Page 90 of Famous Last Words
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s totally it,” I mutter, reaching out and pressing the skip button, but as if the milkshake song wasn’t bad enough, the car is suddenly alive with the sound of chiming church bells, right as Bruno Mars starts singing “Marry You.”
“Ohhh… someone’s getting married,” Fran teases, looking up at me and fluttering her lashes.
“This game sucks ass.” I focus back on the road, but I don’t miss the strange tug deep in my gut. Not so long ago, the mere mention of marriage would make me break out in hives. Now, though, it doesn’t sound so bad, and as I glance at Fran out the corner of my eye as she sings obliviously to the song, I can’t help but wonder if it’s because the thought of marriage with someone like her doesn’t seem completely unbearable.
“Okay, my turn.” Fran perks up as Bruno Mars finally shuts the fuck up. “Radio gods…”
I look at her when she takes an extended pause, and I really wish I hadn’t because I know precisely what she’s about to ask just from the devious smirk tugging at her lips.
“Why did Robbie lie to Andy about me falling asleep in his hotel room?” She quirks a brow, staring directly at me as she presses the skip button.
The opening organ music isn’t familiar to me, but I assume Fran must look at the screen before I realize what song is playing because she’s suddenly laughing hysterically, head thrown back, feet kicking the dash right as Percy Sledge starts singing “When a Man Loves a Woman.”
“No fucking way!” I yell. “This is bullshit. You rigged it!” I laugh, pointing an accusatory finger at her.
“I swear to God… I didn’t—” she sucks in a breath between her laughter, clutching her belly as the fucking song continues playing.
“This game sucks more than twenty fucking questions.”
Fran is wiping the corners of her eyes, still laughing, but thankfully she skips the song, and my ears prick the moment the next tune starts to play.
“Fuck yeah, now this is more like it!” I yell, turning up the volume.
“What is this?” Fran’s brows knit together.
Instead of answering her, I give the song my all, singing along to Marvin Gaye’s opening lines of “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough,” causing her eyes to widen as she stares at me.
“Oh my God!” she practically screams. “You can actuallySING??”
Fuck yeah, I can sing. And I continue singing, word-for-word, drumming my fingers against the steering wheel in time with a beat like a smug asshole. “Sing it with me, Keller.”
Fran starts singing along with me—terribly, I might add—making up a few dance moves as she croons along to the chorus, giving it her all like a true champ. And as we continue along the Interstate, singing to the song I used to sing with Ma in the car every morning on our way to school, I feel my heart do another one of those somersaults. But I allow it… at least it gets me out of coming clean about my lie.
After a pit stop, we’re back on the road again, right as it starts to rain. Not too hard. But hard enough to be a pain in the ass. The wipers on the Chevelle aren’t the greatest. But with just over sixty miles to go, I have a newfound surge of energy.
“So…” Fran begins after a moment, “what’s it going to take for you to tell me the truth, Robbie Mason?”
I know exactly what she’s referring to, but I choose to play dumb, staring at the road ahead despite the weight of her stare. “What’s up?”
She sighs dramatically. “Robbie, Robbie, Robbie.”
I glance at her then because I don’t know if I like the sound of her tone; it’s teasing and suggestive. And fuck me. When I look at her, I almost veer into the other lane when I see what’s in her hand. “What the fuck is that?”
Fran bites back her grin, toying with the tiny silver vibrator in her hand, pressing it on and off. On and off. I force myself to look back at the road, gripping the steering wheel like it’s my one lifeline because fuck, no. This can’t be good.
“I’m horny,” she says casually.
“Uh-uh.” I shake my head. “Nope. No fucking way, Keller.”
“Pfft.” She scoffs. “You’re not the boss of me.”
I roll my eyes. “Where did you even get that?”
“Gas station.”
I balk. “They sell those at the gas station?”
“They did at that one,” she shrugs.
