needs an ally in their life to stay sane. If those are the types of people you hang out with, then you’ll need some reinforcements who will be there for you and mean it. I’ll be your guy.”

Guy. Friend. Ally. Whatever.

My major is in marketing, not English. I’m not exactly a poet. Never been great with words. Threw up once in public speaking in high school and never lived it down. I’m pretty sure there are pictures online from the assholes who felt the need to document the humiliating experience.

“So, what do you say?” I prompt, watching her carefully to gauge her reaction. Her bottom lip is sucked in by her top teeth as she listens to my proposal. “If the nail painting or gossiping about men thing are deal breakers, I guess I can agree to those terms. If you’re interested, I can help you hookup with the guy from the party again if you’re into him. Be your wingman. Help a girl out and all that.”

The Cali girl turns pale. “You…”

She blinks.

Swallows.

Blinks again and turns redder than before.

Then her eyes go to the track, her feet shifting slightly. “No,” she whispers. “You don’t need to find him. I’m not interested.”