Page 63 of Famous Last Words
I adjust the cap on my head, turning it backwards. I’d been hiding beneath the peak on my way here from the hotel because the last thing I wanted was people gawking at my matching black eyes and fat lip.
Pushing up the sleeves of my sweatshirt, I hurry across the foyer at the sound of a knock, but as I pull open the door, I’m not met with a couple of burly movers like I expected; I’m met with a five-foot-four blonde, holding a plant almost as big as she is.The bushy foliage parts and a pair of blue eyes find mine, widening the moment they do.
Immediately, I’m on edge. Spine stiffening, shoulders tensing. Folding my arms across my chest, I grit my teeth, remaining stoic.
“Oh my God, Robbie,” Fran gasps. “Your face!”
I shrug a nonchalant shoulder. “You should see the other guy…”
She doesn’t seem to care much for my bravado, nor does she appear to be even remotely deterred by my iciness. And in true Fran Keller form, she steps around me and invites herself inside.
I roll my eyes, closing the door, but I don’t move. I just stand in the entryway, watching her as she places the giant plant on the floor.
She removes her jean jacket and, unfortunately, that’s when I get a good look at her—Nikes, black yoga pants that leave fuckingnothingto the imagination, and a white t-shirt that hugs her tits and Fuck. Me. Her nipples are hard. I’m forced to avert my eyes to the plant like it’s the most interesting thing I’ve ever seen.
“It’s a ficus,” Fran says, like I care. “The guy at the lot said it’s one of the easiest plants to care for. Great for people who travel often.”
I arch a brow, glancing at her. “You… bought me a plant?”
“It’s a housewarming gift,” she says matter-of-factly, placing her hands on her hips.
Don’t look at her hips. Don’t look at her hips. My jaw ticks, but I say nothing.
“Or maybe a peace offering?” Her brows climb a little higher, like she’s unsure.
I tear my gaze from her, giving a wide berth to her and the plant, moving behind the kitchen island. I don’t know why. There’s nothing here. I don’t even have any fucking food or drinks in the place. But I needed to do something, and the island offers a decent amount of distance between us.
“Thanks,” I say, dragging my hand along the smooth countertop.
Silence ensues, and although my focus is wholeheartedly fixed on the intricate marbling in the stone, I can feel Fran’s eyes on me. After a few seconds, she turns and heads for the windows, and I lift my gaze at the wrong fucking time, catching the perfect view of her ass as her hips sway side to side in those pants.Goddammit. I shake my head, staring down into the gleaming sink.
“So, what do you think?”
“About what?” I ask, eyes now fixed on the faucet.
“This place,” she laughs. “Do you love it?”
“It’s okay.” I lift a shoulder. “Whiter than I realized.”
More silence.
“The Allora designer chose to keep the interior neutral so as not to take away from the view.”
I glance upwards. She’s facing the glass, looking out at the bright, sunny Manhattan morning, and again, my eyes betray me, tracking the generous curve of her ass.
“You don’t need to try sell me anymore, Keller,” I say with a scoff. “Been there. Done that. The place is mine now.”
Shelooks at me over her shoulder, and I catch something there in her eyes. A flash of hurt, maybe? I’m not sure. I check my watch. Where the fuck is the fucking furniture delivery?
“Robbie?”
I hear her sneakers approach, squeaking on the shiny floor.
I don’t chance looking at her. Instead, I pull open one of the kitchen drawers, looking inside for some unknown reason. “What’s up?” I ask, casually.
She’s right there. Beside me. I can feel her. Sense her.Smellher. God, she smells good. Like vanilla and maybe lemons. I don’t know. But it’s a scent I could drown in. And it’s all Fran Keller.
“I don’t know what happened… Are–are we okay?”
