Beg You to Trust Me (Lindon U #2)(34)
“That’ll be hard to do,” Justin muses.
Someone snickers before everyone’s attention is directed to where I’m sitting cross-legged on the end of the couch opposite of their wide receiver. “Oh, well…” Would they believe me if I said I didn’t have any? I sort of pride myself on not being anything like my sisters, who were always getting into some sort of trouble. “I don’t really have any stories to tell.”
Even Caleb looks skeptical. “You’ve never done anything embarrassing?”
Stephen snorts, chugging the rest of his beer before wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand. “We’ve got ourselves a good girl, fellas. Haven’t had one of those around here in a hot minute.”
My face burns, and my gaze quickly drops to the floor. What could I tell them? That the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me is getting chlamydia? I’d rather not advertise that to a room full of strangers who may or may not have been the one to bestow me the experience of treating an STD.
Internally, I wince. Being here already makes my skin crawl. DJ’s stories keep my brain occupied so I’m not stealing glances toward the stairs every five seconds. It’s bad enough my brain wanders to that night when I’m on my own. Being at the scene of crime brings on feelings too heavy for me to sort through.
I shake my head, toying with a loose strand of hair that fell from the messy bun I tossed it up in to eat. Maybe I should dye it again. Something lighter. Maybe something fun.
Another change. I need a change.
I clear my throat. “Guess I’m boring.”
It’s DJ who says, “Boring isn’t a bad thing, Blondie. And something tells me you’re far from it even if you didn’t jump out of a two-story window.”
“Or try rescuing a cat that mauled you,” Caleb chirps, shooting a smirk at the boy whose hand is a mere inch away from mine.
I subtly move my hands to my lap, fiddling with my fingers so he doesn’t try touching me. He’s never tried before beyond hair braiding or grabbing my books and carrying them.
Olive shoving my shoulder or giving me a bear hug? Not a big deal. Deanna? Aliyah? Even Becca? Although not as welcoming, I wouldn’t mind it…that much. I might even welcome something as mundane as a hug from one of the girls who look at me like an outcast. Because then I’d be one of them. A friend. Part of something that would make me feel like Lindon wasn’t such a bad choice after all.
Even though the charming smile and easy on the eyes facial features directed at me right now says I’m perfectly safe with DJ—that I’m part of something with him even if I don’t want to be—I find myself cautious all the same.
Because all I can think about are hands on my hips. On my back. On my butt. And I can’t place a face to a name. I can’t remember when I stopped enjoying being kissed. Or if I did. I don’t remember the word ‘yes’ or the word ‘no’ and it kills me. Every single day a tiny piece of me withers away from the lack of knowledge I have from that night.
And every time a piece of me cracks, I force myself to think of better memories that replace the bad ones. Like Olive’s hilarious rants during her video games or how easily she drops things to hang out with me. I think about how simple it is to be her friend—to be lazy without feeling bad about it. To go makeup free without her judgement. To eat something bad instead of something healthy without her eyes judging me. And I think about DJ.
My mind wanders to the photo we took together in the library. I have it saved on my phone—even considered posting it online to show people I have more than one person here for me. But the second I upload it to any of my social media my sisters would be demanding details from me that I’m not willing to share.
And I don’t want to share DJ.
Not yet.
DJ groans at his friend’s quip, pulling my attention back to him. “That was one time. And that motherfucker gave me an infection from scratching me up so bad. I was just trying to help it. Damn nurse I went to see thought I was a cutter and called my ma because she was worried for my mental health.”
All I can do is stare.
It’s Stephen who remarks, “We all worry about your mental health. You pay too much attention to the wrong kind of puss—”
“Watch it,” the cat loving man growls, smacking his teammate upside the head.
Stephen looks at him, then me, rubbing where our mutual friend hit him. “Damn. Sorry. I figured her of all people wouldn’t care if I said—”
Another warning look from not only DJ, but Caleb too, has Stephen shutting up.
I offer him a limp shrug, confused over their reactions but choosing to let it go. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard guys say that. Don’t worry about it on my account.”
Caleb looks between me and his buddies before standing up. “Well, I’m whooped. Going to head upstairs. Skylar, it was nice chilling with you. Hopefully, you can mellow this dipshit out. None of us can seem to manage it.”
Something tells me that’s an impossible task since DJ is always bouncing around with the kind of energy I can only muster after at least three cups of coffee. “I’ll do my best,” I reply grimly.
He chuckles and slaps hands with the guys before walking around the couch and jogging upstairs.
Stephen stretches out and drapes an ankle across his bent knee and throws an arm over the back of the couch. “You were at the party we held, right? Came with a couple of other chicks.”