Page 32 of Famous Last Words (New York Thunder #1)
CHAPTER 32
FRAN
T he Boston Logan arrivals terminal is, as expected, pure chaos. I’m forced to dodge and weave through swarms of people, gripping my wheelie case tight as I make my way out into the cool afternoon. I don’t know exactly where I’m supposed to go, but if I can at least get a taxi, then I can call Andy and ask.
My phone vibrates in my purse resting at my hip, and I pull it out, unable to conceal my smile at the sight of Robbie’s name on the screen. I thought he’d be busy with pre-game by now.
Robbie: Black Chevelle. 10 o’clock.
My brows knit together. Is that some sort of code?
I look around, but then my gaze lands on a black car parked three down from the front of the pick-up zone, headlights flickering twice.
Sufficiently confused, I turn and start toward the car tentatively, but then the driver’s door opens and my shoulders relax at the sight of Robbie hopping out. He’s wearing a fall coat over a pair of dark gray slacks that are tailored to perfection and snug in all the right places, and a white button down that skims his glorious chest and hints at the tattoos inked into his skin. A baseball cap conceals most of his face, and sunglasses shield his eyes, but I’d recognize that cocky smirk from a mile away.
“Nice shirt,” he says with a tip of his chin.
Okay, so maybe I went a little overboard wearing Robbie’s jersey on my flight, but I assumed I’d be going straight to the arena. My cheeks heat with embarrassment, and I make an effort to pull my jacket closed.
Reaching his hand out, Robbie stops me, pulling my jacket apart, his gaze intense as he blatantly stares at my tits draped in his number. “If you’re gonna wear it, let people see.”
Okay, that was hot.
As if he can hear my thoughts, Robbie chuckles and takes my carry-on from me. As he stows it in the trunk, I help myself into the passenger seat, getting comfortable while trying not to openly swoon as Robbie Mason’s all too familiar spicy scent wraps around me.
Seconds later, the driver’s door opens, and Robbie sinks down into the seat next to me. He turns the key in the ignition, glancing at me with another one of his knowing grins, the engine roaring to life and causing a few of the people standing nearby to look as we tear out of the pickup zone with a skid of the tires. Such a showoff.
As we drive out of the airport and into the steady flow of afternoon traffic, I nestle into the cushy leather seat, taking a look at the pristine inside of the vehicle. “So, a muscle car, huh?”
“Yep.” Robbie grins, though his eyes remain on the road.
I bite back a smirk. “Predictable.”
He laughs. “Why? Because I have huge muscles?”
With a snort, I roll my eyes. “More like compensating…”
Like the cocky ass he is, Robbie glances at me, shooting me a wicked grin and a wink. “Baby, I ain’t got nothing to compensate for.” His gaze travels down my body and back again, meeting my eyes as he says, “You should know that by now.”
I sink a little in my seat, squeezing my thighs together in an attempt to stifle the dull throb between my legs. But it’s pointless. Between Robbie’s scent, just how close he is, and even the sight of his tattooed fingers lazily gripping the steering wheel, I’m a needy mess and in no way prepared to have to sit through a goddamn hockey game.
“So, why aren’t you at the arena?” I ask, hoping the shift in conversation will break the sexual tension hanging between us in the car. “I assumed you’d be warming up, or I don’t know, whipping wet towels at your teammates in the locker room.”
Robbie laughs. “Exactly what do you think goes on in a locker room, Keller?”
I shrug with a mischievous smile.
“I was at practice earlier,” he continues. “And I’ll be at the arena in time for warm-ups. I wanted to pick you up so I can swing by and introduce you to Ma.”
I sit up a little straighter, suddenly nervous. I’ve never met a guy’s mother before. I mean, I know this is fake, but Robbie’s mom doesn’t know that. What if she doesn’t like me? Or worse. What if she can see straight through our charade? I wish I’d paid a little more attention to my hair. I imagine my makeup needs a refresh. Maybe we could stop in at a gas station so I can?—
“Breathe, Keller.” Robbie places his hand on my thigh, squeezing gently.
I look from his hand to his face and back again. How the hell is a girl supposed to breathe with Robbie Mason’s inked hand squeezing her thigh? Somehow, I find it in me to suck in a breath, filling my lungs with some much needed air before releasing it as steady as I can. And I continue breathing in and out while Robbie’s hand remains on my thigh until we’re pulling up outside a small house, one in a row of nearly identical houses lining either side of a narrow street.
“Ready?” Robbie looks at me as he cuts the engine.
I nod. Alt hough that’s a lie. I’m far from ready. How can one possibly ever be ready to go in and lie right to a dying woman’s face?
Robbie gets out of the car, and I follow, stopping on the sidewalk and side-eyeing the house while I wait for him, but then he opens the trunk and retrieves my case, and confusion hits me.
“Wait.” I grab his arm. “What are you—I’m staying here?” I lower my voice.
He looks at me like I’ve lost my damn mind. “Uh, yeah. Unless you wanna sleep in the car?”
“I didn’t realize I was staying with you in your mother’s house.”
He snorts. “Fran, I’m a grown man. What’d you think was going to happen?”
I take another deep breath, trying to ease my racing heart.
With a reassuring wink, Robbie takes the lead, and I keep close behind him as we continue up the path and onto the front porch.
Without knocking, Robbie lets himself inside, holding the door open for me, and I walk into a small mudroom, nervously looking around.
“Ma?” Robbie calls, removing his ball cap and coat and hanging them on the hooks by the door.
“In here, hon!” a soft voice responds from inside.
Robbie glances at me over his shoulder and holds out his hand, waggling his fingers. I take that as invitation, gripping his hand tight. With a crease between his brows, his gaze dips to where I’m probably cutting off the circulation to his fingers, and he offers a knowing smile, towing me with him.
We come to a stop in a cozy front sitting room, a big bay window letting in the last of the afternoon light, a fire crackling in the hearth on the far side, warming the space. My eyes land on a woman seated in an armchair, a crochet blanket covering her legs, book resting on her lap. Cropped, dark hair, big eyes that look exactly like Robbie’s, and a w arm smile. She’s breathtaking.
“Oh my goodness, look at you!” Robbie’s mom gasps, tossing off the blanket and pushing up from the armchair.
“Ma, don’t rush,” Robbie fusses, dropping my hand to move closer to his mother.
“Oh, stop.” She batts him away with a hand. “I’m fine.”
Robbie rolls his eyes, standing back with a huff.
“Fran?” Taking a step closer, Robbie’s mom gets a good look at me, her small hands reaching out and resting on my upper arms as she studies me.
“It’s so nice to meet you…” I trail off when I realize I have no idea what her name is, casting a furtive glance at Robbie.
Thankfully, he catches on. “Ma, this is Fran. Fran, this is my ma, Victoria.”
Victoria smiles, and it takes my breath away because she looks exactly like her son.
“I am so glad to finally meet you, hon,” Victoria continues, her Bostonian accent thick. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” She flashes Robbie a teasing smile.
My heart skitters. She’s heard a lot about me? I know I shouldn’t think too much into it, but how can I not? Robbie’s been talking to his mom about me.
“I can’t wait to show you all of Robbie’s baby photos.”
“Ma,” Robbie warns, but the smile ghosting his lips tells me he’s loving this.
“What?” Victoria feigns innocence. “You’ve never brought a girl home for me to embarrass you before. It’s a rite of passage. Let your poor ol’ ma have some fun.”
Robbie just shakes his head, but I can tell he’s trying not to laugh. “Come on, babe, I’ll show you upstairs.” He nods for me to follow, walking back through the archway and disappearing, taking my case with him.
He called me babe. He called me babe . Act cool, Fran.
I glance c asually at Victoria, and she offers me a wink, raising her voice for Robbie to hear as she says, “You go ahead, sweetie. I’ll grab the photo albums.”
I conceal my giggle at the same time as Robbie groans dramatically from somewhere in the house.