Chapter One
CHAPTER ONE
Rachel
S mooth, hard skin greets the palm of my hand as I come to, with the sun beaming through the half-open shades. For a minute, I think nothing of it as my eyelids flutter open and fight the grogginess that beckons another ten minutes of sleep.
A dream , the half-asleep version of me decides. It’s just a dream.
Because I’ve had them before. They usually start with a lot of heated touching and end with warm cuddles just like this. And each time I woke up with my heart racing and other parts of me throbbing, I realized that the star of the dream was the same every single time. Then, with a guilty consciousness, I would force myself back to sleep and pray Matthew Clearwater didn’t reappear.
A dream , I tell myself again as I snuggle into the warmth cocooning me.
Then my fingertips graze over coarse hair, and the strange, warm mattress moves under me.
Eyes opening, I come face-to-face with a naked torso carved with lean muscle. Suddenly, my senses are overwhelmed by the familiar scent of Old Spice that wraps around me like the cotton sheets tangled between my legs. Then I feel the subtle throb from one too many glasses of wine that I had last night. God. How many had I had?
A husky noise rises from Matthew Clearwater’s throat as his chest rises and falls under my touch.
Oh my God.
I close my eyes and think, Shit.
Sitting up, the sheets pool around my waist, and a cool breeze pebbles my bare skin. When I glance down, a shooting pain echoes in my skull as I glance at my body.
Naked as the day I was born.
“Not a dream,” I whisper, remembering bits and pieces from the night before. From the moment I hung up the phone on my father when he told me the latest updates on him and his new girlfriend, to Matthew inviting me out to Dante’s Pizzeria with the guys for a post-game celebration, to the shameless flirting that made me feel so much lighter after the fight I’d gotten into with my dad. He made me laugh, smile, and stop thinking about the betrayal that boiled my blood.
…until he was the one boiling my blood for a lot of other reasons that had to do with that mouth he used to charm me over on numerous occasions.
My body thrums to life with the memory of all the ways he worked it after I told him yes .
“Not a dream,” I say to myself again.
I reach for my phone resting on the nightstand and cringe when I see the time.
“Matt,” I groan, clenching the sheets to my chest to cover myself as I use my free hand to shake the sleeping boy beside me. “Wake up.”
An indiscernible noise comes from him as he turns onto his side, giving me his back.
More moments from last night resurface as I stare at the well-formed muscles he earned through all his training on and off the field.
There was a celebration after the Dragons won their first game against the Raiders. Pizza. Beer. Wings. And after we ditched the pizzeria, there was wine. Lots of wine. And thanks to my love for the sweet kind, the hangover feels ten times worse. It churns my stomach, making nausea rise up the back of my throat as I remember the way he pinned my body against the wall outside of Dante’s and asked that question I should have said no to.
Do you want this as bad as I do?
I did. I really did. Because I was having fun and not giving an ounce of thought to the consequences or other feelings that had previously weighed on my mind. At that moment, it was the two of us—not a student and his athletic adviser, but a boy who liked a girl.
Stupid. I was so stupid last night.
Another wave of nausea hits me. Karma, I’m sure, for the student currently in bed beside me despite the strict rules against it.
Shaking him again, I say, “Come on, Matthew. You need to get up and go before my neighbors see you.”
For the most part, the other neighbors keep to themselves. Except for the ornery older woman, Mrs. Flynn, who was widowed almost eight years ago. A permanent scowl is carved onto her face whenever she sees me, and I’d take it personally if I didn’t see her look at the mailman the same way. God only knows what she’d say if she saw Matt doing a six-a.m. walk of shame when she’s outside walking her chihuahua.
“Five more minutes,” the attractive blond says, swatting my hand away.
It’s been two months since I met the boy trying to curl in my blankets. Merely sixty days, and I already caved into his charming personality and flirty innuendos despite my better judgment.
Yesterday wasn’t a good day for me. I was sad. Angry. Confused. But those excuses don’t justify the choice I made, no matter how much Matt made me laugh or feel good. I was the older one, granted not by much, and knew better.
“No,” I hedge. God, how did I get myself into this mess? “Come on, Matt. Please? This isn’t good. In fact, this is really, really bad.”
He makes another disgruntled noise like he doesn’t get the seriousness of what occurred between us.
I move him again, trying to keep the contents in my stomach where they are. “You’ve got a team meeting to go over game footage, and we both know how Coach Pearce is when you’re late.”
This time, he groans in defeat and flops over onto his back, and I know I’ve got him. The head coach of Lindon’s football team is a stoic middle-aged man. He’s serious ninety-nine percent of the time, and the one percent he isn’t is only a generous assumption I made for his personal life outside of the university. Because God help anybody he’s married to who would have to deal with his moodiness. I could only hope he was better off school property.
One of his unique gray-blue eyes pops open to look at me. The color is beautiful, not that a guy like Matt enjoyed being told that. But his eyes and the rest of him are beautiful, if I’m being honest. In a masculine sort of way.
His time on the field and in the weight room contributed to every lean, carved muscle covering his body. Pair that with those bluish-gray eyes and his moppy blond hair, and I was bound to be a goner the second he unabashedly got caught staring at my butt.
I just thought my willpower was stronger than two shared bottles of wine and cheesy pickup lines that never would have worked on me if I were sober. At least, that’s what I tell myself.
“It’s not Coach Pearce I’m worried about,” he says, looping an arm around my waist and pulling me under him in a smooth maneuver like he’s done this a million times before. And he probably has. Just not with me. “Griff has had a larger stick up his ass than usual lately.”
I put my hands on his shoulders and squeeze them once, hoping he’ll move. “Be nice. He’s your friend.”
“He’s a nosy Nancy,” he grumbles under his breath, using one of his free hands to move pieces of hair behind my ear. The gentle caress sends warmth down my limbs, giving me pause. “The guys call him the team mom because he’s always scolding one of us for something. I swear, ever since Ivy came into his life, he’s been testier than normal. Why should we be punished because he’s not getting his dick wet?”
Ignoring his crudeness, I pat his arm. “I think it’s sweet that he cares enough to nag about things regardless of what his motive may be. Can you please move now?”
“Even if he’s nagged me about my intentions with you?”
My smile slips, and the headache gets worse as it drums in my skull. “What has he said?”
“He told me not to be a playboy and put your job at risk,” he says casually. “If he cares about anyone, it’s you.”
For him to tell Matt that, he must suspect something. “Matt…”
He shakes his head, those heart-stopping eyes piercing mine into not pushing him off me. “Don’t.” He stops me before I can point out the obvious. “Get out of that pretty little head of yours. He doesn’t think anything has happened.”
“Then why—”
“You’ve been around us long enough to know we all have reputations,” he says. It’s unapologetic. Matter of fact. “Most athletes do. The games, the adrenaline, the attention…it gets to our heads. It’s gotten to mine more times than I can count.”
Nibbling my bottom lip, I slowly nod.
In my short time with the boys, I’ve gotten insight I never had as an onlooker in the stands. I’ve heard all the gossip, all the fights, and all of the makeups that happen between them, their friends, and the people they’re dating.
And I have heard that the boys on the team were popular with the ladies…and some guys. They’re young and attractive, so I wasn’t shocked to hear I was surrounded by a handful of players outside the field.
The fact I’m in this particular position speaks volumes to what Coach Pearce told me when I first started working with the Dragons. “These boys are every stereotype you’ve ever heard about,” he warns, walking me to the office I’ll be taking over. “I’ve already told them not to mess with you, but there’s always going to be someone who pushes boundaries. Don’t let them.”
It was the first time I’d met the man who looked like he stepped on a Lego moments before. I hadn’t gotten a handshake or a hello. Just a monotone “follow me” and a head nod in the opposite direction as he walked away. He wasn’t part of the hiring process; he just told HR to bring in someone who could do the job, which was basically keeping his players on track in their coursework so they wouldn’t be punished.
I don’t like even the possibility of knowing that any of the players suspect something is going on between Matt and me because chances are that will get back to their coach. And even though I’ve heard the whispers surrounding what Coach Pearce has let slide in his many years as the head coach at the university, I’m not sure if he’d let somebody else crossing lines do the same.
And, frankly, I don’t want to find out.
“You’re overthinking,” he accuses lightly, his fingertips dancing along the edge of my jawline.
“I’m justified,” I argue, ignoring the faint tingles that his fingertips leave behind the path he traces over my skin.
“It’s nothing.”
“ This ,” I say, lightly pushing him up and off of me so I can sit up, “is not nothing. This can get me in big trouble if somebody finds out.”
Matt sighs. “It was one time, Rach. I told you last night nobody would find out.”
“But can you really make that promise?” I doubt with a frown weighing the corners of my lips down. “I enjoyed our time together. But…”
Well, the truth is, I like my job more. The independent study gives me credit and a paycheck, which is a win-win since my financial aid doesn’t cover the apartment I live in, and I’d barely make ends meet otherwise.
A shadow masks the playful edge Matthew always has on his face, and I know I’ve put it there. But what did he expect? I may not be that much older than the twenty-one-year-old, but my position as Lindon faculty means that we’re testing waters. And I’ve never been that strong of a swimmer.
His legs swing over the side of the bed, the sheets dropping to reveal a firm, toned backside that I have to force myself to look away from as he pulls his boxers on. “I’m glad you ‘enjoyed your time.’ Leave me a review on Yelp so more customers can come,” he grumbles.
I cringe at his bitter tone. “You know that’s not how I meant it.”
Matt shakes his head as he dresses. “One of these days, you’re going to throw caution to the wind and stop being afraid to live, Rach.”
My nostrils flare with subtle irritation. “Says the boy who wouldn’t lose everything if we get caught,” I counter defensively. “Be honest, Matt. If people find out we slept together, you’ll get high fives and congratulations, while I’ll get a pink slip and be blacklisted from every school and university in the state. It’s not the same for us.”
He looks over his shoulder. “It’s not like I’m underage.”
“No,” I agree. Thank God. “But you’re a student, and I’m a faculty member. There are rules in the handbook against those kinds of relationships because of HR nightmares that have happened in the past at Lindon. Everybody who gets hired is told to act professionally.”
A slow, mischievous smirk curls half of Matt’s lips. “I don’t know. You were very courteous in ensuring I was given plenty of help last night. Can’t get more professional than that.”
I should have known he’d make a joke. “Now is not the time for humor.”
His smirk drops after a few seconds when he sees the scowl I shoot him. “You’re serious.”
“Of course I am!” How could I not be? If he doesn’t see what a risk this is, what am I even doing with him?
Hastily, I get out of bed with the sheets wrapped carefully around my body. It isn’t like he didn’t get a full view last night, but I’m not in the mood to be ogled right now.
“Come on, Rach—”
His words are cut off by the bathroom door that I close after grabbing a change of clothes.
I look at myself in the mirror, cringing when I see a red mark above my right breast. Teeth marks. Last night definitely got a little out of hand when everybody started breaking away in pairs when Dante’s closed. Which is how Matt and I wound up with two bottles of wine that I definitely did not have already in my apartment, all but breaking down the door half-drunk with our mouths on each other before the lock could click into place.
Do you want this as bad as I do?
Touching the red mark, I internally sigh.
Why didn’t I lie?
Knuckles wrap against the door as I’m half dressed, glad that I don’t have any low necklines that could reveal where Matt’s mouth was.
“I’m sorry,” he says, his voice soft and genuine. “I didn’t mean to sound like a prick.”
Matt is a lot of things, but an asshole isn’t one of them. Immature at times, sure. But not mean.
“I know,” I tell him, pulling on the last piece of clothing and not bothering to study my messy just-had-sex hair in the mirror before running a brush through it.
My hand hesitates on the door handle before dropping it back down to my side.
“You should really go before someone sees you,” I press, not wanting him to make up more excuses as to why he should stay.
There’s silence on the other side of the wood, but I know he’s still there.
Clearing my throat, I back up and sit on the closed toilet lid. “You don’t want to be late,” I remind him. “Coach Pearce threatened to bench you last time you showed after everybody else.”
I think I hear him mumbling under his breath, but I don’t catch what he says.
It feels like a long, tense few minutes when I finally hear him speak. “I’ll see you at school then. And I’m…I’m sorry again.”
Wetting my lips, I nod as if he can see me and stay silent. Words cram into the back of my throat as I wait and listen to him leave. It takes about five minutes before the door opens and closes, and I’m met with silence. Then I wait another five to make sure he actually left.
When I open the door, I’m by myself.
I look at the messy, unmade bed. Then at the clothes from last night scattered in a path from the door to the bedroom.
Swallowing, I toss the empty bottles of booze and start cleaning as if nothing ever happened.
My hand touches the red spot left behind again, knowing that’s easier said than done.