Beg You to Trust Me (Lindon U #2)(76)

My eyes roll.

“Anyway, he said he’s got nothing else going on. Neither do I and I’d be hanging with you, anyway, so might as well make the most of it. Does Becca know you’re leaving tomorrow?”

My shoulders tense. She’s avoided me as much as possible since our spat about the Alpha party, which has made the time we are in the room together awkward. Our suitemates know it too, because they constantly watch us like one of us is going to snap. I’m sure they placed bets on Becca winning that fight.

I would too.

Blowing out a sigh, I shake my head and tap my chewed-up pen cap on my paper. “I tried texting her saying we needed to talk, but she blew it off. I don’t really know what else to do. Olive told me to forget about it. That she’d get over it eventually.”

“Which she will,” he agrees.

“She’s vindictive.”

He hums. “Something tells me she’ll find a reason to complain about this one way or another, Blondie. With people like Rebecca, you can’t win. They’re going to find reasons not to like you even if it’s unjustified.”

I know he’s right, but it doesn’t make me feel any better about it. “I know I can’t make everybody like me, but it’s hard when I can’t figure out what I did wrong.”

His eyes sadden. “You didn’t do anything. Not everybody needs an excuse to dislike people. Want some advice that Grandma Meadow told me a while ago?”

Silently, I nod.

“She told me that there would come a time when I needed to stop making myself so available to people,” he says, brows going up knowingly when I sink into my seat. “The more we try helping people, understanding them, the more we lose ourselves along the way. You don’t always have to be nice to everybody, Sky. Being nice usually only gets you used.”

The frown is instant, weighing down my lips like lead is attached to either corner. “That’s a sad way to look at it.”

“It’s not untrue, though.”

I think about it, something clicking inside my head as I stare at him. “Danny, do you feel like I’m using you? Please be honest because I don’t want to—”

“Skylar,” he cuts me off, seriousness washing over his usually playful features. “I’m going to tell you this once, so listen real good. There’s a big difference between agreeing to help somebody when they ask because you care about them, and having people assume you’ll help because they think you owe them something. You never have to worry about me feeling used when it comes to anything we do together. I’ll bury my face between those pretty thighs of yours any day of the week. I’ll bury plenty of other things there too if that’s what you want.”

He says that as a couple guys walk by the table we occupy, earning amused snickers from them. “Oh my God,” I grumble.

He chuckles. “I recall you saying those exact words when I was doing that thing with my—”

“Stop!” I squeak, tossing my pen cap at him. He dodges it artfully, grinning like a fiend.

He raises his hands, waiting until the bystanders pass us by. “Okay, okay. But do you understand? I don’t feel like you’re using me. Not in a bad way. If you knew the things I was thinking about right now…”

“I’m not sure I want to.”

“You do,” he counters, still grinning. “I have a feeling you’d be very interested in them.”

The blush starts to subside despite the images in my head that I can’t seem to brush off as easily. Clearing my throat, I change the subject to something safer for public. “What time is Caleb free to help me move?”

“Sure, now you’re accepting his help.”

I shrug. “You’re both offering, so I’d be stupid to turn it down. Plus, I don’t have nearly as many muscles as you all do. It’ll be way easier for you to carry my fridge and bigger items versus Olive and I struggling with them.”

“True.” He flexes his arm and wiggles his eyebrows. “And for the record, I totally have bigger muscles than him.”

He doesn’t, and we both know it. Just because Caleb is taken doesn’t mean I haven’t noticed how ripped he is. It’s not in an overdone way, either, but that guy’s biceps are as big as my head, and I’ve seen the way Raine drools over them when he’s wearing a T-shirt.

I almost do, too.

Danny claps his hands once loudly, earning somebody from across the room to shush him. “So, how are we attacking the Becca situation?”

My brows pinch. “What do you mean?”

“Is she going to be there when we pack?”

“Probably not. She usually has study group in the mornings, and then said something about meeting up with a guy from the station in the afternoon. We’ll probably get most of the stuff out of there before she’s back.”

The nagging sense of guilt smacks into me, making me stare down at my forgotten assignment. Am I being petty because of everything she’s put me through? Stooping to her level? The last thing I want is to give her ammunition.

“Hey,” Danny says softly. “From one recovering people-pleaser to another, don’t do that to yourself. I know what you’re thinking. There’s nothing wrong with putting yourself first. She’s stressing you out, making you upset, and that’s not doing any good for either of you.”