Chapter 35ROBBIE
CHAPTER 35
ROBBIE
W ell, driving to New York from Boston on less than two hours of sleep wasn’t what I’d originally planned, but here we are.
Like a pussy, I pretended I didn’t hear Fran’s question last night. Instead, I went into the bathroom, locked myself inside, and freaked the fuck out.
Fucking Andy. I swear to God. When the fuck did he tell Fran that? And why?
Yes, I lied when I shouldn’t have, but what the fuck did he go and tell her for?
By the time I’d finished in the bathroom, I walked back into the bedroom, relieved to find Fran snoring again, and I was off the hook… temporarily at least.
But do you think I could sleep after that? Of course not. All I kept thinking as I laid there, staring up at the ceiling while Fran murmured in her sleep and rolled into me, wrapping her warm, soft body around mine was, well, firstly, that my dick couldn’t possibly get any harder, but also, secondly, and most importantly, she was a hundred percent going to ask me again. And I had no reasonable answer to give her where I wouldn’ t come off as a complete and utter psychopath. Fucking Andy.
“I love your mom, Robbie,” Fran muses.
I glance at her from the corner of my eye. She’s perched there in the passenger seat wearing a baby blue sweatsuit, socked feet resting on the dash as she sucks on a Twizzler in a way that’s so innocent yet does things to me no man wants to admit. My jaw ticks and I find myself clutching the steering wheel so tight, my fingers start to cramp.
“She’s so fun,” Fran continues. “Did you know she partied with the New Kids on the Block when she was younger? She didn’t exactly say, but I get the feeling she might’ve done more than just party .”
I shake my head, laughing. “You realize I don’t actually wanna know that about my mom, right?”
“Could you imagine?” she giggles, ignoring me. “One of the New Kids could’ve been your dad.”
Silence ensues, and it’s suddenly awkward.
“Oh my God,” she mutters. “I’m sorry. That was a shitty thing to say.”
I decide to lighten the mood. “Can we pretend it’s Donnie? At least then I’d have a kick-ass uncle.” I glance at her as she looks at me with a slightly rueful smile, and I reach over and gently squeeze her knee to let her know it’s all good.
“So,” Fran says after a moment. “How much longer?”
I scoff. “Keller. We’ve literally been driving for forty minutes.”
She groans. “Well, let’s play a game or something.”
“Oh God. Kill me now,” I murmur, only half-joking.
Playfully, she slaps my arm before reaching forward and fiddling with the radio. “How do I connect my phone?”
I laugh out loud. “This car’s a 1970 classic. All original.”
She stares at me. “So… no Bluetooth?”
With my eyes still on the road, I feel around in the center console, grabbing the aux cord for the FM transmitter and handing it to her. “Nope. Old school, baby.”
“What even is this?” Fran mutters under her breath before quickly figuring it out and plugging her phone in. “Okay. So, it’s called the radio game,” she continues, all excited, and I lowkey love when she’s like this. “You ask a life question, and the next song on shuffle determines your answer.”
“A life question?” I snort.
“Yeah, like…” she pauses to think for a moment before continuing, “Radio gods, what will I be doing in ten years? Or something like that.” She smiles, and although this game sounds like the living definition of hell, I can’t find it in me to say no to this woman.
“Radio gods,” I snort again. “It’s literally Spotify.”
“Stop being a party pooper.” She gives my arm another chiding slap. “You go first.”
Again, I roll my eyes. “Fine. Radio gods , what will I be doing in ten years?”
She groans. “You are such a buzzkill.”
“Just…” I wave a hand at her phone.
“Okay, you ready?”
“Readier than I’ve ever been before in my life,” I deadpan.
Seconds later, the silence in the car is suddenly inundated by Kelis singing about milkshakes or some shit, and all I can do I turn my head slowly, meeting Fran’s smiling eyes as she hides her mouth behind her phone, and I can’t help but laugh out loud because what the fuck is happening.
“Maybe you need to press the button?” she suggests after a moment, holding her phone out.
“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 p ractically screams. “You can actually SING ??”
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.
“You are…” I trail off because I’m at a loss for words.
“I’ll make you a deal,” she starts, right as the thing starts to buzz. “I’ll stop… when you tell me the truth.”
“Keller, I—” I’m stopped when I turn to her, finding nothing but a daring look in her eyes. And I know I like to act all cool, calm, and in control, but the truth is, when it comes to the woman next to me, I am a weak, weak man.
“It’s a simple question, Mason ,” she sasses, lifting her other foot up onto the dash and allowing her knees to fall apart before dipping the toy under the waistband of her sweats. “Why did you lie to Andy and tell him I was asleep in your hotel room that night?”
My dick twitches and I rake my teeth over my bottom lip, every single one of my senses on high alert as I force myself to keep focused on the road.
“Or… maybe you don’t want me to stop,” she adds with a telltale whimper.
Fuck. Me. I drag a hand down my face right as my balls start to tighten at the sounds she’s making.
“Oh my gosh,” she gasps through a giggle. “It’s surprisingly powerful for $8.99.”
My eyes dart from the road, looking at Fran. Of course I can’t see anything—she’s working herself over beneath the shield of her sweats—but I do notice her hips tilt up as her toes curl in her socks, and fuck, why is this is so hot?
“I’m close already,” she pants. “My pussy is really wet.”
I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek. It’s all I can do not to drive off the side of the Interstate and into a ditch.
“Ah!” she cries out, and her knees are fucking trembling.
My knuckles are stretched white with how tight I’m gripping the steering wheel, and my cock is fucking aching. I s hift in my seat in an attempt to readjust myself without showing I’m affected, but it’s impossible.
“Oh my God, Robbie!” Fran gasps.
At first, I thought she was putting it on—doing it to get a rise out of me… pun intended—but when I see her palm her tit over her sweatshirt, notice her head loll back against the seat, I can tell she’s far from faking it, and fuck if I’m about to miss out on the show. When I see a sign for an upcoming off-ramp, I flick on the blinker.