Teach you to love me, p.1
Teach You to Love Me, page 1
TEACH YOU TO LOVE ME
B. Celeste
© Copyright 2024 B. Celeste
Kindle Edition
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Design: Letitia Hasser, RBA Designs
Editing: Proofing Style by Marla
ALSO BY B. CELESTE
The Truth about Heartbreak
The Truth about Tomorrow
The Truth about Us
Underneath the Sycamore Tree
Where the Little Birds Go
Where the Little Birds Are
Into the Clear Water
Color Me Pretty
Tell Me When It’s Over
Tell Me Why It’s Wrong
Dare You to Hate Me
Beg You to Trust Me
Lose You to Find Me
Make You Miss Me
When It Rains
Wanted You More
Girl Going Nowhere
To my loyal Lindon U readers
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Page
Also by B. Celeste
Dedication
Playlist
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
Epilogue Two
Excerpt from Dare You to Hate Me
Acknowledgments
About the Author
PLAYLIST
“Beautiful Mess”—Diamond Rio
“Just A Kiss”—Lady A
“Come Over”—Sam Hunt
“Guilty as Sin”—Taylor Swift
“It’ll Be Okay”—Shawn Mendes
“Slow Hands”—Niall Horan
“Wish You’d Miss Me”—Chase Wright
“If Our Love is Wrong”—Calum Scott
“The Good I’ll Do”—Zach Bryan
“Dancing with a Stranger”—Sam Smith ft Normani
PROLOGUE
Matt
Breaking away from the bellowing laughter of my obnoxious teammates in the locker room, I jerk to a halt when I pass the office that’s been empty since Dorothy, our former athletic adviser, retired. My lips curl up, seeing a lush ass bent over the desk that definitely doesn’t belong to a seventy-year-old woman. I lean against the doorjamb and stare in appreciation.
“If you take a picture, it’ll last longer,” the mysterious woman says, her voice a featherlight touch that has my heart doing some funny rom-com shit I don’t like.
She straightens to reveal a lean frame hugged by a white button-down and black pencil skirt. It’s the most dressed-up anybody gets outside of game day here at Lindon University.
When she turns, I’m greeted with a pretty face that has me standing to my full six-two height. Damn. Whoever the petite brunette is can’t be that much older than the twenty-somethings that most of us football players are.
“Is that an invitation?” I ask, my lopsided grin stretching wider.
My eyes roam from her long brown hair resting over her shoulders to the thick black glasses that somehow highlight her unamused eyes, all the way down to her slim legs exposed in the skirt that rests just below her knees.
When she peels those glasses off, it reminds me of the librarian porn I used to search back in high school. All that’s missing is a plaid skirt and a ruler. Damn shame too.
She shifts on the thin black heels that make her a few inches taller, shoulders drawing back in cautious professionalism. “With a comment like that, you must be Ricky Wallace, Matthew Clearwater, or Daniel Bridges.”
“Junior,” I reply easily about the other wide receiver on Lindon’s football team. “We call him DJ. And I’m not even going to entertain your offensive assumption that I’m Wallace. That dude is a fucking dick. He’s gotten worse since our captain tore his ACL. Pearce is thinking about having him start, but even he’s getting sick of his shit, and that says a lot.”
Coach Pearce is a great coach with a horrible moral code, so scumbags like Ricky Wallace can get away with a lot more than he should because he can throw a football and score a touchdown. It’s not right, but it’s become part of the norm for all of us on the team.
The Anne Hathaway lookalike can’t hide the twitch of amusement that nearly lifts her pink lips as she rounds the desk and takes a seat behind it. “I take it you’re Matthew, then.”
I walk in and extend my hand, noticing the pretty green-brown color of her eyes as she stares at my outreached arm. Hazel. Warm. Inviting.
“Matt. And since you have the inside scoop and the office, I’m going to assume you’re the new athletic adviser that Pearce told us not to mess with. I’m starting to see why.”
She takes my hand and shakes it once, her grip firm. No ring. No tan line. I like her even more. “Yet here you are, Mr. Clearwater.”
Chuckling at her formality, I drop my hand and cross my arms over my chest. “Maybe I’m the team’s welcoming committee, and it’s my job to greet all the newcomers. Especially the pretty ones.”
She hums and leans back in her chair. “I might have believed you if you brought me a goodie basket and delivered it without staring at my ass or flirting.”
I have no doubt the firecracker sitting in front of me is going to fit in well here. “You’re not what I thought you’d be. The last adviser we had was a crotchety old woman named Dorothy.”
I’m definitely not complaining about the change of pace, and I doubt the others will mind, considering we’re used to testosterone-filled jockstraps around here. Plus, Anne Hathaway was my first celebrity crush growing up.
Her lips curl upward softly. “I like the name Dorothy. It reminds me of my favorite movie growing up.”
“What was that?”
“The Wizard of Oz.”
I make a face at the film choice. My family still won’t let me live down the time I cried as a child when the flying monkeys came on the screen. To this day, I refuse to watch the movie because of it.
Choosing to hold on to my pride, I don’t share that piece of information. “You didn’t tell me your name.”
Her smile remains professional. “Rachel, but you can call me Ms. Holloway.”
Before I can make another remark, I hear a grumbled, “Let’s go, Clearwater.”
Turning to see Aiden Griffith and Caleb Anders, the team’s tight end and running back, I hold up my finger to signal another minute. “It was nice meeting you, Rach. I’ll get right on that goodie basket so you feel properly welcomed to the sausage fest. I’m almost twenty-one, so we can also get a drink sometime to really get to know each—”
Griffith grabs my arm and pulls me out of the office, shoving me lightly in front of him so I can’t keep talking to the new addition to the football staff. “Don’t even think about it,” the broody buzzkill with arms the size of my head tells me.
Caleb chuckles at the mumbled warning.
I look over my shoulder at the two of them and wink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Griff.”
His eyes narrow, but I just keep smiling.
I blame his grumpiness on the lack of sex he’s having. Since he all but started stalking the cute blue-haired girl at Bea’s Bakery in town, his mood has been off. Maybe if he’d finally get some, he’d stop shitting on the rest of us for trying to have a little fun.
A guy can only dream.
The next day, I slip into the dark office at the ass-crack of dawn with a wicker basket of food and drinks that I put together myself. Okay, and with some help from my mother. Not that anyone needs to know that. I don’t bother leaving a card because I know Rachel Holloway will know exactly who left it.
Later that day, when I’m exiting the locker room, I see her small smile as she paws through the odds and ends I put inside.
Victory swells my chest.
I’ve already started winning her over.
CHAPTER ONE
Rachel
Smooth, 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
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.
