Page 51 of Famous Last Words
Keller: Casual Sunday morning ass-pounding?
Me: PT. My glutes are tighter than normal. I think it might be from being stuck in one position last night.
Keller: I’m sorry. You should have shoved me over. I have a habit of hogging the bed.
I don’t miss the way my heart shifts at the memory of sharing the bed with Fran last night. She sleeps like a dead person, and I doubt I could’ve moved her even if I tried. But, at that thought, I’m suddenly taken back to last night.
I’d woken up at about three a.m., thirsty as a motherfucker. It was still pouring rain out, and the lightning flashing through the window was enough to illuminate the tiny apartment for me. I took Fran’s wheat pack and popped it in the microwave to reheat it. I pissed. Chugged a glass of water. And I tiptoed back to the bed and carefully made my way under the covers. But just as I was placing the wheat pack gently against Fran’s stomach, she rolled over and curled into me, thigh wrapping around my hip, arm draping over my chest, a soft moan slipping from her lips. And I froze. Literally froze, there on my back, balancing precariously on the edge of the bed, scared that if I moved, I’d wake her. I didn’t know what to do. And so that’s how I stayed for the rest of the night. In the one position with Fran clinging to me like a goddamn koala. And, if I’m being honest, it was one of the best night’s I’ve had in a long while.
I smile at the memory, but then I find myself responding without even considering my words.
Me: Nah, it was surprisingly nice to share a bed with someone.
Keller: It’s been a while huh?
I could lie. But what’s the point?
Me: Yeah. Coming up 26 years now.
Keller: Wait. What? You’ve never shared a bed with someone?
I chuckle.
Me: Fran. I’m Robbie Mason. I’ve shared beds with plenty of people.
Keller: I think I just pulled a muscle from rolling my eyes so hard.
Me: Last night was the first time I’ve stayed.
Keller: You’ve never stayed the night at a girlfriend’s house?
Me: I’ve never had a girlfriend.
Keller: Shut the fuck up!
Me: …
The three dots appear in our text window before disappearing. Then they’re back. Gone. Back. Gone. And I think this goes on for about four whole minutes.
Me: You’re Googling me again, aren’t you?
Keller: Can you blame me? Like you said. You’re Robbie Mason, the hot-shot hockey player. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned really quickly over the last couple of weeks, it’s that hockey players are renowned playboys. I find it hard to believe you’ve never had at least one girlfriend. Unless you’re a manwhore like your buddy, Dallas. According to Google, he’s slept with over 500 women.
Me: There was someone. Back in St. Paul. We dated for a while. I was ready to make it official, but then Ma got sick, and I had to go back to Boston for a few weeks.
Keller: What happened?
I stare at my phone, pinching my bottom lip between my fingers. I haven’t admitted this to anyone. Not even Andy. It’s not a trust issue. More of a pride thing. But, for whatever reason, after last night, I feel like I can open up to Fran in a way I’ve never felt like I could open up to anyone else.
Me: Remember when you asked me why I fought Ben Harris?
Keller: You’re gay???
I can’t help but snort. “Gay?”
Jace pulls his hands abruptly from my ass. “Sorry. Too close?”
I realize I just said that out loud. Really loud. And I glance over my shoulder to find Jace’s face fraught with panic. Of course, our head PT just so happens to be a proud gay man. “Oh. No. Sorry, Jace.” I manage a light laugh, suddenly more than a little awkward. “Just reading a… a text message.”
