Page 127 of Last Call

Ida Foster was no less than an icon in the town. She’d been a school teacher turned principal turned mayor, an office she’d held until two years ago. Fallon’s mother was born and raised in Whiskey Springs, as was her father, and four generations before him. Ida had always been known as a compassionate, loving, God-fearing, honest woman. When Fallon had first moved back home, a few people took issue with her efforts to resurrect thepub that stood on the edge of town. At first, Ida had laughed it off as a handful of ladies hoping to revive prohibition. When word traveled back to her that the plot to derail Fallon stemmed from offense over Fallon’s sexuality, the town got to view a different side of Ida Foster. Nothing was more dangerous than a mama bear protecting her cub. Fallon would have thought people here would’ve learned that lesson long ago. Occasionally, people needed a reminder. No one had taken issue with Fallon since, at least, not outside of tight-knit circles around a kitchen table.

“Well, now that Charlie’s off the market, unless Daryl and Daryl undergo some metamorphosis and become Venus and Serena, I’ll pass.”

Carol laughed. “Okay, I get it—back off.”

“No, I just…”

“Don’t say anything else. Are you sure you don’t want me to close up shop? It would give you the time to pop over to Andi’s before you have to plow.”

“I’m sure,” Fallon said. She was tempted to accept. If she went to meet Andi, she’d be gone until the wee hours. There would be no chance for rest, and Fallon needed some.

Carol wrapped Fallon in a hug. “Just don’t hurt yourself.”

“I will never live that down.”

The previous winter, Fallon had nearly cut off a finger trying to hitch the plow to her truck. It was a freak accident, a slip that caused her finger to get caught. The boys had never let it go.

Carol winked. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Fallon stepped back inside and behind the bar. She was tempted to pour herself a drink. Knowing that the next day was likely to start in a few hours or less, she thought better of the idea and put on a pot of coffee instead. She looked down at her phone and chuckled:

Andi: You’re really going to make me take care of this myself?

Fallon: You know, the roads are slick already.

Andi: It’s not just the roads that are wet, Fallon.

Fallon laughed. “You are going to kill me one of these days.” She replied: Let me know when it starts sticking, and I’ll come dig you out.

Andi: Cute.

Fallon was startled when her phone rang. “Yes?”

“What are you doing?” Andi asked.

“What are you doing?”

“Thinking about what I wish you were doing.”

“Is that right?”

Andi sighed. “Might not see you for a week or so.”

“I know.”

“That’s a long time,” Andi breathed.

Fallon sat down on a bar stool. It wasn’t the first time she’d listened or watched as Andi touched herself. She’d like to say that watching was more of a turn-on, but there was something intensely arousing about hearing Andi and not being able to see her. It reminded Fallon of her youth; all the nights she would close her bedroom door and imagine Andi naked—imagine touching Andi while she explored herself. Andi might not realize it, but she’d taught Fallon a great deal about pleasure before they’d ever slept together. Fantasies of Andi Sherman drove Fallon to learn how she liked to be touched, and she did not doubt that those nights had made her a more adept lover.

Now, she could picture Andi clearly. She didn’t need to conjure a fantasy. She’d memorized the expression on Andi’s face as Andi hovered close to climax. She’d felt Andi’s heart race and heard her whimpers gradually change to strangled cries of ecstasy. She could hear Andi’s uneven breathing on the other end of the phone. It made her heart beat slightly out of time.

Maybe I should’ve taken Carol up on her offer.She bit her lip gently as she listened to her lover.

“Too long,” Andi said.

“Oh?” Fallon played along. “What would I be doing if I were there?”

“You’d be inside me.”

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