Famous Last Words (New York Thunder #1)

Chapter 38ROBBIE

CHAPTER 38

ROBBIE

A t the bar after the game, I grab the first round while Dallas continues talking Fran’s ear off about his shutout. I mean, yeah, it was a good game; with nineteen shots at goal and six close calls, he worked his ass off and deserves the kudos. But also… shut up, Dallas .

I carry the tray of drinks to the table we’re set up at in the back of Ned’s, doling out shots and beers and whatever else, before taking the empty chair next to Fran and sipping my Coke.

“Not drinking, man?” Happy asks, aiming the neck of his bottle at me.

I’m suddenly nervous. I hadn’t planned on this, but as I was ordering at the bar, I decided now was probably as good a time as any. So, with a hard swallow, I shift in my chair and clear my throat, my deliberate pause bringing everyone to stop talking around the table, all eyes on me.

I shake my head. “No. Actually I… I don’t drink.”

Confusion settles around the table.

“You mean tonight?” Dallas presses.

I shake my head again, another hard swallow. “No. I mean, I don’t drink. I haven’t touched a drop since August.”

“But, but—” Logan looks baffled. “We had beers after the game on Friday night.”

I take a big breath that shudders. Here goes nothing. “Yeah, I know. I’ve had beers with you guys a few times now, but I never actually drink them. I just hold them until they’re warm and then if I get another one, the bartender usually just tosses it and gives me a replacement.”

Silence ensues. An overwhelming silence, and I’m suddenly terrified I just made a huge mistake. But then I feel a hand on my thigh, and I look at Fran to find the hint of a smile ghosting her lips as she squeezes my leg in a show of support.

“Is this because of what happened over the summer?” Dallas asks after a moment.

“Yeah, but even before the summer, I was never a big drinker. My dad was an alcoholic,” I mutter.

“Shit, man,” Happy hisses. “I didn’t know.”

“It’s okay,” I shrug. “But yeah, after what went down, I realized I didn’t like who I was when I was drunk, and I didn’t like the way it affected me, so… I stopped.”

“Good for you, bro,” Dallas says, slapping me on my back.

“Yeah, but you don’t need to pretend in front of us,” adds Logan.

“No, I know.” I shake my head. “I don’t even know why I lied about it.”

“Are you okay with us drinking around you?” Dallas quirks a brow, his gaze flitting from me to the beer in his hand.

I chuckle. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Thank fuck for that,” Happy says with a relieved sigh, lifting his beer to his lips and tossing back a few hearty gulps.

I roll my eyes, clinking my Coke with Logan’s bottle, and thankfully that eases the tension around the table enough for everyone to start talking about normal shit.

Fran’s hand is still on my thigh, and I glance at her, suddenly nervous. I’m not sure if the whole non-drinking thin g is something I should have talked to her about before telling everyone. I wanted to. But I didn’t. I think, deep down, it felt like it was too much. Like something a real boyfriend would tell his real girlfriend. And although the lines between us have been blurred at least a few times, I know we’re still not real .

With reluctance, I meet her eyes, and I’m surprised to find nothing but pride in her gaze. I don’t know why, but I was almost expecting her to be pissed at me.

“Wanna come help me pick out a song on the jukebox?” she asks, her voice low, and I know what she’s really asking me. She wants to talk to me privately. I nod, hopping up from my chair and holding my hand out for her.

When we’re alone, standing by the jukebox as it plays a Billy Idol song, Fran still has a hold of my hand, and I look down at her, a little taken aback by just how pretty she looks. Her big blue eyes gaze up at me, and she offers a small smile that feels as if it gets me straight in the heart.

“I’m proud of you,” she says unexpectedly, squeezing my hand. “I wish you’d have told me, but I’m proud that you just did that.”

I try to play it cool, but honestly, I’m at a loss for words. I can’t remember the last time someone was proud of me.

“I wanted to thank you,” she continues after a moment.

I arch a brow. “Thank me ? For what?”

“For setting things up with Alex. It’s made me realize that maybe you were right?—”

“I’m always right, Keller,” I interject with a dramatic roll of my eyes.

She nudges me in my chest, giggling, and again, the sound goes straight to my heart. Dammit .

“I mean about shifting my focus to the buyer’s side of real estate,” she explains. “I’m going to speak to Tony about it tomorrow. I’m going to do a business plan and everything.”

She’s so excited, and my chest swells with pride. I felt it when she told me she stood up to Tadd, and I’m feeli ng it now. I’m proud of Fran fucking Keller.

“You should,” I nod, encouragingly. “And I’ll help you any way that I can.”

“Thank you.” She moves in closer, and my arms instinctively wrap around her, holding her close, like that’s where they belong. She smiles up at me, and it’s suddenly like I’m in a daze. She is so damn beautiful, and I am in so much fucking trouble.

“We’re so excited to work with you, Robbie.”

I stand, shaking Stephen’s hand. “Thanks. I’m looking forward to it.”

Andy moves around the table, slapping Stephen on the back. “Have the paperwork finalized and sent to my assistant, and we can get things moving.”

As they continue talking business—a new campaign featuring me as the spokesperson for a luxury watch brand—I check my phone to find a new message from Fran. And the smile that caught me off-guard when I saw her name on my screen disappears the second I read her message.

Keller: Tony shut me down before I even had a chance to tell him about my idea.

Anger pricks at the back of my neck. She told me she stayed up half the night working on her business plan. And the asshole shut her down before she could even tell him about it? Honestly, it takes all I have not to march my ass straight down to the Carlton Myers office and start punching throats.

Me: That’s bullshit.

Keller: I don’t know why I even bothered.

I can feel her despond ency through the phone, and I get a sudden urge to try make everything better for her. I have no idea how I’m supposed to do that, but I have this constant need to make her happy.

Keller: On a positive note, the seller accepted Alex’s offer.

“Everything good?” Andy interrupts my thoughts.

I look up from my phone as he takes his chair, signaling the waiter for the check.

“You look like you’re about to punch a hole through something.”

He knows me too well.

“Fran stayed up all night doing up a business plan. She wants to move into a buyer’s agent role. Maybe even focus on athletes. But her asshole boss wouldn’t even hear her out,” I explain, tapping a response into my phone.

Me: You’re too good for that place.

She doesn’t reply, and I realize then that I’m actually worried about her.

“What’s going on between you two?”

I look up to find Andy watching me with a dubious look in his eyes, and I can’t help but sit up a little straighter and square my shoulders, immediately on the defensive. “Nothing. What?” I shake my head. “What are you talking about?” Smooth, Mason. Real smooth.

Andy takes a sip of his wine, gaze still focused on me. “You two seem to be spending a lot of time together.”

“Yeah, because we’re pretend dating,” I mutter quietly so the people seated at the tables nearby can’t hear.

Andy nods, but there’s a telling look in his eyes that I don’t like one bit.

“What?” I say on a heavy sigh.

He shakes his head, trying to contain a smug-ass smile. “Nothing.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit,” I hiss. “What?”

Andy holds his hands up in defense, laughing under his breath. “It’s just that you’ve seemed… happier with her around.”

“Chrissake, you sound like Ma.” I roll my eyes.

“Just calling it how I see it,” he says to himself, looking down at the proposal Stephen left.

I focus on my phone, at the message thread between Fran and me, and I can’t help but realize, as much as I refuse to admit it, Ma and Andy are right. I am happier with Fran around.

“Tell her to send it over to me.”

I look up, confused by Andy’s words.

He glances up from the paperwork and shrugs. “I’ll take a look at her business plan.”

I nod slowly, considering his offer. Andy built his agency from the ground up, all on his own. In five years, he went from a relative nobody to one of the top dogs. Not only is he a powerhouse in the professional sporting industry, but he’s a savvy businessman.

“Thanks, Andy.”

He winks at me, that pain-in-the-ass smile lingering as he goes back to the paperwork, and it takes all I have not to throw a leftover breadstick at his head.