Page 82 of Famous Last Words
“Oh, hey, Fran. Sorry. Goddamn bus just cut me off.” He scoffs. “YEAH, YOU! YOU FUCKIN’ JACKASS!”
Honestly, I don’t know what to say, so I just wait.
“I’ve booked your flight to Boston.”
I assume he’s talking to me again. “Oh, okay. Thanks.”
“You fly out at three. I’ll send a car to pick you up and take you to the airport.”
“Thanks, Andy. Do I need to?—”
“Make sure you’reawakethis time.”
I blink. “Are… you talking to me, or is that more road rage?”
Andy barks a laugh. “Make sure you don’t fall asleep like the night in Robbie’s hotel room when I was about to send a car for you.”
I blink again. What the hell is he talking about? I think back to that night—almost kiss-gate—and I freeze. My eyes go wide. Robbie got a text message from Andy. He said Andy told him the crowd was still outside and that I would need to spend the night. My jaw drops.
That dirty little liar.
“I’ll have my assistant send through the details.” Andy’s voice cuts into my thoughts. “Fran, I gotta go. It seems it’s the day for SHITTY FUCKIN’ DRIVERS!”
The call goes silent after Andy’s outburst, but I continue sitting like a statue, staring straight, phone still pressed against my ear.
Robbie lied. And it’s not like it was an accidental lie where he might’ve just got his wires crossed. He blatantly lied. What the hell is going on?
CHAPTER 32
FRAN
The 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’swearing 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.
