Page 106 of Famous Last Words
“What can I get you?” I ask, putting on my most tip-worthy smile.
Resting his chin on his hands, a slow smirk tugs at his lips. “Look at you, all cute and shit.”
I lower my voice. “Don’t get me all hot and bothered while I’m on the job,Mason.” I waggle my eyebrows, and he chuckles.
“Just a Coke,” he says. “No ice, please.”
I wink at him and get to work making his drink, feeling his eyes on my ass the entire time. And I’d be lying if I said it didn’t do things to me. It definitely does. One look from Robbie Mason and I’m as good as pathetic.
“O-kay,” Vera makes a point of announcing herself, hand on her hip looking from me to Robbie and back again. “Clearly Tyler needs to up his game if we’re now havingboyfriend hourat the bar.”
I feel my cheeks heat at theboyfriendmention because… because I know Verathinkshe is, but is Robbie my boyfriend? Like, for real? I don’t know. We haven’t gotten that far yet. My gaze skirts to his and something passes between us, like he’s thinking exactly the same thing as me.
Robbie grins secretively, like he knows something I don’t, accepting Vera’s side hug as she passes him on her way behind the counter to me.
Vera sidles up to me, nudging me with her hip, and when I look at her, she doesn’t even need to say anything; the swoony look in her eyes says it all. I bite back my smile and get to work making Robbie’s soda.
“Waitress?”
“Ugh.” I throw my head back at the sound of Tadd’s patronizing voice ringing through the bar.
“Want me to go?” Vera offers.
“No, it’s okay,” I shake my head. “He won’t stop being a dick until he gets a rise out of me.”
“Boyfriend’s looking like he’s ready to throw down,” Vera whispers with a giggle.
I turn, finding Robbie glaring at Tadd over his shoulder, his jaw clenching as he one-handedly cracks his knuckles. I’ve never been into the whole caveman thing, but it’s surprisingly hot.
“One Coke. No ice.” I smile, placing the glass onto the coaster in front of Robbie.
He turns back to me, the murderous look in his eyes softening.
I grab a cocktail umbrella from the drink garnishes set up behind the counter and pop it into his Coke, and it causes him to bite back a laugh before lifting the glass and taking a sip.
“Duty calls,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. Grabbing my tray, I flash Robbie a wink and walk back around the counter, squeezing his arm as I pass him on my way to stupid-ass Tadd and his merry band of fuckwits.
I swallow the lump of dread and plaster on that same empty smile I use when I don’t feel like being particularly polite. “Another round?”
Of course, they all choose to be difficult this time. A few more whiskies, a gin, a scotch, a couple tequilas.
“Coming straight up,” I say tightly, just as a group of older businessmen stroll in.
For this late in the evening, it’s surprisingly busy. Vera is currently taking orders from one of her tables, so I invite the men to sit at the club chairs in the front, asking what they’d like. But as they’re giving me their order, from my periphery, I notice Tadd stand and skulk over to Robbie, and immediately my hackles rise.
The men are trying to decide, and while they bicker between themselves, I can’t help but glance over to where Robbie sits, his broad back to me, Tadd leaning against the bar, smirking directly at me as he says something to Robbie that I’m not close enough to hear. My pulse thunders in my ears because Tadd’s an asshole, but the last thing Robbie needs is to get caught in the moment, lose his cool, and break Tadd’s jaw like hedid to Ben Harris.
“We’ll grab a bottle of the Macallan single malt,” one of the men says, interrupting my thoughts.
I look down to find him staring up at me, and I nod curtly, offering a polite smile before hurrying back to the bar. But before I can enquire into what the hell is currently going on between Tadd and Robbie, Ronaldo slides a tray of drinks to me, ready to be delivered to Tadd’s table. I glance sideways, trying to catch Robbie’s gaze, but he’s too focused on whatever bullshit is spewing out of the lanky jerk’s mouth.
Carrying the tray over to Tadd’s table, I start handing out the drinks by memory of who ordered what, ignoring the chatter between the men until one of them directs their words at me.
“So, a hockey player, huh Fran?”
I look at him. No idea what his name is or if I’ve ever met him before. I choose to ignore him because, frankly, it’s none of his business.
“I heard he’s a force to be reckoned with on the ice,” one of the other guys says.
