Beg You to Trust Me (Lindon U #2)(26)

There’s a pause where she takes in my cool tone, one she’s not used to from me, before she mumbles, “Why did I ever agree to room with you?”

My teeth grind. “I don’t know, but I’m asking myself the same thing.”

The light turns off and we’re bathed in darkness again. I clench the blankets tight in my fingers and face the painted white cement block wall with a frown. I can hear her rustling on her side of the room, sliding on her shoes, and snatching her keys up from where she keeps them hung by the door.

It’s only when she leaves that I let out a breath of relief.

My nose scrunches as if I can still smell the strong scent of liquor lingering from the nightmare clinging to my conscious. Rum and coke. Fingers grazing my bare skin. A weight being pressed against me.

“Stop,” I whisper to myself, clenching my eyes closed.

It’s just a dream, I chant to myself.

I say it a few more times, but never believe it once even when I succumb to temporary darkness.



I stare at the football player who I’ve since learned is the Dragon’s wide receiver. And based on the horrible sketch DJ drew me in his notebook when we should have been studying, his position is on the offense catching and running the ball. Or, in his terms, being ‘a badass’ on the field.

“Are you serious?” I ask.

He nods again, gesturing for me to turn around. “Totally serious. I watched videos on YouTube. I know what I’m doing.”

I blink, hesitating only a second before he physically turns my chair. When he starts separating my hair into sections, I can’t help but giggle in disbelief. Because who would have thought someone like him would be adamant about this sort of thing? “Why would you look up braiding tutorials?”

“Because,” he answers in exasperation, “I need to know this shit now. None of my other friends have long enough hair, so you’re the guinea pig on my new skills. I had to practice on shoelaces. Do you know what a pain in the ass that is? To be perfectly honest, though, the friendship bracelets I promised are going to take some time. Those strings are tiny. I could barely keep ahold of the laces I was practicing with.”

I sit completely still in my chair while the ‘badass’ footballer puts my hair into a simple braid. He’s not bashful about it either. There are people watching from where they’re perched on the second level of the library, some taking pictures, some just smiling. I think a girl is glaring at me, but I ignore it. I shouldn’t be surprised at the mixed reactions considering Daniel Bridges is an attractive guy—definitely not one you’d expect to be braiding some random girl’s hair in the middle of the day. Especially when he’s doing it willingly.

“How long were you watching tutorials for?” I ask as he takes the hair tie from me and twists it around the end of the finished product.

“A couple hours.”

I want to turn my head and gape at him, but he won’t let me. “Why?”

“Because I’m a perfectionist,” is all he says, tone casual as he pats my back twice in indication he’s done.

I pick up my phone and examine myself in the camera app, then look at him. “It looks good.” I touch it lightly and smile.

He leans back in his seat, stretching out his legs as he watches me proudly. “I know how to dye hair too. My grandma used to make me help dye hers when the white started taking over. Hate the smell of the stuff, but I’m pretty damn good.”

I bite down on the inside of my cheek to stop myself from grinning like a fool. The mental picture of the brawny boy sitting in front of me helping his grandmother is too much.

“C’mere.” He yanks on my chair until it’s as close as it can get to his before he grabs my phone and presses our faces together. “Smile, Blondie.”

I obey, albeit confused, as he snaps a few pictures and glances at them after. We look…oddly cute in them. He’s beaming, and my smile may not be as big, but it’s as genuine.

“What was that for?” I accept my phone when he passes it back to me, examining the images again. The dark circles under my eyes are almost invisible thanks to the primer and foundation I put on this morning. If I hadn’t, DJ would have asked me for a third time if I was sleeping.

He pulls himself back over to the table where our things are scattered everywhere. “It’s to make memories.”

I stare at him in silence, blinking slowly as he opens his notebook and begins scanning the pages of scribbles across them.

He’s nonchalant when he asks, “Do you think Mr. NYU is going to quiz us on this week’s content? Because all I wrote down is ‘douche’ and something tells me that’s not going to help me very much.”

I can’t help but snort as he peers up at me with a slick grin across his face. There’s a twinkle in his eye that’s dangerous. “I knew I could make you laugh.”

My head tilts. “I do laugh, you know.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Not enough.”

We stare at each other for a long time.

I can’t make myself look away.





CHAPTER ELEVEN





SKYLAR





Olive holds out a large iced coffee with whipped cream and caramel drizzle on top, shaking it when I don’t take it from her. “Girl, you look like you need this more than I do right now. You okay?”