Beg You to Trust Me (Lindon U #2)(9)
I vaguely remember looking up at my dance partner and seeing…
Blond hair.
From behind me, I hear, “Wait! Where are you—”
But the door closes behind me before I can hear him finish his sentence, and I’m 99% positive I break a record for how fast I can get from Main Street back to my dorm room.
Safe.
Blond hair.
Blond hair.
Blond hair.
“You’re safe,” I whisper to myself, curling up on my bed in a fetal position. “You’re safe.”
CHAPTER FIVE
DANNY
I stare at the door in confusion while the guys all hoot and holler at my epic failure trying to talk up the pretty but timid brunette.
“I’ve never seen someone run away from you that quickly before,” one of my teammates bellows, wiping a tear from under his eye as I approach the table again.
Dropping back into my seat, I twist to glance at the door again and shake my head.
“That chick ran faster than our QB at the last game,” another one of the guys calls out.
More snickers from the peanut gallery.
Someone pats me on the back. “Must not be a football fan.”
Definitely not a jersey chaser.
Too skittish.
Her friends, though, are a different story. I’ve felt them staring since they got here, all giggling and trying to act casual as they scope us out from the counter. It gets annoying after a while, which is why I liked that the girl with long dark locks and tight jeans hugging her ass was off to the side not paying us any mind.
“Shut it,” I grumble to the dicks as they keep hounding me.
I’ll admit, it’s been a while since I tried charming a girl, but I barely even laid on my moves before she bolted like a track star after the starting gun went off. She looked familiar, probably someone I saw at a party or maybe shared a class with at some point, but I couldn’t pinpoint a time or place.
Unlike a lot of the girls that surround themselves around the football team, she didn’t have makeup caked on her face or show off a lot of skin. The sweatshirt she had on was too big, leaving me wondering what exactly was underneath. I’m an ass man, but I can appreciate a nice chest when I see one.
Getting turned down in front of the idiots happily narrating the rejection like we didn’t all just witness it means everyone will know about it by tomorrow morning. My teammates gossip worse than most of the girls I know, and that includes Grandma Meadow who reads every tabloid known to man and sends me updates on celebrities I couldn’t care less about. But I indulge her on her need to stay in the know and always respond to her texts about what’s new in Hollywood.
“Is Aiden coming?” I find myself asking, hoping they’ll let the subject change.
Caleb, a running back for the Lindon U Dragons, snorts. “It’s Sunday. What do you think?”
Both of our eyes go to the chick with colored hair behind the counter that our tight end always watches a little too closely. He hasn’t shown interest in many women since transferring here from Wilson Reed University. Honestly, there was a bet between a few of the guys about whether he batted for the other team. But as soon as he saw the girl currently calling out a few orders and passing bags and cups to customers, I knew that wasn’t the case.
“He didn’t come here this morning,” Caleb adds, sipping his coffee and cocking his head at the employee. He knows her through his girlfriend Raine or some shit like that.
One of the second-string players chips into the conversation. “He was talking to Wallace. Guess Coach heard some shit and Griffith decided to pull him aside.”
Internally, I groan. Ricky Wallace is a grade A douche who’s after our captain’s position as quarterback. He’s a damn good player with a shitty as fuck attitude. “Was it about the party? Griff wasn’t even supposed to be back for another few hours. He never would have known.”
He’d chewed us all out after finding out we’d had a party at the house, then made us clean up the entire place until it was spotless before the sun was fully up. Most of us were hungover as hell. You would think he was the captain after hearing him bark orders. I’m surprised he didn’t make us scrub the damn floors with our toothbrushes and make us run laps after until we vomited our guts out.
“Well, if Coach found out about the party, I doubt it would’ve been just Wallace he wanted to talk to even if he was the one being a douche the whole night. Maybe Pearce finally got sick of his holier than thou bullshit and gave him a warning.”
Coach? I make a face and shake my head. I respect Coach Pearce. He trains us hard, pushes us harder, and gives us hell if we fuck up on the field. It’s justified. But the only one he really gives a damn about is Aiden. Fathers him to death while training him for the NFL. The rest of us he couldn’t give a crap about beyond following policy, protocol, and the playbook because nobody mirrors the same talent our star tight end has. He wants to train winners, not wannabes.
I’m one of the best damn wide receivers Lindon has seen in years, but that hasn’t been good enough for Coach. It’s not my ego saying that, either. It’s the stats. ESPN mentioned me once or twice when they were reviewing game reels during one of their shows.
It’s stiff competition out there, though. I may be one of the best this university has seen, but there are men ten times better than me out in the league that are still drafted as third, fourth, and fifth picks. I may be fast, but not good enough for the people who make the decisions. There’s always someone faster, better.