False Start - Jessica Ruddick Page 0,26

Carson’s voice had a note of bitterness. I knew he didn’t get along with his family very well, but he didn’t usually let that affect him.

“I thought players couldn’t accept gifts,” I said.

“We can’t,” Carson confirmed. “But this is a gray area. As long as they’re not giving us free drinks, letting us use the room should be fine.”

I adjusted the rearview mirror. “I hope they renovated since the last time I was there.”

The bar was dingy and outdated, which wasn’t a deal breaker, but the women’s bathroom was a wreck. Out of the three stalls, only one had a door, which wasn’t saying much because it had been hanging on by a solitary hinge. I didn’t have business knowledge like Carson, but even I knew that females were more likely to patronize a bar if it had a nice bathroom. And the guys would go wherever the girls were. It wasn’t rocket science.

Carson fiddled with the radio. “If it sucks, we’ll leave.”

Word must have already gotten around that the players were hanging out at Bleakers because by the time we arrived, it was packed. Most of the players were in the private room, but a few were in the public area, which was no doubt what the manager had been angling for.

As we made our way through the throngs of people, a girl grabbed Carson’s arm and pulled him toward her. “Carson! I was hoping you’d be here!”

I glanced back to see an easy smile was on his face. Though it probably wasn’t obvious to anyone else, I could tell he didn’t remember this girl from whenever they had met. Probably a random hookup. Jealousy pulsed through my veins, and I did my best to shake it off. I had no claim to Carson.

“I’m going to the bar!” Roman yelled to be heard above the music and chatter.

I pointed to the back room, and my brother nodded. But without my two guys clearing a path for me, it took me several minutes to make it the last few yards there.

A bouncer sat on a stool next to the door, and as I tried to enter, he put an arm out, blocking me. “Players only.”

Well, shit. Now what? I didn’t bother telling him that I was with the players because he had no reason to believe me. Plus, I was sure he’d heard that line more than once already tonight. I stepped aside to wait for Carson, feeling very much like a loser who wasn’t allowed to sit with the cool kids. Story of my life.

Using the oldest trick in the book, I pulled out my phone and scrolled through it so that I wouldn’t appear quite so lame. Though I tried not to watch the clock, I knew that it took Carson exactly eight minutes to find me. When he walked up, I couldn’t help but notice he smelled like ladies’ perfume. Or maybe my jealous mind was simply imagining it. People were packed so tightly in the small space, it was hard to tell where the scent was coming from.

“What are you doing?” Carson yelled to be heard over the music.

I gestured to the bouncer.

Carson’s brow wrinkled as a look of annoyance crossed his face. “What’s your name, man?”

“Greg.”

“Nice to meet you, Greg. This is Becca. Becca, meet Greg.”

I nodded to the man, who seemed to have no idea why Carson was spending so much time talking to him.

“I want you to memorize my girl, Becca’s, face, okay?” Carson said. “She goes where I go.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes at Carson’s big-man-on-campus routine. Though it annoyed me, it did come in handy sometimes. Back home, no one cared that he played for VVU, but his last name had the same effect. While he didn’t hesitate to use his pull in Bleaksburg, I’d never seen him play the Fleck card. It was a touchy subject.

Nodding, the bouncer stepped aside. “You got it.”

“Thanks.” Carson clapped him on the back and slipped him a bill like he’d done with our server at Outback. I guessed one lesson he’d learned from his father was that when money talked, people listened. “Oh, and you see that guy at the bar there? In the navy shirt? He’s with me too.”

I was on the shorter side to begin with, but walking into a room full of football players made me feel like I was a Chihuahua in a pack of Saint Bernards—I would need to be careful not to get stepped on.