Page 34 of Famous Last Words
“Oh my God…” Keller whispers, her face fraught with panic when I meet her eyes.
I simply grin, handing her back the phone.
“He’s going to go ballistic!” She tosses back her entire glass of wine in a few big gulps.
I relax into the sofa, kicking my feet up on the coffee table. “Can’t wait to meet him.”
“I need another drink.” She hops up and makes a beeline for the fridge.
And as I track her movements, watching her, I don’t miss the protective instinct that comes over me at the thought of that fuck face doing something to hurt her. And it’s only then that I realize I actually give a shit. About FranfuckingKeller.
CHAPTER 15
FRAN
Igroan as bright light burns through my eyelids, blinding me before I even wake up. My head throbs so bad, I’m sure it’s about to implode.
“Kill me now,” I croak.
Self-inflicted death is the only way to describe this level of hangover. In fact, I think I might still be drunk. I know they say the more expensive the wine, the less harsh the hangover, but FYI that’s some straight-up bullshit. An entire bottle of wine—regardless if it’s a six-dollar screw top from the corner liquor store, or a three-thousand-dollar vintage imported direct from the south of fucking France—is a guaranteed morning after regret.
My insides roil as I roll over, but then something hits me. Call it intuition mixed with a somewhat familiar scent that is both delicious and nauseating at the same time. My eyes fly open when I remember exactly where I am.Oh shit.
Against my better judgment, I sit up, immediately regretting my decision as I do, groaning as the sprawling hotel room starts to spin.
With one eye squeezed shut, I search the space around me, looking for what, I don’t even know.
“Hello?” My voice is broken and hoarse, throat like sandpaper.
“Robbie?” My stomach lurches and I choke back the acid on my tongue as his name leaves my lips.
But when I’m met with nothing but the gentle whir of the recycled air coming through the ducts, panic slowly starts to settle over me.
I notice an unopened bottle of water sitting on the nightstand. Perched against it is a note written on the hotel stationery. My brows knit together, and with another unattractive groan, I reach for the note with a trembling hand.
Had to leave.
I have a week of away games.
Let yourself out.
Robbie
I’m not saying that after last night Robbie and I should be besties, but I’m kind of confused by the abruptness of his note. I heave a sigh, tossing it onto the bed beside me. Grabbing the water, I gulp back more than half of it without coming up for air.
I’m still dressed in my jeans and Robbie’s jersey, and as far as I can tell, I slept alone if the makeshift bed of pillows and blankets lying on the sofa is anything to go by.How the hell did his six-foot-three frame even fit on that thing?
Dragging a hand over my face, I think back to last night, to what I remember.
I vaguely remember the phone call with Tadd. Oh God, those ramifications are going to be fun to deal with in the office on Monday.
I remember Netflix. I put on my latest obsession—one of those reality dating shows where they try to prove that looks aren’t a main factor when it comes to falling in love. Which is total bullshit, by the way; we all know looks matter, and I don’t care what anyone says. When Robbie wouldn’t stop talking, I finally gave up and switched onTheMighty Ducksfor shits and gigs. But as Emilio Estevez’s stretch limousine slowly rolled onto the frozen lake, we lost interest in the film and actually started to get to know one another.
“Please tell me you did not try to dress like a puck bunny?” Robbie shook his head, covering his eyes with a hand while obviously trying not to laugh.
“Yeah.” I shrugged. “That’s what the Reddit posts were suggesting.”
Throwing his head back with laughter, he clutched his stomach as if this was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.
