Page 42 of Famous Last Words
I clear my throat, stepping forward and holding out my hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”
Bob grins behind his Fu Manchu mustache, shaking my hand with gusto. “Son, the pleasure is all mine. I’m glad to have you on board.”
I smile tightly, eyes flitting about the men in the room, still unsure what I’m doing here.
“Robbie, take a seat,” Coach says, pointing to one of the chairs.
I do as I’m told, stiffening a little when Bob takes the chair right next to me.
“Okay, so I know you’re probably wondering why you’ve been called in here, Robbie, and we’ll just get straight down to it,” Chris begins, glancing at the other men. “We’re really impressed with just how well you’ve fit into the team. You’ve more than proved that you’re here for all the right reasons, and your determination is rubbing off on a lot of the younger guys.”
“Yes, sir.” I nod, unsure what else to say to that.
Chris grins. “Robbie, I understand Coach Draper gave you permission to go out with the guys after the win on Wednesday, but you didn’t.” He cocks his head to the side. “Why is that?”
I shrug a shoulder. “I don’t like to go out after a game when I’m out of town.”
Chris nods, staring at me for an uncomfortably long moment.
“Is there something wrong?” I ask, confused by what the hell is even happening.
“No, nothing at all.” Chris shakes his head. “In fact…” He glances at Bob and Coach Draper, “We’ve discussed your contract and the terms, and we’ve decided that we’re going to relax some of the stipulations made prior to signing, specifically your curfew.”
My brows climb higher because I sure as shit wasn’t expecting that. “Oh, really?”
Chris nods.
“We understand it’s only been a week, son, but you’ve more than proven that you can be trusted.” Coach Draper spears me with a steely look, “But… know that we will be watching you closely, and if we need to revert back, we absolutely will.”
“Unfortunately, we have no jurisdiction when it comes to the additional terms set by Player Safety, so we can’t do anything about those,” Chris adds reluctantly.
“You’ve been keeping up with your piss tests?” Coach asks, one brow quirked.
“Yes, Coach.” I nod.
“Must be that girl of yours.” Bob grins at me.
I quirk a brow, confused, and a little uncomfortable by the look in his eyes.
“Met her at game one,” he answers my unspoken question.
I didn’t know Fran met Bob Oakley.
“She must be doingsomethingright,” Bob chuckles.
“Uh, yeah,” I say, shifting awkwardly because old men insinuating shit about my sex life is all kinds of gross.
Thankfully, Chris interjects. “Why don’t you go back out there and celebrate with the rest of the guys, Robbie. Maybe go out and have a beer.”
I smile tightly, pushing up from my chair. And I mean, sure, I could tell them that I’m currently sober, that I haven’t touched a drop of the stuff since August, but what’s the point?
“Thank you.” I nod at my coaches and Chris. “Mr. Oakley, sir.” I turn to the owner of the team and hold my hand out once again.
“Mr. Oakley was my father, son. Call me Bob.” The man shakes my proffered hand.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir. My ma raised me right.” With another tight smile, I wave at the men and turn quickly, hurrying out of the office.
The locker room is still utter chaos, and I try to slip between Dallas and our right winger, Logan, but I’m stopped by an arm wrapping around my neck.
