Famous Last Words (New York Thunder #1)

Chapter 27FRAN

CHAPTER 27

FRAN

N ormally, I’m not one to go out to the clubs. Bars, yes. But nightclubs? I don’t know. They’re just not my vibe. Which is why when Vera called and begged me to tag along with her to some hot new club, because Tyler is DJing there for the first time, I was reluctant at first. But when she mentioned free drinks, I couldn’t say no, especially since she’d invited Hannah, too.

Now, however, with my strappy shoes pinching my toes, dressed in a skirt so tight it feels like it’s cutting off circulation, and a bodysuit that is seriously riding up my ass, I’m really regretting my decision. No amount of free booze is worth this torture. I’d much rather be at home, in my pajamas, drowning my sorrows in cookie dough ice cream while watching reruns of One Tree Hill .

“What’s up with you tonight?” Vera yells over the music, nudging me.

Before I can respond, Hannah speaks up. “Looks like boy trouble to me.”

They both stare at me, waiting expectantly, but what can I say without giving everything away. I co uld probably get away with telling Vera the truth, but not Hannah. She’s the daughter of Robbie’s coach, for Chrissake.

Instead of a response, I shake my head with a dismissive wave of my hand.

“Definitely boy trouble,” Hannah says to Vera, and the two sip their drinks.

With her perfect brows knitting together, Vera looks at me, placing a hand on my arm. “Did something happen with Robbie?”

“No.” I scoff, standing from my stool. “I need another drink.”

Both girls just stare at me, but I ignore them, heading for the bar.

As I snake my way through the crowd, I make sure to keep my head down, lest I make eye contact and open myself up to unwanted attention. I need to get drunk. Stat.

Stopping at the bar, I perch my ass on the one free stool, waiting patiently. The bartenders can take as long as they want—anything to prevent having to go back to Vera and Hannah and face another interrogation. Sadly, I don’t have to wait too long, despite the six-deep line waiting to be served.

“What can I get you, beautiful?”

I startle, turning to find possibly the most handsome man I’ve ever seen in real life smiling at me from the other side of the counter. Dark skin. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Gleaming white teeth. A body resembling a Marvel superhero. I’m forced to swallow the sudden lump that forms at the back of my throat.

“Um…” My gaze flits about the bar, suddenly at a loss. “I’ll just have a tequila soda, thanks.”

He studies me a moment, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You’re far too beautiful for such a basic drink. Let me make you something.”

Normally I’d roll my eyes, probably tell him to cut the crap and just bring me my damn tequila li ke I asked. But I can’t. He’s too good looking to argue with. So instead, I giggle like a moron.

The bartender adds different liquors from glittering bottles into a shiny gold mixer. He looks at me with another breathtaking smile as he lifts the mixer and starts shaking it with vigor, and my eyes immediately fall to his arms. They’re like Hulk arms. Muscles bulging with every shake. Even the short sleeves of the shirt he’s wearing look as if they’re about to give up the fight and burst open at any minute.

He places a highball half-filled with ice in front of me, and then, with another smile, he cracks the mixer open and pours the concoction into the glass. And I don’t know if it was intentional or not, but… it kind of looks like semen. White and creamy and very jizz-like. When I meet the man’s eyes, mid-pour, he winks. Winks . And if I’m not careful, I might slip right off this stool.

“One Maximus special.” He slides the glass across to me, placing a red and white striped paper straw inside. “In case you were wondering, I’m Maximus.”

I’m sure his name isn’t really Maximus. Regardless, I wrap my lips around the straw and take a tentative sip, but the moment the flavor hits my tongue, I feel my eyes roll back in my head. It’s delicious. Nothing like the taste of semen, thank God. It’s fruity and tangy, a little sweet, with a definite kick.

“You like that?” Maximus leans in closer, his voice suddenly low and gravelly.

I bite down on the straw, stifling the giddy smile that’s trying to take hold of me.

He winks at me before moving on to serve another customer, and I feel my cheeks heat because, well, he’s hot. Like, really hot. And the more alcohol I consume, the more I can feel my resolve start to slip.Yes, I’m fully aware I have a stupid fake boyfriend, but Robbie has gone out of his way to make it abundantly clear he has no real interest in me. And, if I’m being honest, it has been far too long between fucks. A girl can only get herself off with a vibrator so many times before she starts to develop a silicon reaction.

“Excuse me, what was that?”

I jump, turning to see Hannah right there, her eyes narrowed dubiously.

“What?” I ask, feigning ignorance.

“The cutsie little smile you just flashed that bartender after he winked at you like a fucking creep!” She snorts, saying this loud enough for Maximus to hear.

“Shhhh!” I hiss, taking my drink and heading back to the table with Hannah hot on my heels. But I find myself glancing longingly over my shoulder, appreciating the bartender one last time. “He’s hot. Can you blame me?”

“Who’s hot?” Vera asks the moment we return.

“Maximus,” I explain, like it’s no big deal, like he’s an old friend and not some random and very sexy bartender I’ve been shamelessly flirting with for the last ten minutes.

Vera looks between me and Hannah, evidently confused.

“The bartender,” Hannah answers to her unspoken question.

Vera gasps, looking at me with a knowing grin. “The one with the arms?”

I nod, smirking as I sip my drink.

“Um, do I need to remind you that neither of you are single?” Hannah points a finger from me to Vera, adding, “And that your boyfriend is literally right up there in that booth.” She indicates the DJ booth where Tyler commands the dancefloor from behind the decks.

“There’s no harm in looking.” Vera waves a hand with a giggle.

I say nothing because who said anything about just looking?

When my friends start talking about something else entirely, I pull my phone from my purse and open the text messages, my thumbs flying across the screen.

Me: I want out of this deal.

His reply comes through instantly, as if he’d been waiting for my text.

Fuckface: No.

I stifle a scream.

Me: You got what you want. Everyone loves you again. Let. Me. Go.

Fuckface: No.

I’m fuming. I wouldn’t be surprised if my blood pressure was through the roof.

Me: You’re such an asshole.

Fuckface: We’ve established that fact.

With a quick glance toward the bar, I spot Maximus working the crowd with the ease of Tom Cruise from Cocktail , and something suddenly comes over me. I’m forced to bite back a smile as I tap out my reply.

Me: Fine. But if the hot bartender asks for my number, I’m giving it to him.

Robbie’s response comes through within seconds. Literal seconds.

Fuckface: What hot bartender?

My subconscious cheers.

Me: The hot bartender who’s been flirting with me. Maximus. Huge arms and hands. I wonder what else is huge…

I watch the screen as the dots appear, indicating that he’s typing. But they soon disappear for an extended moment before reappearing. Gone. Back. Gone. Back. And I can only imagine he’s writing some sort of essay. I roll my eyes. I can’t wait for this.

Fuckface: Where are you?

My brows knit together. That was a lot of dots for just three words

Me: Out.

Fuckface: I’m not playing, Keller. Where. Are. You?

Me: Put!

Oh, fuck you autocorrect.

Me: Out!

Fuckface: Are you drunk?

Me: Not nearly drunk enough.

Fuckface: Who are you with?

Me: Hopefully the bartender by the end of the night.

I wait for his reply but nothing comes. Not even the dots. On one hand, I can’t help but mentally pat myself on the back. Ha, take that, jerk! But, on the oth er hand, I don’t mistake the dip of disappointment in my chest, my shoulders falling on a resigned sigh at the thought that he doesn’t care.

I tuck my phone back into my purse after a few more minutes of radio silence, finishing the rest of my Maximus special in one go.

Twenty minutes later and I’m settled at the bar again, hooked on every word Maximus says as he leans on the counter so close, I’m inundated by his intoxicating scent.

“This is just a side-gig,” he explains with a nonchalant shrug of one of his beefy shoulders, his devastating grin seemingly taunting me. “I work construction during the day.”

As if my gaze has a mind of its own, my eyes trail down over his broad shoulders, zeroing in on those bulging biceps. Did I mention he’s hot?

“What about you, beautiful?” He tips his chin at me. “What do you do with your fine ass?”

I giggle again. Like a fucking imbecile, I giggle. Because I can’t remember the last time a man openly and unabashedly flirted with me like this. The sheer look of sex in his gaze is almost enough to melt my panties right off.

“I work in real estate,” I say with a shy smile because the intensity of his stare is overwhelming.

Maximus nods, but just as he’s about to speak, he settles on something over my head, brows knitting together.

And it’s at that precise moment I feel something hard press up against me from behind, causing my heart to slam against my ribs as one tattooed hand comes to rest on the counter beside me, before another tattooed hand lands on the counter on the other side me, effectively caging me in.

Frozen in place, my skin prickles as lips skate against the shell of my ear causing me to shudder in the best possible way.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing… baby ?” His voice is a low growl meant only for me, and I swear, I’m not even breathing right now.

“H ey, you’re Robbie Mason!” Maximus, the stupid traitor, straightens, eyes suddenly all hearts as he gawks incredulously at the overwhelming presence behind me.

“The one and only,” Robbie says smugly, moving one hand from the bar and placing it low on my waist. “And I see you’ve met my girlfriend .”

I notice Maximus’s face fall, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t funny. I’d probably laugh if I weren’t so pissed off right now. Pissed off and horny, because holy shit, I can practically feel Robbie’s dick pressing against my ass, and maybe I’m more drunk than I first thought, but I’m pretty sure he’s hard right now.

“Oh, I-I didn’t—” Maximus glances at me before forcing a tight smile at Robbie, holding his hands up in surrender. “Robbie, man. Let me grab you a drink. Anything you want. On the house.”

Great, so it seems Maximus is nothing more than a Robbie Mason fanboy, because of course he is.

“Nothing for me, thanks, bud ,” Robbie says with a dismissive wave of his hand, before leaning in closer and wrapping his arms around me from behind. “Gotta get my girl home.”

I bristle at his words. Although I don’t know if it’s because I like it or I hate it.

“Ready to go home, baby ?” Robbie whispers all low and sexy, lips grazing the overly sensitive skin at the base of my neck and yeah, he’s good. He’s really, really good.

My smile is forced, teeth gritting together as I snatch my purse and stand from my bar stool.

“It was nice to meet you,” I say flatly at Maximus with zero semblance of sincerity because fuck you and your delicious semen elixir .

Turning, I’m suddenly faced with Robbie’s broad chest, forced to crane my neck a little to find his unwavering and frankly terrifying gaze laser-focused on me. Sure, he’s grinning, but there’s an unspoken glint of t hreat in his eyes, and at the risk of sounding pathetic, it goes straight to my pussy.

“What are you even doing here?” I mutter.

Without an answer, Robbie takes my hand and turns, tugging me with him. And it’s only then that I notice he looks as if he rolled right out of bed. Baggy khakis, a hoodie, a beanie pulled low. How did he even get in here, given the strict dress code? Oh, yeah, that’s right; he’s a fucking hockey superstar. How could I forget.

“How did you know I was here?” I yell over the thrumming bass.

He either doesn’t hear me, or he’s ignoring me. I’m going with the latter.

I roll my eyes, but then as I glance toward the table where Vera and Hannah are watching on, their faces void of surprise as they wave me goodbye, and I suppose that answers that question. Meddling assholes.

Keeping me close, his hold of my hand unrelenting, Robbie shoulders his way through the crowd with the kind of determination I expect he usually reserves for the ice. Head down, focused, an unstoppable force.

“Where are we going?” I yell again, even though I know he’s ignoring me like a dick.

Suddenly, we’re outside on the sidewalk, continuing past the line of people waiting to get into the club, past a group huddled together sharing a smoke, the cold night air whipping against my heated cheeks as it barrels down Bowery. It’s freezing, and that’s when I realize I left my coat inside.

“I forgot my coat,” I say, coming to a stop.

Robbie’s hold of my hand only tightens as he says over his shoulder, “Leave it.”

I balk, but I seem to have lost my voice because although it’s not something I would ever admit out loud at the risk of sounding like a pathetic twit, Robbie Mason being all demanding and forceful is all kinds of hot.

We s top at a black SUV idling at the curb, and Robbie opens the back passenger door for me. I hesitate before hopping in only because I’m shivering. Robbie climbs in close behind me before the car pulls out and continues around the corner and into the steady flow of traffic on Houston.

I glance sideways at Robbie, finding him stoic as he stares straight ahead, the streetlights illuminating his expressionless face. I don’t know if he’s pissed or not. In fact, if it weren’t for his bouncing knee, I’d almost assume he was catatonic.

“Robbie?”

He doesn’t even look at me, and now I’m even more pissed than I was before. Ignoring my messages is one thing. But ignoring me to my face is a whole other level of audacity he has no right to have.

“Where are we going?” I demand.

Again, no answer, but there’s a hint of a smirk that ghosts his lips, and it’s almost menacing. Shaking his head to himself, he scoffs, like he can’t believe I just asked him that.

I stare out at the streets we pass in a blur, my stomach twisting nervously, but then in no time at all, we’re rolling to a stop outside Allora, and I feel my heart lurch into the back of my throat.

“Thanks,” Robbie murmurs, opening the door and hopping out.

I half expect him to slam it shut in my face, but he doesn’t. Instead, he waits, staring in at me, that same stoic veil of indifference masking his face as he reaches a hand out for me.

With a muttered curse, I scoot across the seat as best as I can in my faux-leather skirt, desperately hoping it doesn’t make a fart noise as it rubs against the real leather interior. Thankfully it doesn’t, and I take Robbie’s hand with a forced smile as he helps me out.

At first, I’m unsteady on my heels, but I manage to collect myself, lifting my chin a little higher when he snakes his arm around my shoulders, pulling me in c lose, despite there being no one around this late at night for us to keep up the charade.

The night doorman nods, opening the glass door for us, and we continue inside, through the sleek lobby and directly to the elevator, Robbie’s arm still firmly situated around me. And I’m only thankful for the loud clacking of my heels on the shiny floor to help disguise the furious beating of my heart.

The elevator ride is silent, and even though it’s just the two of us, Robbie is still touching me, his hand resting at my lower back as he stares at something on his phone. I’m too busy freaking out internally over what the fuck is happening, but there’s a serious tension that has settled between us, the air alive with the kind of electricity that feels almost dangerous.

I stare straight ahead at our reflection in the mirrored doors, and I almost laugh at how ridiculous we look. Me in my sky-high heels, my tight as sin skirt and the even tighter bodysuit that looks more like lingerie, hair coiffed, lips stained a fire engine red. Robbie in his Air Force Ones, baggy skater-boy pants, and a Minnesota Gophers hoodie, two black eyes, a bandage across his nose, hair poking out under his beanie.

When the elevator chimes, Robbie steps off first, but I hesitate, staring at his back. He turns, looking at me expectantly, but instead of saying anything, he slams his hand against the door, stopping it from closing and arches one brow. And I’ll be damned if it isn’t the hottest look I’ve ever been on the receiving end of.

“What are we doing?” I ask, cautiously stepping off.

Robbie turns left for his apartment door and punches in the code, holding it open without even looking at me. I walk inside, my stomach in my ass as I wait in the foyer, looking around the space that is lit only by the lights of the city shining in through the walls of glass.

“Your furniture arrived,” I say, scanning the items that weren’t here when I was in this very spot earlier today.

“Yep,” is all he says.

From my periphery, I see him move to a side table, offloading his keys and wallet, kicking off his sneakers and leaving them strewn on the floor, still nonchalant and cold, all while I remain stuck in place. But then as he walks past me, heading for the kitchen, I can’t hold it back any longer because frankly, I’m done playing whatever game this is.

“Robbie, this is fucking ridiculous. What the hell are we doing here?”

In a flash, so quick I almost miss it, Robbie spins around, his huge frame flanking me, forcing me back against the door, his hand wrapping around my throat, a seething, feral look in his eyes.

I stare up at him, momentarily terrified.

His hand tightens around my throat as he leans in even closer. “We’re gonna fuck and get it over with.”