Page 13 of Famous Last Words (New York Thunder #1)

CHAPTER 13

FRAN

W hen the elevator chimes our arrival on the fifty-eighth floor, Robbie is out before the doors even finish opening, as if he can’t get away from me fast enough.

I make sure to keep a few feet of distance as I trail him along the corridor until he comes to a stop at a door at the very end. He pulls a card from his pocket, swiping it against the scanner, the lock releasing with a soft beep. When he proceeds inside, I’m surprised when he actually holds the door open for me; I half-expected him to let it slam in my face.

Stepping over the threshold, the room illuminates automatically, and I take it all in. A giant bed, a separate living area, floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over New York City lit up against the darkness of the night sky. This hotel room is fancy, and at least three times the size of my studio apartment.

Caught in a daze, I walk directly across the room and stop at the window, taking in the spectacular view.

“You hungry?”

“No,” I reply bluntly.

“You sure?” he asks. “They could be out there all night.”

At that, I spin around, gawping at him when he looks up from the room service menu.

“I am not staying here all night with you!”

He rolls his eyes. “What do you want me to do? Tie all the bedsheets together and kick out one of the windows so you can scale down the building?”

He actually has the audacity to grin. Ugh . He’s so infuriating.

Stomping my way around the sofa, I flop down onto the cushion with a dramatic huff. And yes, I’m fully aware I’m acting like a child, but this is such bullshit.

“This is such bullshit,” I mutter my thoughts out loud, folding my arms across my chest.

Robbie goes to speak, but I cut him off. “Coming back to your hotel was never part of the deal.”

He snorts. “Yeah, like I’m totally jazzed about?—”

“Spending my Friday night watching a bunch of moronic jocks chase a stupid puck around an ice rink is bad enough. Now to be stuck here with you …” I trail off, narrowing my eyes as I look him up and down.

He blinks at me and, after a moment, holds the room service menu up in the air. “Yeah, so, anyway, do you want food or not, because I’m fucking starving.”

“No, I don’t want food . I want to go home ,” I snap, bitchier than intended, but I mean, can you blame me? I’m basically being held hostage in a hotel room with the man who made my life a living hell in high school, and all he’s worried about is food.

With another huff, I cross one leg over the other and twist my body away from him.

“Suit yourself,” Robbie mutters, picking up the hotel phone.

After he finishes speaking with room service, the television suddenly comes to life, startling me. I look up to see a replay of tonigh t’s Thunder versus Wolves game playing on the screen, and I can’t help but roll my eyes. I spear him with an incredulous look, but I’m rendered shocked when I notice he’s causally unbuttoning his shirt, shrugging it off, as if he’s somehow forgotten that I’m sitting right here.

“Um, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Robbie looks at me as tosses his shirt over the back of the armchair. His brows knit together, staring at me like I’ve lost my mind. “What?”

I wave a hand in the air, indicating his suddenly naked upper body.

He glances down at himself, and I find myself following his gaze. Damn. He’s ripped. Broad shoulders, defined muscles, intricate tattoos covering his arms and much of his chest. It’s then I notice Robbie’s gleaming gaze on me, a knowing smirk curling his lips.

“Get a good look?”

I narrow my eyes. “You’re practically naked and I’m literally sitting right here.”

“You realize you’re the first woman I’ve ever heard say that like it’s a bad thing?”

I snort, pushing up from the couch. “You’re disgusting .”

He chuckles as I push past him, storming into the bathroom. Slamming the door shut, I lock it for good measure, leaning back against it to collect a breath. I don’t even need to use the restroom, but like hell I’m just going to sit out there while he disrobes.

Scanning the bathroom, I’m hardly surprised to see that it’s a mess. Calvin Klein boxer briefs are lying on the floor, and I doubt they’re clean. A wet towel hangs over the glass shower screen. And there, in the sink, possibly my biggest ick of all: dried toothpaste spittle. So gross.

I rest my hands on the countertop, looking at my reflection for a long moment. I’m a mess. My eyes are red-rimmed and tired, cheeks flushed with frustration, hair a wild nest.

Splashing my face with cool water, I towel it dry, securing my hair into a messy pile on top of my head, staring at myself for another few minutes.But when I realize I can’t hide out in the bathroom all night, I heave another sigh and walk back out into the suite, but the moment I do, I’m stopped dead in my tracks because you have got to be fucking kidding me.

No, Robbie’s not butt naked. In fact, it’s almost worse. He’s lying on the bed wearing nothing but a pair of gray fucking sweatpants. Gray .

I remain frozen in place, forcing my gaze anywhere but in his general direction because if I’m not mistaken there’s an obvious dick outline in those pants, and, like a solar eclipse, I don’t trust myself not to stare directly at it.

“You good?” Robbie asks after a beat.

I meet his eyes— only his eyes—finding something taunting in his dark gaze as he stares at me from the bed. One brow arched slightly higher, almost cunning, his intense gaze trails me from head to toe, making me shift my weight awkwardly from foot to foot.

It’s like he knows. I mean, of course he knows. He’s hot, and he knows it, that much is a given. But there’s something else in his eyes, something I can’t quite figure out, and I find myself suddenly nervous.

“Uh, yeah,” I mutter when I remember he asked me a question. Tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, I scurry around the bed and directly to the sofa, as far from Robbie as the room will allow.

“Your phone was going off.”

Sitting down, I reach for my purse, pulling out my phone to find six missed calls and seven new messages. My brows knit together as I open the call log, but the minute I see Tadd’s name listed multiple times, my face falls.

I open his latest text, gasping at the screenshot of the picture taken of Robbie and me when we were walking out of the arena together, hand-in-hand.

Oh my God.

Tadd: What the fuck is this??

And, because I’m a sucker for punishment, I listen to his most recent voice message, immediately regretting my decision the moment I hear his slurred words.

“ I guess now I know why you’ve been ignoring my calls…”

I almost laugh because no, Tadd, I’d have ignored your call if I was in jail and you were my one shot at making bail.

“ What the hell is going on, Fran? I tell you I miss you, that I think we should try again, and then I see on social media that you’re… what? That you’re dating some hockey player!” He scoffs. “ I know you miss me too. Don’t think I haven’t seen the way you look at me when you walk past my office. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the low-cut tops you wear around me. You want me. Remember how good we were together, how hard I made you come when I ? —”

I quickly end the message, refusing to listen to his nonsense. I delete the voice message and the five others, shaking my head. Tadd talks a big game, but the truth is, I faked it every time.

I tuck my phone back into my purse and toss it onto the armchair by my jacket.

“Everything okay?”

I glance over my shoulder, finding Robbie’s gaze on me instead of the television.

“Yeah,” I say with a nonchalant shrug, staring up at the hockey game playing on the screen. It’s switched to a different game, and when I notice the score in the corner, my interest piques.

“Your old team?”

“Yep.”

Robbie’s terse with his response, so I decide not to pry, instead watching the game. I don’t know much about hockey, but I know it’s probably not great when the score is 5-0, six minutes into the third period.

“I thought the Lions won last year…” I muse out loud.

A humorless chuckle comes from the bed, and I look back at him.

“They did,” he says. “But then they released me, and their only other half-decent player is injured.”

“Ben Harris?”

When I’m met with no response, I turn again, finding Robbie looking contemplatively at me, brow furrowed. “How’d you know that?”

I snort. “As if I wasn’t going to Google you!”

He rolls his eyes, mutters something under his breath.

“What happened?” I press. “I mean, why’d you hit him?”

Robbie stares at the television, his face void of all emotion, save for the slightest crease etched between his brows. He’s silent for so long, I’m convinced he’s going to ignore my question. But then he lifts one of his broad shoulders in a shrug, drags a hand through his dark hair and meets my gaze. “He deserved it.”

There’s more. I can tell. I wonder if it has anything to do with Lola Grey, but I’m not willing to ask, because he warned me never to say her name again, and if we’re going to be stuck in this hotel room together, I should probably not poke the bear. But then again, I’ve always been a nosy asshole.

“Is it to do with a certain… social media influencer?”I ask, blanching at the warning look in Robbie’s eyes.

“I didn’t say her name,” I sass.

He tears his fingers through his hair again, huffing another hard exhale. “No, it doesn’t have anything to do with her .”

We’re interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Who’s that?” I gasp, worried it’s some lunatic fan who might’ve snuck into the hotel.

“That’ll be the food,” Robbie says, stifling a groan as he forces himself up off the bed.

I manage to relax some, watching him pad toward the door, barefoot, gray sweats pulling criminally tight around his firm butt. Ew . Forcing myself to turn away, I watch as the St. Paul Lions get their firm butts handed to them instead.

Suddenly I’m hit with a smell that makes my stomach growl and I realize just how hungry I am. I haven’t eaten since this morning.

From the corner of my eye, I watch Robbie wheel a cart into the room, removing shiny silver tops from plates and revealing a burger and fries, a cobb salad, an entire pizza, and a bowl of hot wings.

“Well, Keller, this food isn’t gonna eat itself.”

“I told you I don’t want anything.” My stomach objects, but I’m far too stubborn.

Robbie cocks his head to the side offering me a disbelieving look. “I heard your stomach rumble in the elevator on the way up here. Sounded like a goddamn Yeti.”

I roll my eyes, ignoring him.

“Fine, whatever,” he murmurs.

Moments later, Robbie’s flopping down onto the sofa next to me, his big frame so close he’s pressed right up against my side. A plate rests precariously on his knee, and he ignores me, staring at the television as he picks up the burger and takes a huge bite, groaning obnoxiously as he savors the taste.

My eyes narrow when he looks at me.

“What?” he asks with his mouth full of food.

“You have ketchup on your chin.”

“Be a doll and lick it off for me.”

I glare at him, but he simply grins, sticking his tongue out to try reach it before giving up and wiping at it with the back of his hand. Then licking it off his hand.

“You’re so gross.”

He chuckles. “You really hate me, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Answer faster next time, seriously,” he says drolly.

I shrug.

His gleaming eyes fall from my face and drag down, openly linger ing on my chest for a moment too long. And just as I’m about to tell him to stop staring at my tits, his gaze meets mine again, and that cocky smirk is back.

“What?” I sigh, although I’m not entirely sure I want to know.

He shrugs, popping a fry into his mouth. “You look surprisingly good in my jersey.”

My traitorous cheeks flush of their own accord because, apparently, I’m pathetic.

“You sure did grow up, Keller,” he adds, smirk lingering as he takes another big bite of his burger.

My heart stammers at his words, and I momentarily hate myself.

Thankfully, before any more can be said, we’re saved by the shudder of vibration coming from behind us. We both jump, and I realize the sound is coming from the nightstand where Robbie’s phone sits charging.

“It might be Andy,” I say hopefully.

Robbie places his food onto the coffee table before showing off his agility with an oddly impressive commando roll over the back of the sofa. Hurrying to grab the device, he takes a seat on the side of the bed, reading whatever is on the screen, and I spring up, grabbing my jacket and purse, ready to flee.

“Is it Andy?” I ask, shrugging on my jacket.

Robbie nods, still looking at his phone.

“Is he sending a car?” I press impatiently.

“They’re still down there,” he says after a silent pause.

“No,” I whisper as my hope dwindles.

“Andy says it’s probably best to just wait it out for the night.”

My jaw drops. “Are you serious?”

Robbie nods, a deep crease etched between his brows as he types something into his phone.

“Fucking great ,” I mutter, taking off my jacket again and tossing it and my purse back onto the armchair.

I kick off my Vans and move to the cabinetry lining the far wall. Opening the door to the fridge, I find the stash of hotel goodies kept inside, helping myself to an expensive looking bottle of wine because if I have to stay here all night in a hotel room with Robbie Mason, you bet your ass I’m not doing it sober.