Teach You to Love Me (Lindon U #4)

Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

Rachel

L indon’s population was made up of a whopping 4,082 people during the last census, with an additional 5,380 students who attended the local university during the college season. None of that is relevant information until I realize how small that truly makes the town when it’s full of twenty-somethings looking for a good time.

“I’m sorry,” I apologize to my date for the third time when I see the boys in the corner making kissy faces in my direction. “I work with the university football team, and the players can be a little…rambunctious.”

My date is a twenty-seven-year-old car salesman who I matched with on a dating app like a total loser because I never get out long enough to meet people organically. The men in my graduate classes aren’t anything to write home about and the guys I deal with when I’m working are a handful of years younger than my twenty-four.

Even if the Thanksgiving and Christmas holidays with Dad and Tatum weren’t totally awful, I didn’t want to follow in my father’s footsteps and rob the cradle.

But after the new year came and went, and the Upstate New York winter stretched on and made everything cold, dark, and miserable, I found myself wanting…something. And since the temptation to go after the one person who would be more than happy to warm my bed was constantly around me on campus, I decided to do something about it.

So, after a very lackluster Valentine’s Day alone, I decided to sign up for a few dating apps that my sister insisted I try.

Dylan, who’s been talking about how he won employee of the month three times in a row, frowns at the boys making a scene. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather be over there? Seems like they want you to be.”

If Matthew Clearwater had anything to say about it, I’d be occupying the empty seat beside him. “I’m fine right here. So, tell me more about your five-year plan.”

He gives one last feigning glance at the obnoxious athletes before turning to me and grabbing his beer. “I’m going to move to California to work for Google. Hopefully, my future wife will raise our kids as a stay-at-home mom. You know, the dream.”

I blink at the nineteen-fifties throwback, trying my hardest not to flinch.

There’s nothing wrong with being a stay-at-home mother. It’s a full-time job in itself, but it’s definitely not my dream. Not that he asks, but I indulge him with my own plans. “I’m in grad school to get my master’s in sports psychology. Maybe I’ll work with other sports teams in the future, but I think it would be fun to become a professor and teach as an adjunct or maybe become some sort of counselor. Hopefully, in five years, I’ll have my doctorate with enough teaching experience to get something full-time. Tenure would be nice if I decide on the education track.”

My date sips his beer, his eyes glancing in the direction of the flatscreen playing a football game before coming back to me. “What kind of focus is sports psychology? Seems like a throwaway major people choose when they don’t want to become regular therapists.”

His answer causes heat to prickle the back of my head and ears. “Athletes get put through the wringer to get where they are. It can be mentally taxing on them, especially if their goal is to go pro. I’d like to help them. If I can.”

“How do you feel about California?”

“Uh…” I stop myself, a little irritated he has nothing to say to my original response. “It seems dry. And hot. I’ve never really thought about the West Coast that much if I’m being honest. It’s a little out of my price range.”

He hums, looking from the television playing to the table of boys who are still wiggling their fingers suggestively at us. “What exactly do you do with them?”

His weirdly worded question makes my eyes twitch. “What do you mean? I advise them. Make sure they’re on top of their schoolwork so they can keep playing. That sort of thing.”

Another unreadable noise comes from him as he finishes off his beer. “It’s strange, is all. You’re young and attractive. Doesn’t seem like you’d fit into that world, especially not with a bunch of horned-up jocks. I’d know. I was one back in the day.”

Back in the day. As if this guy is decades older than me rather than four years.

My lips twitch. “It’s not like they’re walking around sporting boners all the time. They come into my office, I tell them what they need to do to keep their GPA up, and then they leave. Half of them don’t even listen to me.”

He doesn’t need to know the times Matthew will come in and flirt with me, because it’s playful at best. Innocent. Ish. Until it wasn’t.

The man across from me shakes his head, sliding the empty Corona bottle away. “If you were my girlfriend, I wouldn’t want you being around them at all. Even for a paycheck. Guys are too untrustworthy, especially at that age.”

“Wouldn’t you trust your girlfriend?”

“It’s not about that,” he argues.

I don’t see how it isn’t. The more he talks, the more he reminds me of my high school boyfriend, Michael. He’d wanted to settle down and live the all-American dream that would have left my dreams on the back burner. As much as I thought I loved him, I loved building a future for myself more. Which meant exploring something outside of the relationship I’d been comfortable in.

“Sounds like it’s a good thing I’m not your girlfriend then,” I reply tartly, grateful I didn’t accept the second drink he offered to buy me.

The man, who I initially thought was cute before he opened his mouth, stands. “I think the date is over.”

The only thing I do is nod, watching him grab his jacket and phone and head toward the door without another word or look my way. When he disappears behind it, I slump back into my seat and feel a little embarrassed that my bad date is witnessed by people I see multiple times a week.

Another failed date to tell my sister about.

Fun.

A few moments later, a pink drink with sugar on the rim and a lime wedged on the edge is set in front of me. “I didn’t order—”

“He was a douche,” Matt says, sliding the same drink I ordered before closer to me on the napkin. “You deserve better.”

Instead of taking the drink, I lean back and look to the twenty-one-year-old who celebrated his birthday over the winter break. “And how would you know what I deserve, Matthew?”

He simply lifts a shoulder. “I know that you looked miserable every time that guy opened his mouth. He cut you off twice. Never responded to anything you said about yourself. And he rolled his eyes when you ordered the passionfruit margarita. I don’t have to know a lot about you to know that nobody deserves to be treated that way, Ms. Holloway .”

Eyes drifting to the drink he got for me, I stifle a sigh and push it away. “Thank you, but I can’t accept this. It would be inappropriate.”

He gestures toward his teammates. “As far as I’m concerned, this is coincidental. We all happen to be at Fishtail at the same time. It doesn’t have to be a big thing, so you should come join us and have your drink.”

Why wouldn’t it be coincidental? Eyes narrowing at the tall blond, I ask, “Did you know I was going to be here?”

I’ve been around long enough to know where the local hangouts are for students. Fishtail is usually only popular on Tuesdays and Fridays when everything is half off. It’s a Thursday night at seven thirty—hardly partying time.

Matt’s lips kick up at the corners. “Try not to be too offended, Ruby Red. When we like someone, we want to make sure they’re being treated with respect. I may have suggested we come here when I overheard you on the phone telling your sister about your date yesterday when the guys and I were heading to the locker room. But it’s good that I came since he was a jackass.”

“Be nice,” I chide, even though my date definitely does not deserve any defending. He was a jackass.

Matt shakes his head. “You’re too nice for your own good. Why are you giving losers like him a shot anyway?”

“Why does anybody date?” I ask, crossing my arms.

He watches me for a second. “There are a lot of reasons. Boredom. Loneliness. Sex.”

I swallow at the last one, my thighs tightening at the thought of him between them.

Matt leans toward me. “Which one is the reason you’re here?”

He’s definitely not getting an answer. “Why are you here? You must have better things to do than spy on your adviser.”

One of his shoulders lifts casually. “Not really. I’ve got the whole night to kill.”

Of course he does. “So you cleared your schedule to watch me fail at dating? Great.” I mumble the last part.

Matt taps the table to get my attention. “There isn’t anything wrong with dating for those reasons, you know. I’m not judging. I’ve definitely dated for all of them at one point or another. And, for the record, it isn’t like I wanted your date to go bad. He was an ass and doesn’t deserve you.”

I don’t want to think about that. “I wanted to put myself out there, is all. Be normal. Find something to do outside of work and school.”

“Understandable.”

I look at the margarita he bought me. “My sister is getting married over our spring break. She keeps hounding me about if I’m bringing a date.”

If I find one, great. If I don’t…Well, there’s a reason I didn’t want to get my hopes up. I was doing this for me, not for the sake of checking “plus one” off on the RSVP, no matter how excited Brie would be if I told her I was bringing somebody.

“Any good prospects?” he presses.

I look at him and his boyish smirk that makes mischief flash in his gray-blue eyes. “Not so far,” I tell him.

He hums, watching me carefully. Then he picks up the margarita, gesturing toward the table he secured in the corner. “Come on. You can hang out and have some actual fun with people you like for a change.”

Realistically, I should have known he was eavesdropping on my conversation with my sister about tonight. By the time I saw him outside my door, Daniel and Caleb were tugging him along, saying something about not creeping on me. I brushed it off because I was excited about my night out. Dylan seemed like a decent person when we talked online.

Matt stops when he sees I’m not following him. “Come on, Rach. We don’t bite. You and I both know you can handle your own with the guys. And chances are, they’re going to be on their best behavior with you around versus if you leave. That means less chances of you having to hear Pearce yelling at us tomorrow if we show up hungover.”

Rubbing my lips together, I weigh my options. I know the smart thing to do would be to grab my jacket, purse, and phone, and go home.

Instead, I find myself grabbing my things and following the wide receiver to the table of his peers, who hoot and holler when I stop by the empty seat next to Matthew’s.

It’s probably a good thing Aiden decided to drop out to train for the combine, or he’d be here reminding everybody that this isn’t a good idea.

“Welcome to the mayhem, Rach,” one of the boys greets.

What are you doing? the logical voice inside my head asks.

I squash it with a sip of my drink.

Having fun , I answer.

I don’t think about Dylan the rest of the night.