Page 12 of Famous Last Words
I puff air from my cheeks, shocked by what I’ve just read. I’m the first to admit I know nothing about sports, but even I can tell this is big. In fact, the whole thing screams messy.Robbie’s gone from being the best player on the number one team in the league, to a team that has come last two years in a row. I’m no expert, but I imagine that’s not something anyone would willingly volunteer to do during the height of his career.
I pinch my bottom lip between my thumb and forefinger, staring at the screen, at the photograph accompanying the story: a shot of Robbie walking out of the Newark arrivals terminal, chin dipped low, a hoodie pulled over a ball cap, and sunglasses at dusk. He looks broken. Granted, I don’t really know the man in the photo. Hell, I barely even knew him in high school. He was justthatguy. The guy who chose to, for some reason, make my life a living hell. And no, it wasn’t some secret harbored crush he was trying to hide; Robbie Mason despised me. And, in return, I despised himright back. But after graduation we went our separate ways, mutually happy to see the back of one another. But now he’s here, and it looks like a lot has happened in the time that’s passed, and I don’t know if it’s something I’m ready to be dealing with right now.
Sure, I need to sell Allora, and in two days no less, but is it worth making a deal with the man these articles are written about?
On the flip side, if I don’t sell the apartment, then Tadd wins.
I click on my messages, staring at Robbie’s last text.
Asshat: Time’s ticking…
With a deep breath, I type a response.
Me: What exactly does “pretending to be your girlfriend” actually entail?
Sending my reply, I stare at the screen, chewing on my thumbnail. I cannot for the life of me believe I’m actually considering this. Maybe I’ve finally lost my mind. My great aunt had a mental breakdown; maybe it’s hereditary.
Asshat: Coming to my games, wearing my jersey, waiting for me outside the locker room at the end of the night. Looking at me like you can’t get enough of me. That sort of thing. I just need my coaches and the higher-ups in the league to see that I have a serious girlfriend. That I’ve changed.
I cringe at the thought. Having to spend my free time with the likes of Robbie Mason is punishment enough, but then to have to act like I don’t want to slap him in his stupid smug face is the stuff of nightmares.
A follow-up appears in the message window before I can even reply.
Asshat: We can practice on Friday. See what works best.
Me: Friday? As in two days from now?
Asshat: No, Friday, March 16. Next year.
I roll my eyes.
Me: What’s happening Friday?
Asshat: Oh, no big deal or anything. Just my first official game with the Thunder.
Me: And what if I already have plans?
Asshat: Not my problem.
I balk. The nerve of this guy.
Me: And if I say yes to this farce, what’s the deal with PDA.
Asshat: You really want me that bad huh, Keller?
Me: Dream on, loser. I swear, if you so much as even touch me, I will claw your face off.
Asshat: I need to see some return on my investment.
Me: You’re getting a whole ass Chelsea apartment!
Asshat: You’re gonna have to at least hold my hand. Maybe evenkiss me on my cheek.
Me: I think I just threw up in my mouth.
Asshat: Ok, so imagine I’m walking out of the locker room after the game on Friday, and you’re hanging around in the tunnel, waiting for me. What are you gonna do when I come out to meet you? High five me?
I heave a sigh. This is all too much. Maybe losing Allora, and my job, and not being able to afford to stay in New York, and having to go home to live the rest of my life working as assistant manager at Keller’s Drug Store won’t be so bad after all. I can live in the loft above my parents’ garage, rent-free. At least I wouldn’t have to see stupid Tadd every day.
