Trust in Me: A Fake Relationship Opposites Attract Romance (All I Want Book 4)

by Lea Coll

  “Be careful, Stella.”

  “I will.” Something about Sawyer’s words filled me with warmth. It figured I’d notice him only after he had made those comments about me. I couldn’t forget I was too much for him—too loud, too opinionated, too everything. I didn’t fit into a neat box, that was for sure. “You should try it. If you’re talking to women online first, maybe it would be an ice breaker for you?”

  “It’s an idea, but I’m not pressed to date right now. I’m focused on getting tenure.”

  “Is that difficult?” I had no idea what that entailed.

  “I have to submit evidence of my work and service this year to apply. The executive committee will evaluate my involvement with committees on campus, service work in the community, research, student evaluations, presentations, and manuscripts. Once the executive committee approves me then it goes to the history department chair, dean’s office, the provost, and then the president. If one person at any level says no then tenure is denied. I can be asked to leave at that point.”

  “Wow. You’d have to leave Chestertown.” Some things were a constant here and Sawyer’s family was one of them. When his parents gave up farming to retire to Florida it was a shock to everyone.

  “Since this is the year I apply for tenure I can’t afford to do anything to screw it up. The process is very political. I can’t be seen as an activist or make any comments that reflect badly on the college.” He pointed toward the student center. “Mind if we walk? I’m on my way to grab a coffee.”

  “Sure.” The only thing on my schedule today was interviewing college students and dictating my notes and a few articles. My sudden attraction to him had me wanting to learn more about him. “Why do you say you can’t be seen as an activist? I thought colleges were more open than that.” Weren’t students encouraged to speak their mind?

  “A colleague works at the University of Baltimore and mentioned at a meeting how the city students would feel uncomfortable if the police department used one of the university’s buildings for trainings. Her concern for the students was seen as political and placed her tenure in jeopardy.”

  Would my job cause issues for him then? Would it be okay for him to be seen with a reporter—one who was trolling the campus for news stories? Even if my stories were tame, would the tenure committee see it that way?

  He held the door for me as we walked into the center, which was bustling with chatting students rushing to class or lounging in the overstuffed chairs in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the quad. Sawyer placed his hand on the small of my back, allowing me to walk slightly in front of him, preventing me from being jostled by the passing students. Normally, I’d find that gesture too familiar unless I was at a fancy restaurant with a date, but with Sawyer it felt protective and nice.

  At the Shoreman Coffee kiosk, Sawyer stood directly behind me in the long line, a book tucked under his arm, and his legs spread more than shoulder-width apart, protecting me from the students joking and jostling around next to us, waiting for their orders, and the people trying to cross the line to make it through the student center. No one breached the space between us. I was so engrossed in Sawyer’s presence, the warmth of his body as he stood so close, and his unique smell, leather and soap, that I almost missed it when he spoke.

  “I haven’t done anything as interesting as Owen, who published a book on supernatural romance in film.”

  The line finally moved forward a step as I turned my head to ask, “That’s what he wrote about?”

  He looked down at me with an amused expression on his face. “What? Did you think we only write about boring stuffy topics?”

  “Well, yeah.” I gestured at his outfit—neatly knotted necktie, wrinkle-free white button shirt, creased tan dress slacks, dress shoes, and those sexy glasses. “You’re a professor.”

  Sawyer chuckled. “He’s not going to get tenure with that gem, but he loves to tell women about it.”

  I raised my brow at Sawyer in disbelief. “He uses it to pick up women?” Without waiting for an answer, I continued thoughtfully, “I could see that working. It makes him relatable.”

  “I’ve seen him talk to enough women to know they eat it up.”

  Sawyer’s gaze was fixed on the barista taking orders when he said this, but he’d seemed irritated earlier on the quad when Owen flippantly talked about women.

  A young woman approached us wearing a T-shirt and shorts. “I heard you’re doing an article on online dating for the paper?”

  “That’s right. It will be posted online,” I said, noting the way she shot curious looks at Sawyer. He didn’t seem to notice.

  She pointed at her group of friends lounging outside the student center. “My friend had the craziest experience last week. Would you like to talk to her?”

  I looked at Sawyer, reluctant to leave him when we’d been in the middle of a conversation, but I was on campus to explore online dating stories.

  He nodded his head toward the woman. “Go ahead. I’ll bring your coffee to you. What did you want?”

  “A large coffee with one creamer would be nice.” I reached into my purse to pull out a few dollar bills, but his hand on my wrist stopped me, sending a tingle up my arm.

  “I’ll get it.” His gaze was fixed on mine as his hand held my wrist.

  “Thanks, Sawyer.”

  “No problem.” He released my wrist.

  I followed the woman to her friends gathered in chairs placed around a table, laughing, and talking animatedly.

  “I’m Fiona by the way,” she said as we walked.

  “Stella Lewis. I work for the Kent County News and write the—”

  “Stella Says column! We love it!”

  Pride filled me that someone adored my column. “That’s awesome! I’m so glad you’re enjoying it.” My goal was to make the online portion of the paper something that students and younger residents in the area checked first thing in the morning or at least right after they checked their social media.

  “And now we have a story for you.” Fiona stopped and gestured at a young woman with dark hair with one streak of dark purple, wearing cut-off jean shorts, red Converse, and a white tank top, perched on the arm of a chair. “This is Sally, she signed up for Tinder. Go ahead, Sally. This is Stella from the Stella Says column.”

  Sally held her hand up. “So, let me preface by saying this guy seemed totally normal. We talked for a few weeks. He said he was a December graduate from Salisbury and was looking for a job.”

  I dutifully wrote notes as thoughts of Sawyer filled my head. If he wasn’t my type, why did I care what he thought of me? Why had I noticed his touch and his smell? Shaking my head, I tried to focus on Sally.

  “Then he took me to the tractor pull, which should have been my first sign that this wasn’t going to work out.” She paused while the others laughed. “He got a phone call and needed to leave in a hurry. It was late so I didn’t think anything of it. Then on the way back to school, he admitted there was a warrant out for his arrest and a cop was on his way to arrest him.” The others shook their heads, having already heard the story. “I was like, ‘take me home ASAP.’ I blocked him from the app as soon as I got home.”

  “Background check next time, Sally,” said the young man wearing a fraternity shirt seated in the chair she was perched on. “Check the Maryland Judiciary site for criminal charges.”

  “Good idea. Totally should have done that,” Sally agreed. “But I’m telling you, this guy seemed totally normal.”

  Sally’s story raised an interesting question. “Do these online dating sites do background checks?” The sites I checked out hadn’t.

  “No, I’ve never been checked on any of these sites and I’m on a lot,” another guy offered proudly from his seat on the couch directly across from me.

  “What do you do to make sure you’re safe on these dates, Sally?” I was asking for the story but also for myself. Clearly, there were still creeps trolling these sites and I’d need
to be careful just like Sawyer cautioned.

  “Yeah, Sally what are you doing to protect yourself?” the man seated next to her asked.

  She smacked his chest with the back of her hand. “Lay off, Ben. I had no idea this guy was a criminal, okay?” Turning her attention to me, she continued, “I took a picture of his license plate and sent it to Fiona, and I definitely stalked him online first. I didn’t know about this court site I could have checked.”

  “I’ll clear these guys for you in the future,” Ben said.

  “Okay, Ben,” Sally said, crossing her arms over her chest.

  Watching the interplay between Sally and Ben, I’d have guessed he was jealous and she had no clue. How did she not see what was right in front of her? Although, I’d only recently realized that Sawyer was attractive and I’d known him all my life. What made a person notice someone? Was it purely perfect timing or something else?

  “It’s good you took precautions,” I said.

  A hand touched my shoulder, causing me to look up, as Sawyer said softly, “Hey, didn’t want to interrupt but here’s your coffee.”

  “Thanks.” I took the cup from him, the pride I felt when Fiona said she loved my column dissipating. Sawyer would think this story was trivial, but I took pride in my job. My boss trusted me to handle the online portion of the paper and he’d given me the advisor role at the college paper.

  “I have a class starting in a few minutes, so I’ll catch up with you later.” He nodded at Sally and the group, who’d stopped talking when he’d approached, and then he walked toward the door.

  I watched him walk away noticing how nicely his ass filled out his dress pants. He was attractive in his suits and on the field.

  “Do you have time for more stories?” Another woman asked me, leaning forward in her seat, excitement showing in her eyes.

  “Of course.”

  I stayed for another thirty minutes listening to everyone talk and laugh about their experiences until it was time for their next classes. Their stories were entertaining but I wasn’t sure how I could use them. Some were too graphic and I didn’t think my boss would appreciate me commenting on the amount of dick pics women received on these sites.

  My angle was the hook-up culture on campus and how kids didn’t want relationships anymore. Or did women want relationships but men didn’t? I could add a few lines on safety in online dating: have a safe person you told who you were going with, only meet them in public, never give your address and personal information out unless you were sure the guy was normal. My boss was usually more interested in the salaciousness of a story than safety precautions.

  But how did you ever really know if these guys were normal? Or just looking for a hook-up? I wanted to settle down, get married, and have kids. I was sure it would turn off a man to tell him that on the first date, so how did you get that information so you didn’t waste time on a guy who didn’t want to commit?

  I loved kids and I wasn’t getting any younger. I needed to get back in the dating game.

  LATER THAT NIGHT, I RELAXED on my back sun porch, a yellow and white afghan my grandmother had made draped over my legs against the spring chill, feet propped on my wicker ottoman, with my laptop perched on my knees. I sipped a cup of tea as I tried to decide which online dating app would be right for me. The general consensus was Match.com or eharmony were the best options as paid sites and only people serious about relationships were on there.

  Taking a deep breath, I filled out the first pop-up question, woman looking for a man, ages twenty-eight to thirty-five? I was twenty-eight and younger men probably weren’t ready to settle down. I figured anyone older than thirty-five and not already married was probably anti-commitment.

  This was so stressful. What if I made the wrong decision? The next question made me feel better—what kind of a relationship I was looking for? Long-term, of course. Height: five foot eight. I sucked in a sharp breath at the next question: body type. Options were slender, athletic, fit, heavyset, average. I wasn’t exactly heavy set, but was I athletic? Not exactly. What option was there for a curvier woman? What should I put? I guessed average was the best answer. Would a guy want an average woman? Average didn’t sound that exciting, but hopefully my personality would make up for that. Not every guy felt the same as Sawyer.

  I finally clicked on average and flew through the next few questions about prior marriages—none, wanting kids—definitely, smoking—no, and then interests. There were so many options and as I slowly went through the lists I realized I had no hobbies. Not one. I didn’t read, watch sports, work out, or binge-watch TV. I occasionally did yoga at the park with my friends, but that wasn’t exactly an interest. My life was my job and my friends. Nothing wrong with that, but it made me boring on paper as a potential mate. And guys would be assessing my picture and these details, if they made it past my picture.

  I finally settled on outdoors, playing sports even though my sports weren’t mentioned—field hockey and lacrosse. I also had music, and travel since I’d studied abroad in college.

  Now for what kind of guy I was interested in. Go with my usual or something different? What would Dr. Hirsch say?

  Tabling the question for a minute, I scrolled through my pictures looking for something less professional but where I still looked put together. I had a ton since my picture was taken a lot for newspaper headshots and online profiles. I finally settled on one where I was smiling, hair and make-up done, in a dress. This was me—brightly colored outfits, huge smile, fun.

  I chewed on my bottom lip for a minute. Was that the problem? Did guys view me as fun and not as a serious candidate for a girlfriend or wife?

  But Dr. Hirsch said cheaters were selfish and immature and it was all about them, not me. Ugh. A headache formed at the base of my skull. Why hadn’t I met someone at the coffee shop or during one of the events I covered around town? Wouldn’t that be easier? But I’d met most of my past boyfriends in person, so that clearly hadn’t worked. Maybe this was my best option. Only time would tell.

  All of the people on these online sites probably lied about themselves anyway. Clicking back to the profile set-up on Match, I quickly answered the questions for men: athletic, outdoorsy, educated, funny. I didn’t like to sit still for long, so an active guy would be best despite anything my friends had said. Quickly finishing the rest of my profile, I submitted my information. Now all I had to do was wait for people to be matched with me.

  After texting Ashley telling her I’d finally signed up for online dating, I opened my laptop to dictate notes from my interviews at the college and wrote a quick post on safety precautions when online dating, asking for others feedback. Then I wrote up a more in-depth article on setting up online profiles, highlighting my own concerns: Were people too concerned about looks? Not considering people because of height or interests? I was guilty of this too. I tried to date men taller than me. Whatever happened to meeting someone in person and getting to know them, finding out their interests organically, seeing if there was a connection? Which was better?

  Dr. Hirsch wanted me to make a list of things I wanted to change about myself. I used my phone to dictate it onto my note app. First, I wanted a boyfriend, a husband, and children. So, I needed to get back into the dating game, which I’d done by filling out the online dating profile.

  What else did I want to change? I tapped my pen against my lips looking out on my fenced-in back yard and ran my fingers over the blue and green flower pattern on the cushion I’d picked out because, like the bright yellow siding on my home, it made me smile. I had a small home I was proud of owning. I’d slowly decorated it exactly the way I wanted to. Some pieces of furniture I’d acquired from my grandparents and my childhood bedroom, but otherwise I’d bought the matching white wicker furniture in the sunroom, the framed photographs of the town, the waterfront, and the marina, which Lucy, Jack’s younger sister had taken. I’d collected sand and seashells from Ocean City and filled a pretty glass lamp, which sat on the small
white bookshelf next to my chair.

  This was my safe space. No one I didn’t want was here. No one could affect my mood. It was just me. As much as I wanted a serious boyfriend and to get married, I knew inviting one into my space would be difficult for me. Growing up, we weren’t allowed to invite friends over. Then, when I moved out on my own, it was habit.

  Sawyer said I was too loud and impulsive. Was that something I should change? I was naturally a loud person, my family always told me that. But I was also happy and upbeat and people told me they loved that about me. Maybe I just wasn’t Sawyer’s type? He was only one person. Why did what he thought about me bother me so much?

  Shaking my head to get myself out of the funk that thinking about Sawyer’s words had put me in, I tried to come up with other things for my list. Why was this so hard? Had I been the person everyone wanted for so long that I had no idea who I was anymore? I became the class clown in high school to make up for the fact that I wasn’t smart. In order to change, I needed to be myself. Who was I, if not this shell of a fun, happy girl all of the time?

  THE NEXT DAY, I PARKED my SUV in a parking lot on campus for my meeting with the newspaper staff. I’d mentioned to Sawyer and Owen that students don’t have time for relationships anymore but I’d also discovered colleges offer classes to teach students how to be in a relationship. I thought it would be a good story for the college paper. Was this the case on Washington’s campus and if so, to what extent? Was it just a hook-up culture? It fascinated me that people were able to keep their emotions separate from the sex. I’d never been able to.

  “Stella!” I heard Sawyer call from behind me. I turned to find him crouched next to a black and silver chrome motorcycle with Yamaha in silver lettering on the side, attaching his black helmet to the bike. He stood, a brown leather messenger bag thrown over his shoulders, the strap laying across his chest.

  I was literally speechless. “Is that—is that yours?” I gestured lamely at the bike. There was no place in my mind where I’d ever imagined straight-laced quiet Sawyer rode a motorcycle. What else was he hiding?