Page 14 of Famous Last Words (New York Thunder #1)

CHAPTER 14

ROBBIE

T ugging on my bottom lip, I stare at my phone, wondering what the hell I’m even doing.

Andy: I just called the night manager. He said everyone’s gone. I’ll order Fran a car.

Me: She’s asleep.

Andy: Huh?

Me: She fell asleep.

Andy: So… wake her up.

Me: Nah, it’s okay. She can just leave in the morning.

Andy: You’re not fucking are yo u?

Me: Gross.

Maybe I’ve finally lost my mind. It was bound to happen eventually. I just never imagined I’d lose it over a girl I can’t even stand.

Call me crazy, but I don’t want Fran to leave. I’ve spent so much of my adult life alone in hotel rooms that it’s nice to have someone here with me. Even if that person is Fran fucking Keller.

If I’m honest, I think something might’ve happened to me in the elevator on the way up here. Because I haven’t been the same since. Being so close to her, just the two of us, confined to a tiny six-by-eight steel box, her sweet scent accosted every one of my senses. And don’t even get me started on that fucking jersey. Why I didn’t just grab her one from the merch closet I have no idea, but the fact that she’s wearing my jersey—specifically made for me—that’s some serious relationship shit. I’m a fucking idiot.

“Robbie?”

I startle, looking up from my phone finding Fran holding a wine bottle.

Oh, yeah. I think she asked me a question.

“Um, no.” I shake my head. “None for me.”

I switch my phone to sleep mode and place it face down on the nightstand, standing and wiping my suddenly clammy hands on the back of my sweats.

Fran shrugs, grabbing one of the glasses. “All the more for me.”

I stop by the room service cart, looking down at all the food I ordered. “You gonna eat something now that you’re stuck here, or what?”

Fran finishes filling her glass to the very brim, eyes scanning the food as she sips her wine.

“I can order something else if you want,” I say, pointing to the card by the hotel phone. “Room service is open all night.”

She takes a tentative step closer to the cart, eyeing the pizza.

“The pizza’s pretty good,” I add. “Truffle.”

“ Truffle pizza?” She arches a brow, glancing at me. “This place is fancy.”

She takes a slice of the pizza and a napkin and carries it and her wine back to the sofa.

I remain standing on the spot, arms folded over my chest like an awkward weirdo wondering yet again what the hell I’m doing. Now that I know she’s here all night, I’m at a loss. I clearly didn’t think this through. I have to be up early for PT. Then we’re flying out for a week-long road trip.

“So, what are we supposed to do now?”

I snap myself out of my thoughts, finding Fran looking at me as she takes a bite of her pizza. She closes her eyes a moment as if it’s the best thing she’s ever tasted, and my heart does an unfamiliar jump in my chest. What the ever-loving fuck was that? I rub at my sternum.

“Because I am not sitting here all night watching fucking hockey highlights,” she adds.

Ah, there’s that bossy asshole I know and hate.With a relieved sigh, I walk around the sofa and flop down next to her, grabbing the remote. I start surfing the channels, but there’s not a lot on at this time of night.

“Don’t you have Netflix or something?”

I shake my head, flashing her a grin. “Just ESPN.”

She looks at me like I’ve sprouted another head. “What is wrong with you?”

I shrug. “I don’t get a lot of time to watch TV. And when I do, it’s usually game tape.”

Again, she stares at me like I’m crazy. Then she reaches across and grabs her purse, pulling out her phone, and I watch her unlock the device, my eyes bulging when I see her screen. Fifteen missed calls and eleven new text messages.

“Someone’s popular,” I tease.

“Yeah,” she scoffs, shaking her head dismissively. But then just as she ignores the notifications and scrolls to her Netflix app, the device starts ringing with a new call.

I catch a glimpse of the name flashing on the screen. “Who’s Tadd?”

Fran presses the phone against her chest, shielding it from me. She spears me with a pointed look. “Has anyone ever told you it’s rude to snoop?”

“Yeah.” I shrug. “Hasn’t deterred me though.”

She rolls her eyes, holding her phone out, staring at it as Tadd continues calling. And I notice the way her shoulders fall with a heavy exhale.

“Tadd’s my ex.” She says it like she’s ashamed.

“The same ex who was going to steal your listing?”

“Yep.” With a resigned sigh, she continues. “He’s one of the top agents at work. A real dick. Not long after I started, Tadd took me on as his assistant, and I stupidly fell for his bullshit.”

I don’t know why, but her tone is off, and I don’t like it.

“We broke up six months ago when I found he was sleeping with an agent at another brokerage.” She shakes her head as if she’s suddenly remembering something horrible, trying to rid it from her mind, and I feel an incessant gnawing at the back of my neck.

“He mostly leaves me alone at work. But every now and again he’ll call me late at night when he’s drunk, asking to see me.” She grimaces, holding up her phone right as it starts ringing again. “Case in point.”

“Does he want you back?”

She laughs out loud, but it’s a bitter sound, void of humor. “No. Tadd wants—” She pauses as if to consider her words. “Tadd wants someone gullible enough to put up with his shit. He doesn’t realize that I’m no longer that person.”

“Did he ever hurt you? Put his hands on you?” The question is out of my mouth before I can stop myself.

She scoffs. “Hands? No. Words? Yes.”

I study her as she stares down at her wine. “What did he say?”

She shakes her head. “Your ass is too big. You shouldn’t wear dresse s that tight. If you lost a little weight, you’d be so much prettier. I only went out with you because I felt sorry for you. Who’s going to want you now? You know, the usual.”

I don’t even know this guy, but I hate him with every fiber of my being. Who the fuck actually says those kinds of mean things to someone?

“Does he know about me?” When she looks at me again, I offer her my cockiest smirk despite the rage searing my insides.

I’m not sure if I’m imagining it, but I’m almost certain I catch a flush tinge her cheeks as she looks back down at her glass. “He saw that I got a box of roses delivered at work.” She looks pointedly at me. “And he saw photos of us on the internet tonight.”

“There’re photos of us already?”

The screen on her phone lights up with yet another fucking call from this guy, and I can’t help but smile because talk about timing. I snatch the device from Keller and hit answer.

“Robbie!” she hisses, covering her gaping mouth with her hand.

With the phone against my ear, I listen for a moment, not saying a word.

“It’s about time you came to your senses, sweetheart ,” a low voice says, smacking with smugness.

“I ain’t your fuckin’ sweetheart, bud .”

“I—” I imagine him glancing at the phone, checking he’s dialed the right contact. He clears his throat, suddenly sounding very authoritarian as he demands, “Who is this?”

Frankly, I don’t like his tone. “Who the fuck is this ?”

Keller’s eyes are wide as she stares at me, cheeks paling.

“Oh, you must be the hockey goon,” he says with a derisive scoff.

Goon? I swear to God, I clench my jaw so tight I’m sure I feel a molar crack. “And you must be the irrelevant ex who can’t seem to take no for a fuckin’ answer.”

“Put Fran on the phone,” he responds with a bored tone, but I can tell the irrelevant ex comment really irked him by the way his words are spoken through seemingly gritted teeth.

I glance at Keller to find her watching me with wide eyes. I flash her a reassuring grin, waving a hand placatingly. “No can do, bud. She’s fast asleep. On my chest.”

“Put her on the goddamn phone.”

“No, I won’t,” I say slowly. “But I’ll tell you what I will do.” He goes to speak, but I cut him off. “If you don’t stop calling, or texting, or harassing my girl —” My gaze flits to Keller to find her hanging onto every one of my words, and I wink at her. “Me and my hockey stick’ll stop by for a visit, and I’ll show you just how much of a fuckin’ goon I can be. I’m from Dorchester, motherfucker. We don’t play nice, so don’t fuckin’ test me.”

He’s silent.

“You got that, Chad ?”

“It’s Tadd.” He’s positively seething.

I scoff. “Nah, bud. It’s whatever the fuck I tell you it is.” And before he can say anything more, I end the call, smirking down at the black screen as I imagine the fucker’s face.

“Oh my God…” Keller whispers, her face fraught with panic when I meet her eyes.

I simply grin, handing her back the phone.

“He’s going to go ballistic!” She tosses back her entire glass of wine in a few big gulps.

I relax into the sofa, kicking my feet up on the coffee table. “Can’t wait to meet him.”

“I need another drink.” She hops up and makes a beeline for the fridge.

And as I track her movements, watching her, I don’t miss the protective instinct that comes over me at the thought of that fuck face doing something to hurt her. And it’s only then that I realize I actually give a shit. About Fran fucking Keller.