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Summary
“C’mon, man,” he huffed out, and Robby felt like he was going to be sick, like he was some dealer in a back alley enabling whatever the hell this was. They weren’t in an alley, or in the backseat, and yes, maybe this place was haunted, but there were still rules. There had to be rules, or else there was chaos, and with chaos came unpredictability. Frank Langdon was turning into an anomaly in that equation.
Langdon’s jaw tightened with Robby’s searching look, and his sweating palms balled into fists. “Don’t you fucking- pretend you’re perfect, Robby. We both know you’re not.”
He knew how to get under his skin, Robby would give him that much.
Series
- Part 3 of everyone gets a slice of Robinavitch