False Start - Jessica Ruddick Page 0,4
the sight of him strutting out of the store with a shopping cart full of groceries was comical.
“This is a ridiculous amount of food,” I told him. “There are only four of us. And it’s not like it’s mealtime.”
“Yeah, but at the bar, they had a full menu. If anyone is hungry, I want to make sure there’s something they like.” That was Carson logic.
“I don’t think cheesecake is on the bar menu,” I pointed out.
He grinned. “Upgrade, right?”
He was so pleased with himself, I couldn’t help but smile and agree. “Upgrade. Back to my earlier question—tell me about Jimmy.”
Carson picked at the plastic seal on the cheese platter. “What do you want to know?”
“Well…” I leaned around the wall so I could see into the living room, where Jimmy and Nicole were sitting. Carson’s place was a townhouse instead of an apartment. His dad had bought it, saying it made more financial sense to own rather than rent while Carson was at school. His roommate had moved out at the end of last year, so now it was just him. “Nicole seems into him, so I was just wondering about him.”
“He’s an okay guy.”
That told me nothing. I pursed my lips. “Would you be okay if I dated him?”
“Hell no.” His response was immediate and firm.
I crossed my arms. “If he’s not acceptable for me, then he’s not acceptable for Nicole.”
Carson leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. “He’s acceptable.”
“You just said he wasn’t.”
“For you. But for her, he’s probably fine.”
“Probably fine?” I gaped at him. “Don’t be an ass. Nicole is my friend.”
“I don’t know him all that well, but I don’t have anything bad to say about him.”
“Then why wouldn’t he be acceptable for me to date?”
Carson’s jaw clenched. “Are you saying you want to date him?”
I threw my hands up. “No! Haven’t you been paying attention? Nicole seems into him. I don’t understand your standards. If I shouldn’t date him, then neither should my friend.”
He looked at me like I was the one talking in circles and being asinine. “He’s an okay guy, so I won’t cockblock him. But I won’t let you date him because I don’t know him well enough.”
Closing my eyes, I rubbed my fingertips in circular motions over my temples. “You don’t get to let me date or not date someone.”
“Uh, yeah, I do.”
My eyes snapped open. “No, you don’t.”
“Remember Brody?”
“Oh… my… God.” I rolled my shoulders and let my head fall back so I was staring at the ceiling. “That was junior year of high school.” Besides the fact that he was referring to something that had happened nearly five years ago, it wasn’t some horrible experience. Brody had been a senior in my calculus class. When his girlfriend broke up with him a week before prom, I agreed to go with him. At the dance, he made up with his ex-girlfriend and ended up leaving with her, stranding me at the hotel. It wasn’t that big of a deal—more annoying than anything. I should have known better than to call Roman to pick me up. He and Carson had swooped into the Marriott to save me like my life had been in peril. I was pretty sure they had words with Brody afterward because he’d moved his seat away from mine in calculus after that.
“No one ever mistreated you again.”
“Yeah, because you and Roman scared away any guy that got within five feet of me.” Even back in high school, Carson had been intimidating. Well over six feet tall, he’d already had biceps bigger than my head. Though my brother wasn’t as bulky as Carson, he was no slouch either. The two of them made a formidable pair.
“I don’t see the problem.”
Of course he doesn’t. To be fair, I’d never complained. For the most part, I hadn’t minded. Even in high school, my studies had taken up most of my time, not to mention all the extracurriculars I’d been involved in. It had all paid off, though, in the form of scholarships. And that was a good thing because out-of-state tuition wasn’t cheap. Anyway, I hadn’t bothered to develop my own extensive social networks. It was easier—and more fun—to hang out with Carson and Roman.
“Forget it,” I muttered.
“Are you?” Carson countered. “What’s going on with you, Ziz?”
“It’s Becca.” I didn’t know why I bothered correcting him because I’d long ago stopped trying to change that. He’d started calling me by my last name freshman year. I guessed since my