False Start - Jessica Ruddick Page 0,35

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,