Beg You to Trust Me (Lindon U #2)(15)
He pauses. “You sure about that?”
Snorting, I drop the towel hanging low on my waist. Like most of the players, I’m not bashful. My body is lean and toned with all the right muscles in all the right places. And my dick isn’t bad to look at either. What’s there to want to hide? “Don’t you think I’d know if I had sex?”
He shakes his head as he grabs his clothes from the locker beside mine. “I don’t know, man. You were fucking hammered at the party. Don’t you remember grinding on Amber? I honestly thought you were going to start having sex in the middle of the living room. It was disturbing.”
My fact twists in thought. I did indulge in a little too much beer, but they bought my favorite kind knowing I wouldn’t protest the party then. Aiden would have a shit fit when he found out about it, so they bribed me to keep quiet. And I took that bribe and drank to my heart’s content because why the fuck not. It’s not something I do often, so I let loose.
I don’t remember grinding on Amber, though. She’s been passed around most of Lindon’s sports teams, always hooking up with whoever wore a jersey, cleats, and was willing. And while I’ve never been the one to slut shame, I have no interest in participating in that sort of thing. Like I told Jesse Owens in film class, I don’t do jersey chasers and there’s an unspoken rule between teammates not to screw a chick they already slept with.
Clearly not everybody follows that rule because some of them may be needing to take some heavy medication along with their morning protein shakes soon enough.
“I vaguely remember,” I tell him. “But I know I didn’t sleep with anyone. I was drunk, but not that drunk.”
I’d slipped into the basement and locked up when shit started getting crazy. I brought one more beer down with me, turned on SportsCenter, and fell asleep on the couch.
Alone.
It wasn’t until Aiden woke me up looking pissed as fuck the next morning that I knew the upstairs must have been trashed. Not surprising considering how many people were up there before I made my escape.
Caleb chuckles. “Whatever you say, man. Forgot you were practically a monk these days. Maybe that’s part of your problem.”
“I’m selective,” I correct. He’s not one to talk since he has a serious girlfriend he can get some from any time he wants. He may get attention from the same women the rest of us do, but they don’t try nearly as hard because it’s obvious how much he loves Raine. An annoying amount. They’re the disgusting-cute type.
“And I don’t have a problem,” I add.
“So why does the one chick you can’t seem to keep your eyes off of look like she wants to murder you?” he quips, referring to the brunette that I may pay more attention to than I normally do others.
My mouth twitches. I’ve noticed the way she catches my eyes when we’re out walking around campus and quickly looks away like she refuses to acknowledge me. I can’t say I blame her. I sounded like a dick last time we spoke. If she didn’t run every time she got near me, I’d apologize.
“Because I’m an idiot,” I tell Caleb, fastening the button of my jeans and zipping them. “Anyway, it could be worse. I may not get a lot of action, but at least I’m not Aiden.”
He grins before a hand comes up and smacks me upside the head.
No doubt the man in question is standing there, looming like the silent creeper he always is. The team’s star tight end definitely doesn’t have anything to worry about from these tests.
I’m hungry as hell once we’re dismissed from practice a week later. The closest place with food that probably isn’t swamped is Reavers in the Student Center, which serves some of the best pizza and subs around. Even though I’m supposed to keep a strict diet, all I can think about is the chicken, bacon, and ranch pizza slices waiting for me.
It only takes me a few minutes to grab a couple from the heated display case, slap them onto a paper plate, pick a water from the cooler, and let the cashier scan my student ID to pay for it all. Sitting down and taking my first bite, I stop mid-chew when a shadow casts over where I’m trying to see what ESPN is talking about on the flatscreen above the fireplace across the room.
My eyes trail over to the feminine frame standing there, legs covered in black leggings that hug her hips, hands fidgeting with the hem of an oversized black sweatshirt, and long, brown hair cascading over her shoulders.
When I meet her pretty baby blues staring directly at me, one of my eyebrows arches up in curiosity. I can’t help but smirk, mouth still full of food that I slowly begin chewing as the runner shifts her weight in obvious nervousness.
Jesse Owens says, “I need to talk to you.”
Her voice.
Low, raspy, and even with a slight rattle from her nerves, still oddly sexy. Swallowing, I sit back in my seat and stretch my long legs out in front of me. “That so?”
Her eyes dart away, like she’s second guessing herself. I’m surprised when she stands a little straighter, drawing her shoulders back as if she’s going into battle.
I’ve seen her around campus, usually around the snotty group of girls she keeps in her company. I also notice the guys that linger, the way their eyes always find her wherever she goes. It makes me wonder what truth there is to her roommate’s jab about the guys she keeps around when she brought it up at the bakery. But what constantly draws my attention to the brunette is the fact she’s either oblivious to the interest she gets, or she chooses not to pay the guys any attention.