Page 23 of Famous Last Words (New York Thunder #1)
CHAPTER 23
FRAN
T add Jennings is an asshole. I mean, it’s not as if that’s a surprise revelation, but as I stand here in the cavernous great room of the Columbus Circle penthouse, staring out as night starts to fall over Central Park, Tadd’s really solidified his asshole status with this latest dick move, that’s for sure.
I was on my way home to shower and change before making my way to Madison Square Garden in time to meet Vera and Tyler, when Tadd called me in a panic, asking if I could get to the penthouse in time to meet the stagers for the walk-through because he’d been caught in traffic.
That was literally three hours ago. I’m highly doubtful there ever was a walk-through, and I’m growing more and more certain that this is just another one of Tadd’s bullshit schemes that I was stupid enough to fall for.
As I look down at my phone, I shake my head and, with a huff, scroll to my messages.
Me: Hey. I’m caught up at work. When you guys get there, just go ahead and I’ll meet you inside.
Vera: WHEN we get here… We’ve been here for FORTY MINUTES because Tyler was scared the entire New York City metro system would fail and he’d miss the game. You should see him right now. He’s bouncing up and down like a kid waiting for Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the fucking Tooth Fairy all at once. At first it was endearing. Now it’s just embarrassing.
Despite the laugh that bubbles up the back of my throat, I feel terrible. I specifically asked Robbie if I could get two extra tickets for Vera and Tyler for tonight’s game, and he didn’t hesitate. Even at the last minute of what I’m sure is another sell-out game. Robbie didn’t have to do that, but he did. And Vera has been texting me all day to tell me how excited Tyler is.
God, I feel like such an idiot. Stupid Tadd.
Me: Imagine what he’s going to be like outside the locker room.
Vera: I’m seriously starting to worry that he might actually make a move on your boy.
My boy … My heart flutters at her words, but before I can respond, I’m startled by a loud chime that echoes through the silence. I spin just as the doors to the private elevator glide open and, as if he’s been summoned from the depths of hell, Tadd strides in, grinning broadly, gaze casually flitting about the empty space.
Gripping my phone in one hand, I place my other hand on my hip, glowering at him as he approaches. “The stagers never showed.”
Sure, he looks surprised, but I wasn’t born yesterday. Tadd works with some of the city’ s most renowned vendors; there is no way a stager of this caliber would be a no-show.
I narrow my eyes, teeth gritted. “There was never a walk-through, was there?”
He clutches his chest, feigning hurt, but I can see the glint of humor in his eyes. And smell the not-so-subtle hint of scotch on his breath as he comes far too close.
“Oh, no.” He gasps. “Your little boyfriend has a game tonight at the Garden, doesn’t he?” He makes a show of checking his watch before flashing me a knowing smirk. “I hope you’re not going to be late.”
“You’re a dick,” I snap, pushing past him, but before I can get away, he snags my wrist and tugs me back with such force I stumble on my heels and go crashing into him.
“Falling for me again, I see,” he chuckles menacingly.
With my free hand, I dig into my purse and pull out the can of pepper spray I keep in there at all times. Flicking up the lid, I prep it, the nozzle aimed directly at his smarmy face. “Let. Me. Go.”
With a derisive scoff, Tadd does as I say, holding his hands up in surrender. “Learn to take a joke, babe.”
With the spray still aimed at his face, I walk backwards, in the direction of the elevator. “Touch me again, and I won’t hesitate next time.”
Tadd has the audacity to roll his eyes, waving a dismissive hand and turning to look out the glass at the city lights. But I still don’t take my eyes off him. It’s not until I’m safely in the elevator, with the doors shut and two whole floors between us, that I finally tuck the pepper spray back into my purse, releasing the breath I’ve been holding.
“Fucking asshole,” I mutter, wrapping my arms around myself when the adrenalin shivers start to kick in.
With no time to go home, I’m forced to head directly to the Garden dressed in the bright pink and entirely understated pant suit that I wore to work today.
It’s nine minutes into the first period by the time I make it through the checkpoints, and I’m tentative in my inappropriate heels as I’m led down the stairs by one of the arena employees. As if I don’t stick out like a sore thumb enough already in a pink suit, the last thing I need is to fall ass over tits in front of a home crowd. But when we make it to the very bottom, I can’t help but glance at the man, confused to find that instead of where I sat with Andy last time, in the friends and family section, tonight we’re seated right by the ice, behind the net, with nothing but the Plexiglass separating us from giant men and flying pucks. Before I can even sit down, the crowd around me roars as two bodies slam hard against the flimsy divider and I jump, clutching my chest, quietly terrified.
“Oh my God, hey, you made it!” Vera jumps up, hugging me tight before pulling away and tugging on the sleeve of the man seated in the chair next to her. Tyler, I presume.
He tears his gaze away from whatever’s happening on the ice, glancing up at Vera and, holy cow. I suppose it was expected that Tyler would be hot—Vera’s a literal model—but I never imagined he’d look like this . Blond hair, icy blue eyes, chiseled cheekbones. Hot doesn’t even cut it. I force my gaping jaw closed with a tight smile.
“Fran, Tyler. Tyler, Fran.” Vera introduces us as best as she can while Tyler has one eye on the game.
“Oh, hey, Fran,” Tyler says as he half stands to pull me in for a side hug. “Thanks so much for this. These seats are… I can’t—” Mid-sentence, something must happen in the game, and Tyler pulls away so abruptly I almost fall, wincing when he starts hollering along with the rest of the Thunder fans. “Where’re your fuckin’ eyes, Ref!”
I balk, side-eyeing Vera .
“Sorry,” she mutters. “Like I said… so embarrassing,” she adds with a grimace.
I can’t help but laugh as we take our seats, making myself as comfortable as I can while wearing the same clothes I’ve been wearing since this morning. I consider kicking off my heels because my feet are killing me, but the questionably sticky residue on the ground stops me.
My eyes find the score up on the Jumbotron. 0-0, with the Thunder leading shots at goal. As I scan the arena, it looks like another sell-out crowd, most of them wearing New York fan gear and cheering on their beloved white and black.
Looking out over the flurry of chaos that’s currently occurring on the ice, my gaze is immediately drawn to number nine, and I don’t miss the way my heart does some sort of somersault in my chest. Of course, I ignore whatever the hell that’s all about. But I can’t ignore the smile that takes over my lips, watching as Robbie swoops in and steals the puck from the other team before doing some sort of spin maneuver, confusing his opponents, and striding down the ice with effortless ease.
Sailing between two Charlotte players, Robbie passes the puck between the legs of one of them, which elicits a deafening roar from the crowd. He hands off to one of his teammates and rounds the net, narrowly avoiding being pummeled into the boards. But when the puck rebounds off the post with an ear-splitting clang, Robbie’s right there again, cradling it with his stick before snapping it so fast, the only thing I see is the little red light flashing behind the net just as Robbie is swallowed up by his teammates to the tune of the crowd going wild.
The noise that rings throughout the arena feels like it could just about lift the roof right off Madison Square Garden and again, I find myself grinning like a moron. But I can’t help it. He’s good. And technically, if I’m his girlfriend , so I should at least look like I’m proud, right?
As the players skate back to their positions, preparing for the puck drop, I feel my breath catch in the back of my throat when I notice Robbie’s eyes on me. And suddenly, I’m right back there in my bed, feeling his strong hands massage my stomach, his spicy scent enveloping me like a warm embrace, his gentle breath fanning against my skin.
Robbie tips his chin at me, that cocky smirk lifting the corner of his mouth, almost like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. He points his stick at me, and the crowd around us cheers, causing my traitorous cheeks to flush in response. I roll my eyes, shaking my head at him, which only makes him throw his head back and laugh. Jerk. Adorable, sexy jerk.
“Aw, you guys are so cute!” Vera squeals beside me, nudging me with her elbow.
And actually, I almost forgot she was here. Robbie Mason seems to have that effect.
I glance at my friend, trying so hard to act casual, but it’s harder than I imagined it would be. Instead, I find myself smiling even more.
Calm the fuck down, Fran . It’s all an act. It isn’t real. Dial it back a couple of notches.
But that’s just it. If this is all an act, then why the hell is my heart racing, and why does my stomach feel as if there are a thousand butterflies swarming chaotically inside of it? And, most importantly, if this is all an act, then why do I feel like I’m in way over my head?