Page 83 of Famous Last Words
I bite back a smirk. “Predictable.”
He laughs. “Why? Because I havehugemuscles?”
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 andback 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. Although 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 yourmother’shouse.”
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 warm 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.
