Carson: Or I’ll take you out to dinner. Your choice.
Since I’d gotten behind with schoolwork this week, I didn’t really have time to hang out, but Becca was more important than my grades. Besides, all I needed to do was maintain the minimum GPA to keep my eligibility. I wasn’t a genius, but I wasn’t a complete moron either.
My phone rang, and I saw that it was Stacey. Definitely not a welcome call, but she was easier to deal with than my mother.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Carson?”
“Yeah?”
“Hold, please.”
Shit. I knew what that meant—my mother would be on the line in a few seconds. I shouldn’t have answered.
A click sounded as my mother came on the line. “Carson, I have your RSVP for Chelsea’s engagement party here.”
Hi, Mom, how are you? Yeah, I’m fine too. Thanks for asking.
I didn’t think I’d ever said anything remotely close to that on a call with my mom. If niceties didn’t get her anything, then she didn’t bother. Her political rivals called her a hard-ass bitch. Her supporters cried foul, saying that if she were a man, she would be applauded for being direct. The truth was most likely somewhere in the middle. All I knew was that she was never more maternal than when the cameras were rolling.
“Okay.” I’d sent back the RSVP a few days ago, well ahead of the deadline. I’d patted myself on the back for that because usually I was a last-minute kind of guy. For this, I probably should have been, just to delay this conversation.
“You need to be there.”
“I can’t. I have a game that weekend.” I didn’t bother mentioning that it was family-appreciation weekend because I wasn’t feeling very appreciative of my family. Maybe if I played for a school in my home state of Maryland, she would be more interested in my games because then she would be able to use her appearances to further her political career.
“You need to come.” Her voice sounded strained, which was new. She always sounded cool, calm, and collected. Though I had personal issues with my mother, she was actually one of the better politicians. She acted in the best interests of her constituents. I just wished that behavior extended to me, her son. Hey, Mom, remember I’m registered to vote in Maryland too.
“I need to play in my game.”
“Surely they can do without you for one game.”
What the fuck? College football was basically the minors. I didn’t get why she didn’t understand that. I’d seen guys play with broken bones and while sick with the flu. There was no way I could miss a game for a stupid social engagement.
“It’s not little league,” I told her. “Games aren’t optional.”
“Neither is a family event.”
Huh. So I guess the VVU family-appreciation game isn’t a family event. I wasn’t even going to get into that because, frankly, if they didn’t want to come, then I didn’t want them there.
“Sorry. You’ll have to do without me.”
My mother let out a lengthy breath. “Fine.” She sounded resigned, like she’d expected as much. Then why did she bother calling? To give me a guilt trip? It wouldn’t work, especially since I was pretty sure my mom simply wanted me there as a prop. Here’s my lovely, perfect family—don’t forget to vote for me for governor! “Your sister will be disappointed.”
I snorted. “I’m sure there will be so many guests, she won’t even notice I’m not there.”
She didn’t bother denying it. “All the same.”
“If that’s all you wanted, I need to go.”
“Make sure you behave.” The words themselves sounded like something a mother would say, but the intent behind them wasn’t motherly. She wasn’t concerned for my safety or well-being. Instead, she wanted to make sure I didn’t do anything that would embarrass her and hurt her campaign.
I wouldn’t but not for her benefit. I didn’t want to do anything that would be a strike against me in the draft. I supposed I was running a campaign of my own. These days, the pro teams didn’t want to take a risk on a player with questionable character.
“I always do.” I hung up without saying a proper goodbye. I pushed the phone away and ran my hands over my head. Normally, I didn’t let my family get to me. Every family had problems. Mine were first-world problems.
My phone buzzed, and I was tempted to ignore it, but then I remembered I’d invited Becca for dinner. I hoped she chose going out somewhere. I was no longer in the mood to cook.
Becca: Sorry. I’ve got a thing.
Fuck.
CHAPTER 9
Becca
I SAT IN my car outside the student center, watching the clock. I had seven more minutes before I had to pull up my big-girl panties and enter the building. The previous week, I’d left the homecoming court interview with a smile on my face. Nailed it. I’d spent the evening before it prepping by reviewing general interview questions I’d found online. That had turned out to be overkill since the questions they’d asked were beyond basic. After the interview, I’d been reasonably certain that I would get on the court and wasn’t surprised when the congratulatory email showed up in my inbox. But I also knew with certainty that I wouldn’t win. Not the point, I told myself sternly. Winning isn’t everything.
Yeah, right. My competitive nature was rearing its ugly head. I came by it honestly, especially after growing up surrounded by Roman and Carson. Although I still wasn’t ready to make nice with Carson, I’d loyally watched the game against Miami this past weekend and chewed my nails down to the quicks. Good thing the game had been after the interview.
I felt bad for Carson, and I’d had to stop myself from reaching out to see how he was taking the loss. Since the incident at Bleakers, I hadn’t talked to him, even though he’d texted me. I wasn’t ready, not necessarily because I didn’t want to hear what he had to say but because I didn’t know what I wanted to say. All I knew was that I didn’t want to fall back into the status quo. Something had to change, but I wasn’t quite sure what or how.
Earlier this evening, he’d texted me, wanting to have dinner. Actually, he’d offered to make me dinner, which I knew was his way of trying to smooth things over. I couldn’t decide whether it was good or bad that I had a homecoming meeting, which made dinner not an option. At least I didn’t have to feel bad for declining the invite.
Two minutes. Ugh. My stomach clenched, reminding me exactly why I hadn’t wanted to be on the homecoming court. But I had committed, so I swiped an extra coat of lip gloss on my lips and headed into the building. I found my way to a room full of sorority girls and fraternity guys. That wasn’t entirely correct—two candidates for homecoming king were sponsored by non-Greek organizations, but I was the only non-Greek girl. As expected, I felt immediately uncomfortable, like I didn’t belong. Roman would have fit in better. If he had gone to college, he would have made the perfect frat boy.
I wandered over to a table along the wall and snagged a bottle of water. The homecoming committee had also provided a cookie platter, so I grabbed a chocolate chip cookie to have something to do other than scroll through my phone. But the second I took a bite, a guy walked over to me.