Page 50 of Trust Me

Chapter 14

Dean

Not wanting another awkward interaction so soon, I’d stayed in my room after my shower the other night. Honestly, I’d been avoiding Oli as much as I could since our encounter in the bathroom.

I wasn’t sure what his deal was, but I was a little overwhelmed. It felt like he was always around. He wanted to eat dinner together every night, and if I said no, he left me a plate all wrapped up with foil. He texted me any time he left the house so that I’d know where he was going, and he was doing a weird walking on eggshells routine.

I wondered if I’d offended him or something. Maybe it was when I offered to help him with the internet bill. I’d dealt with my fair share of disconnected services when I was younger, so I knew the shame that came with it.

When I’d chosen to move out of the dorm, I’d been looking forward to some freedom. Privacy. Breathing room. I had my own space, but it didn’t really feel like it.

That was why I’d taken as many shifts as Remi would allow, claiming I needed the practice. He reiterated that he was going to put me on a set schedule once he trusted my abilities, but for now, he seemed to be okay with me taking the extra time.

It was also why I was in the library right now, working on the project for Mr. Pritchard’s class. I was going through all of the survey cards, tallying up the answers. It was tedious, but it was also insightful. Once I was finished, Oli was supposed to evaluate the data. He’d said some weird statistics lingo that I didn’t really understand, but his eyes had lit up as he went on about it.

“Working hard?”

I stared down at the card in my hand. Was I going crazy? Something had to be nutty up in my head.

Raising my gaze, I looked at Oli. He was standing across the table with his hands in the pockets of his shorts. It was raining outside, but it didn’t seem to matter. The Carhartt hoodie just added to the odd look. It was olive green, which I wouldn’t have picked up off a rack, but I actually liked it when I saw it on him.

I must’ve taken too long to answer because he sat down and leaned his elbows on the table. When he rested his chin on his fists, he looked a bit childish.

“Dean.”

“Hi.”

His lips curved upward. “Hi there.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Would you believe me if I said studying?”

I peered around him to see if he had a backpack. He didn’t. Not a notebook or anything.

“No,” I replied.

He grunted, then leaned a little closer. “You’re avoiding me.”

“Just working a lot and studying.”

“Study at home.”

My jaw ticked, and I saw his eyes hone in on it. His face became serious as he sat back. After a deep breath, he nodded.

“I’m going to try not to spiral, okay?”

“Spiral?” I repeated. That didn’t make me feel better about anything. Was he going to go off the rails and start swinging an ax through my bedroom door?

“I have a tendency to . . .” He paused, cocking his head. “. . . overthink things. Maybe overthink isn’t the right word. It’s more like I read someone’s vibe, then make assumptions, then I run with it and start spinning out.”

“Okay . . . Why are you telling me?”

“Because I’m a communicator. I study the brain and healthy mind-body practices; communication styles and healing. It’d be pretty disingenuous if I didn’t practice what I preach.” He looked down at his hands, which were now folded on the table. “And I spent a long time around people who didn’t communicate in good ways. Or at all.

“Call it a trauma response or maladjustment or me just being a freaking weirdo. It's something I can fight but can’t always win. Even though I know you’ll probably dip, I want you to understand me in the hopes that maybe you’ll give me a little grace.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just spit-balling.”

While I thought about what he’d said, I started fanning the cards with my thumb. He watched the movement, and I watched him. I assumed he was aware of it, but he didn’t say anything or look at me.