False Start - Jessica Ruddick Page 0,57

treat. The loss to Miami was weighing on him. He didn’t talk about the pro draft much, but he had to be worried about it, especially since the team wasn’t playing nearly as well as it had in previous years. Then he’d skipped practice. Though I’d told him not to, I felt guilty about it. If I’d only made sure the deadbolt on my apartment door was locked, all of this might have been avoided.

I held up the to-go box containing the sticky bun. “I got something for you.”

Unfortunately, the sight of the Beans and Buns box didn’t change his expression. “Where is he?”

Okay, so he’s not moping about football. Totally got that one wrong. I put the box on the table next to the couch and crossed my arms over my chest. “On his way home.” It was on the tip of my tongue to put Carson out of his misery and tell him that Blake and I would just be friends, but it wasn’t any of his business. I didn’t understand why he cared so much.

“Good.”

I could not even do this with him. “I need to take my contacts out.” I’d been sleeping in them longer than I was supposed to because I hadn’t felt like dealing with them. Now, though, they were simultaneously dry and dirty. The first major thing I planned to spend my money on once I graduated and got a job would be corrective eye surgery. I’d been shoving contacts in my eyes for the last decade, and I was over it.

I guessed I was over a lot of things this evening—the concussion, my poor eyesight, and Carson’s attitude. I sighed. I couldn’t do anything about two of those three, but I contemplated going to my room and closing the door to avoid Carson. I definitely didn’t want to talk to him about my failed date, but I didn’t want to quietly reflect on it either. It really wasn’t a big deal except for the fact that I’d had to psych myself up to even text Blake in the first place. Wasted energy.

I returned to the living room, and Carson hadn’t moved. He was still sitting on the couch, staring at nothing. The TV wasn’t even on. Maybe I hadn’t misjudged the situation. This had to go beyond his frustration that I had pulled the plug on his protective detail. The guy needed a hobby other than football and scaring away my potential suitors.

I sat next to him and put my hand on his knee. “Is everything okay?”

His jaw worked as he stared straight ahead. “He’s not good enough for you.”

I retracted my hand and leaned away from him. And to think I’d felt sorry for him. “I can’t do this with you. You promised—”

“Because no one is good enough for you,” Carson continued like I hadn’t spoken. “You’re smart and pretty and funny and kind. You’re perfect.”

I scoffed. “No one is perfect, Carson. Least of all me.” God, is he drunk? He knew me better than anyone, which meant he knew all my faults.

He finally looked at me, and there was a tenderness in his eyes. “See? You’re humble too. And you’re so sexy, especially when you’re wearing those damn librarian glasses.”

“Librarian glasses?” I focused on the part of his statement that I could comprehend. Because had he really just called me sexy? He must have somehow confused the word sexy with nerdy.

“I’d think you were torturing me, but you’re too nice to ever do something like that.”

Torturing him?

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” My mind was spinning, and I was having trouble sucking in enough air to stay conscious. Because he couldn’t be saying what it sounded like he was saying. I peered at the drink still clutched in his hand and sniffed, faintly smelling whiskey. “Are you drunk?” That had to be it. I supposed it was good payback after what I’d done the last time I was drunk. Maybe I should’ve been grateful he wasn’t trying to pinch my nipples.

Carson looked down at his glass then put it on the table and shook his head. “No, I’m not. For the first time, I’m thinking clearly.”

Before I could react, he cupped my chin in his hands and pressed his lips to mine. Time stopped as I marveled at how his lips were both strong and soft at the same time. Yet they were also tentative as they worked over mine, like he was unsure of himself.

Carson is never unsure