Beg You to Trust Me (Lindon U #2)(28)

Somebody told Patrick to leave me alone? “Who told him that?”

She shrugs. “I’m not sure. It’s just gossip. A friend of a friend of a friend told me that you were, like, off limits or something.”

I gape, unsure of what to say to that. It probably isn’t a bad thing that Patrick, or other guys, think I’m off limits. At least for a while. It’ll give me space. That is, unless Rebecca intervenes like she’s done before. It doesn’t matter that I tell her not to, she thinks it’s a game.

I decide not to dwell on it. “And you’re interested in…?” I take another sip of the coffee, trying to let it calm me even though the idea of being surrounded by that many people makes me want to vomit.

“Alex O’Conner. He’s a left wing on Lindon’s hockey team.” Her mint eyes brighten as she perks up. “He’s probably going pro, not that I care about that. It’s just facts. He’s an amazing player. If you’ve never been to an actual hockey game, you need to come to one with me. There’s nothing quite like seeing big, muscular men beating on each other on the ice.”

I blink a few times. I know my seatmate is a big gamer because I’ve watched her play the violent games in her room before. Her liking hockey for the violence isn’t that surprising to me after seeing her yell at the TV screen and cruse out the game console she plays on.

She waves it off. “Anyway, I’m positive Alex will have like twenty other girls all over him, but I know the game. I can impress him with my stats knowledge. Speak his language, you know? Stand out.”

I don’t know how guys would react to that. I’m not well versed in anything man related, especially when sports are involved. If what DJ has to say means anything, this Alex guy would either enjoy her knowledge of his game or assume she’s only trying to get laid by employing it during conversation.

Not that I would judge her for it if she was using it to her advantage, as long as it’s what she wants. “What exactly do you want from him?”

She shrugs. “I’m not stupid enough to think he’ll want to date me, Sky. I mean, maybe. I’m pretty awesome. Why wouldn’t he want all this? Not only do I know most sports references, but I kickass at most video games that guys like. And I have great boobs. I’m practically a guy’s wet dream.” I smile at her confidence, trying not to laugh as she glances down at said assets and lifts them with her hands to make a point. “But if he does go pro, that means he’ll have way more to focus on than a girlfriend. I just want to go to the bonfire and shoot my shot, then see where it goes.” Her perfectly tweezed eyebrows wiggle. “Get it? Shoot my shot. Like—”

I giggle. “I get it. Hockey. Clever.”

She clasps her fingers together and bats her long, painted lashes at me like that’ll somehow persuade my decision. “What do you say? Will you come with me? I promise I’ll protect you from Patrick and Tyler and whoever else you don’t want hitting on you if they try something.”

I make a face. “Tyler is just a flirt, Olive.”

The noise she makes is a cross between a snort and scoff, making it sound like a pig on crack. “Girl, open your eyes. That boy has got it bad. Didn’t you notice the way he glared at Patrick when he came over to you at Huden the other day? He scootched closer to you like he was trying to claim his territory. You’re lucky he didn’t cock his leg and pee.”

My face scrunches in disgust. “That’s gross and not the visual I needed. And it’s hard to tell with guys like Tyler.” I shrug. “Last week, he was all over some girl from Econ 101. I don’t take him that seriously.”

She gives me a sympathetic pat on the hand. “I don’t think he takes himself seriously, either. The point is guys pay attention to you. They have for a while. You just don’t pay any attention to them.”

I’m not completely naïve. I’ve seen the way some guys look at me when I’m around them. They see a freshman who looks like a like puppy in need of some guidance and want to help in any way they can. For a price.

Pass.

Plus, there are some guys I pay way more attention to than I should. Like the wide receiver who’s braided my hair twice now and told me all about his favorite TV show—Friends—and insisted we start watching it together when he found out I’d never seen a single episode. I notice how his muscles stretch and flex when he does things, and I notice how his blue eyes linger on my lips when I talk, and I notice how often his hand twitches when I’m near like he wants to touch me but doesn’t.

I don’t want to like DJ, but I do. I just haven’t quite figured out how much yet.

“I don’t need your protection from Tyler,” I tell her honestly, sitting back in my seat and gripping my drink. “Or any guy, for that matter. But I appreciate the offer.”

I watch the professor walk in, in his usual eccentric hippy-like clothes. He sets his messenger bag on the table and walks over to the computer to setup for class. “Hypothetically,” I say, “what would happen if your shot made it past the goalie?”

She pauses, then beams at me. “Oh my God, are you making hockey references?”

“Only for you. Anyway, what if he’s interested and wants to whisk you away?”

“Then I’ll tell him he has to wait.”