Beg You to Trust Me (Lindon U #2)(50)
“Only if we let it,” I counter. “I couldn’t even tell you where my family’s money comes from. All I know is that it’ll be mine someday. It’s what paid for what my football scholarship didn’t, and it’ll pay for grad school when I’m done with my bachelor’s degree. I’m grateful for it, but don’t think it’ll ever change me.”
It’s true, too. My ma is still as stubborn as ever and frugal as can be. She donates to charities she’s passionate about, but otherwise keeps the money safely tucked away. Our house isn’t big or fancy and our cars aren’t anything sporty or ritzy with gadgets. Hell, the Jeep I drive is ten years old and sitting in the garage for Grandma to use whenever she wants to go out. Though, from what Ma said that’s not often since she either walks or gets rides from other people.
I’d been tempted to stay in Beacon Hill and attend Suffolk University to stay closer to my family because of our close-knit relationship, but when Ma and I visited the private school one summer, the stuffy atmosphere was an instant turnoff. She would’ve paid for it if she knew it was where I wanted to go, but she knew the second we stepped onto the campus that I’d never have it in my top five to apply for.
Lindon is a hell of a lot cheaper than any of the schools I applied for, but it was always the better choice. We never cared if there was a higher price on an education as long as it had what I wanted. So, here I am. “People think money will buy us happiness, but the material things it gets us are only temporary. If your grandparents were that pissed at your parents for having money, the problem was them. Sounds like it isn’t so bad you didn’t know them.”
All she does is hum, clearly contemplating my response.
After she chooses a movie, we fall into a comfortable silence as it begins playing. I grab a few handfuls of popcorn, prop my feet on the coffee table knowing Aiden won’t be around to smack them off and scold me, and Skylar stares solely at the screen with her hands in her lap.
She’s too still.
I subtly study the distance between us. It’s not much, but it’s there. Space. Comfort. My eyes trail to where her bent knee is an inch or so away from my thigh, and debate on moving over and making an excuse for it.
Sensing my lingering gaze, the girl beside me turns her head. “What are you looking at?” Her eyes go down to our legs, examining her leggings as if there might be something on them.
I rub my denim-clad thigh. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
My strained voice makes her squirm until her knee knocks into my thigh. “No, it’s not nothing. What’s going on? You’re acting…weird.”
“I’m always weird,” is the smart thing I decide to reply with.
Her eyes lighten playfully. “True, but you’re usually weird in a fun way.”
I debate my options. I could play it off as something trivial. Or I could brush it off completely and just watch the movie. But the way Skylar’s eyes are roaming over me makes me choose the best option.
The truth. “You don’t seem that comfortable right now, and I’m not sure if it’s me or what. It…” My nose twitches as I palm the back of my neck. “I don’t know. It bothers me. Maybe ‘bothers’ isn’t the right word. I just don’t like seeing you uncomfortable.”
She fumbles with her fingers as she stares at the distance she put back between our legs. With a sigh, she slumps her shoulders. “It’s going to sound stupid, but I have these dreams that wake me up. Nightmares, I guess. Except I’m pretty sure they’re actually memories from the party here. It’s weird being back when I don’t remember much about it. It’s not you.”
My body tenses. “Tidbits like what exactly? Do you remember who—”
“No, and that’s why I get uncomfortable around certain people. You. Guys in general. You may think because guys seem to stare at me or whatever that I’m doing something on purpose to attract their attention, but I’m not. I’d rather be left alone. It’s pathetic, right? Olive crushes me in strangely intense hugs all the time and I’m fine. But if some guy did that, I’d get all squirmy.”
“That’s not pathetic,” I tell her quietly.
She doesn’t seem to believe me. “All I remember is hands on me while I’m dancing and…when I’m not dancing. Hands on my skin. It’s like I can feel them even after all this time. I can’t get it out of my brain. I vaguely remember someone telling me to come upstairs. I don’t know how many times I was told not to go with a guy that I didn’t know, especially not when I was drunk. But I did anyway. I remember kissing him. I remember…liking it. A lot. I thought he was blond and I’m pretty sure he’d been drinking too because he smelled—” Her nose scrunches. “He smelled like something stronger than the beer you guys had. Like the rum I’d been drinking with soda.”
She stops talking for a few seconds and nibbles on her thumbnail. When her eyes meet mine, they’re sheepish. “Honestly? I think I know why I kept suspecting it was you, why I was so determined to believe it.”
“Why?”
There’s a brief pause.
“I wanted it to be you,” she whispers.
Her admission does something screwy to my heart. It makes it pound. Hard. Fast. Heavy.