Last Call

by Kelly, A. S.

  “What are you looking for, Kerry?”

  I take a deep breath. “I don’t know, exactly. But I do know that it keeps bringing me back here.”

  She lowers her gaze towards her bare feet.

  “Seeing as you don’t seem sure of what you want, let me tell you exactly what I’m looking for. I’m not looking for a man.” Her voice is hard – I’m sure it’s hiding a burning sense of disappointment. “I’m not looking for anything.” She lifts her gaze to meet mine. “And I don’t plan to start looking anytime soon.”

  I listen to what she’s saying; but that doesn’t mean I don’t plan to fight back.

  “Just give me until the end of the tournament,” I repeat. “Then you never have to speak to me again, if that’s what you want.”

  “What are you hoping to gain, here?”

  “A chance.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I think we both deserve one. And now I want to work out if we deserve it together.”

  She nods slowly, leaning against the door frame.

  “You work for me.”

  “Until the tournament, we can just be friends. And colleagues.”

  “I’m still the headmistress at your daughter’s school, and I’ll continue to be her headmistress after the tournament’s over. This is a small town, you know.”

  “Skylar will graduate, sooner or later.”

  She can’t help but laugh.

  “It might take a while.”

  “Let’s just start by winning this tournament.”

  “And then?”

  “And then I’ll take you out for dinner.”

  “You might have lost interest by then.”

  “And you might have gained interest. We’re both risking something.”

  “That’s true – but I might not be able to take that risk.”

  “Less than two months, that’s all I’m asking: two months of friendship and one date.”

  She watches me, doubtfully.

  She’s already scared to accept my proposal: which means there’s already something at risk.

  “Just think about it,” I smile. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Jordan

  I toss and turn in bed, trying to find a comfortable position. Caramel attempts to follow my movements, before giving up and abandoning me to my fate, slipping down from the bed and padding over to her cushion under the window. I kick off the covers and roll onto my back, my hands linked over my stomach, my eyes glued to the ceiling. I can’t sleep; I can’t think of anything but him.

  I sigh frustratedly and glance over to my bedside table, where my alarm clock tells me it’s twenty-past-midnight. I go to turn over onto my side, when my phone pings with a new message. I lift myself up slightly and grab it.

  Are you asleep?

  It’s from an unknown number; assuming someone has messaged me by accident, or for a joke, I delete it, replacing my phone on the surface. I try to snuggle myself back down into the pillows.

  Another ping makes me think that someone is playing some sort of trick on me.

  I sit up now, grabbing hold of my phone.

  Have you thought about it yet?

  I stare at the screen for a few seconds, undecided, before concluding that it can’t be who I think it is. I go to put it down on the table again, but yet another ping stops me.

  Are you wearing a matching flannel pyjama set – maybe your pink one with the unicorns? Or are you sleeping naked, like last time I was there with you?

  I don’t believe it.

  Who gave you my number?

  I have my sources. Tell me about you, instead.

  I’m not telling you what I’m wearing, K.

  So we’re already onto ‘K’?

  You’re an idiot.

  Come on, tell me what you’re wearing.

  Why?

  Because then I know how to picture you.

  An unbearable heat floods through my body; I exhale deeply.

  Go to bed, K.

  I’m already in bed.

  Then sleep.

  I can’t. There’s a thought bouncing around my mind and I need to settle it, first.

  If I tell you what I’m wearing, will you leave me alone and go to sleep?

  Yes, Headmistress J.

  The heat seeps up to my face and neck.

  I take another deep breath, and type.

  I’m wearing an old T-shirt and a pair of shorts. Happy?

  Are you naked under the T-shirt?

  I roll my eyes.

  Yes.

  What about under the shorts?

  I’m wearing underwear.

  What colour?

  This is too much, now.

  Please, just tell me what colour they are.

  Pink.

  I was close, then.

  There are no unicorns.

  There’s a brief pause, then he types again.

  Will you take them off?

  What?

  The shorts.

  My heart hammers against my ribcage.

  Why should I?

  I want to be the one to take them off, but seeing as I’m not there…

  I consider my response for a few moments, before writing:

  Even if I did it, you can’t see me.

  But I already know what’s underneath.

  I swallow, but my throat is dry.

  I only have to imagine it, and I’m hard again.

  The phone trembles in my hands.

  Just imagine if I could hear your voice, too.

  The desire to call him is suddenly uncontrollable.

  Are you touching yourself?

  “What?!” I yell into the darkness of my room.

  I am.

  Oh, my God.

  You stop typing.

  I don’t know what to do; I’m frozen with the fear of falling into his trap. I know he’s trying to make me cave – just as I know how much I want to play this game with him, to see how far it can go.

  I never thought I’d have to add sexting into our agreement.

  Silence from his end. Maybe I was too brazen.

  I wait a few seconds before my fingers start to move of their own accord, possessed by something dark and powerful that has nothing to do with me:

  If you don’t stop all these games, I’ll have to punish you.

  …

  I smile.

  Severely.

  …

  I might even have to spank you.

  More silence – then, he responds.

  Only if I get to spank you, too.

  I cover my face with my hands, as if anyone could see my embarrassment.

  Think about it, Headmistress.

  I wait a few moments, then tumble like an apple falling from the tree, rolling towards a hungry serpent.

  I am.

  * * *

  “What did you get up to this morning?” Anya asks, passing me a cup of coffee and sitting on my desk.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You seem…I don’t know, happy.”

  “Me?” I tear my gaze from her and take a few sips.

  “Did you maybe have a little meeting with someone last night?”

  The coffee almost shoots out of my nose.

  “Are you kidding?”

  “You look like you’ve spent all night having sex. Your face is exhausted, you’re grinning like a madwoman, and your eyes are all dreamy; as if you’re thinking about a night between the sheets with someone.”

  Oh, my God. Do I really look like that? It didn’t seem like it when I studied my reflection this morning.

  I haven’t had a night of sex, but I definitely needed it. I just sent a few naughty texts to Kerry, until two in the morning. As a result, I have huge, purple bags under my eyes and the sensation of his hands all over me which I can’t seem to shake. Yet he didn’t even touch me; all it took were a few words. I barely slept at all – my body was as agitated and excited as my mind. I just lay there, dreaming of forbidden pleasures.
<
br />   “Nope, no meetings. Home, Netflix, wine – maybe one glass too many. That’s why I look so tired.”

  “Mmm… What about that expression? That smile?”

  “Maybe I’m just happy because it’s the start of a new week.”

  She looks at me, unconvinced.

  “There’s not long now until the tournament,” I say, swiftly changing the subject in an attempt to distract her, “and I have a good feeling.”

  “Because of the new coach?”

  “He’ll prove himself useful.”

  “Let’s hope so. We really need that prize money.”

  “We’ll get the money,” I say, confidently.

  Kerry promised me that we’d win and, for some ridiculous reason, I believe him, blindly.

  Niall

  Tell me you’ve thought about it.

  I’m at school, Kerry.

  Does that mean you’ll think about it when you’re at home? Alone?

  I’m not going to reply to you anymore while I’m at work.

  Because my messages make you uncomfortable?

  Because they remind me of all the reasons I had to draw up an agreement with you.

  I laugh as my sister glances at me, questioningly.

  “Oh, sorry – you were saying?”

  “Tell me why I had to come and have breakfast with you this morning.”

  “Because I had nothing better to do.”

  “Did you have a little fight with your best friend?”

  That’s actually partly true, even though we didn’t exactly fight. Let’s just say that I don’t take too kindly to people who try to snatch the things I want out from under my nose.

  “I just wanted to spend a bit of time with you.”

  And that’s true.

  “Why?”

  “Because I’ve been an awful brother.”

  “Actually, you’ve barely been a brother at all.”

  “You’re right.”

  “You didn’t even come to my graduation day when I left school.”

  “I’m sorry. I’ve been really shitty: to you, to Mum and Dad, and most of all to my own daughter. But I’m trying to make up for it, now.”

  I’ve invited Rian out this morning. She wasn’t sure at first – she doesn’t trust me at all, and for good reason. I wouldn’t trust me if I were her. But, in the end, she gave in and agreed to have breakfast with me; her first class isn’t until eleven o’clock, and I only had to take Skylar to school. So now we’re sitting outside a café at the docks, enjoying the lazy autumnal sun.

  My sister is young: almost as young as my daughter. But she has a good head on her shoulders, just as my parents have always told me, probably to highlight just how different we are. She finished school two years ago, a year early, then launched full-time into her yoga training. She wanted to be an instructor, have her own gym, help people to find their own peace and stay in shape – not just physically, but mentally, too. She never wanted to do anything else: she’s always been a passionate about it. She hasn’t stopped practicing since the very first time she ever saw someone contorting their body on TV. She went to lessons, then took a course that would allow her to qualify as an instructor herself.

  I only know all this because my parents told me; luckily, I listen sometimes.

  We’ve never had any kind of relationship, me and Rian. The huge age gap doesn’t help, and the distance between us took care of the rest. Rian was born when my mother was forty-two – I don’t know whether she was planned, or just a miracle from the gods, but it didn’t seem my place to ask. I had already moved out; I had my own life. I wanted nothing to do with a baby or a toddler, let alone with a teenager later on. And now I find myself sitting across from a woman I barely recognise: someone unique, special. Apparently, everyone around me here is special in some way – unlike yours truly. Yet, not long ago, I thought I was the unique one. I thought I was different.

  “I grew up an only child,” Rian says, her tone calm, measured. She isn’t pissed off with me – she’s merely stating what happened, how she felt. “I’d have liked to have had someone on my side, to help me out whenever I fucked up.”

  “I don’t think you ever fucked up, Rian.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself, Niall. You’re not the only one who can get yourself into trouble.”

  “I don’t doubt it, but it looks to me like you turned out perfectly fine, without my support. I mean, look at you: you’re eighteen years old and you’ve already moved out. You have a job, you have…a life.”

  “You make it sound so boring. I can go out and have fun, too, you know.”

  “I’m sure you can.”

  “You make it sound like you didn’t have a life.”

  “I did.” I don’t know whether I feel defeated or bitter.

  “Do you miss it?”

  “At first, when Skylar came to live with me, I had to give up my job and become a father… Yeah, I guess I missed it all. My freedom, the fact that I could say whatever I wanted and watch anything on TV. The women…” I sigh, sadly. “Then Skylar started getting into more and more trouble. She got kicked out of school, lost all her friends, lost…everything. I was all she had left.”

  My sister smiles at me, for the first time since I moved back to town.

  “And she couldn’t lose me, too.”

  “You really care about that girl, don’t you?”

  I throw a glance at her, wary.

  “I thought you only cared about yourself.”

  “I used to.”

  “Then what changed? Where has this revelation come from?”

  “I don’t know: maybe it’s coming back here, to my roots. Seeing the place I grew up in, the people who surrounded me. My family…”

  “Don’t tell me you actually like living here?”

  “I’m starting to miss my old life less and less. And maybe I am starting to like being here. I just want Skylar to like it, too.”

  “Loving these places is part of us. It’s part of who we are, and the way we grew up. But for an outsider, moving here from the city, it’s totally different; especially if you’re fifteen years old.”

  “What about you?” I ask her, curious. “Have you never thought about leaving?”

  “We’re not all like you, Niall. Some of us are happy with ourselves as we are.”

  “That stuff… All the meditation… It works, then? It’s not all just bullshit?”

  “That depends. It works if you want it to work.”

  “How the fuck can you be so wise? You’re only eighteen!”

  “I’m not wise: I’m just happy with who I am.”

  “Maybe I should try some of that stuff, too.”

  “You’re not ready.”

  “Oh, no?”

  She shakes her head.

  She’s definitely right.

  “So, tell me…” She lifts her sunglasses onto her head and scrutinises me. “Have you found out what’s going on between Hayes and the head teacher?”

  I knew this would come up at some point. I’m starting to think that she only agreed to this breakfast so that she could wheedle information out of me.

  “Why do you care so much?”

  “Well, you dragged me into it on Friday night.”

  “It looked to me like you dragged yourself into it.”

  “Was I supposed to let you go alone, with a teenager?”

  Sometimes I think that she forgets that she’s barely more than a teenager herself.

  “There’s nothing going on between Hayes and the head teacher.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I have my sources.”

  “Reliable sources?”

  “Very reliable.”

  Actually, I didn’t even ask her what happened between them; I just asked her to wait until the end of the tournament, not to go on any more dates. But if there were something going on between them, she’d have told me. Right?

  I glance at my phone, sitting face-up on the table. She still ha
sn’t replied yet. I don’t even know if she’s considering it, or whether she’s just playing with me. Or maybe she simply doesn’t believe me, doesn’t trust me. Maybe she doesn’t think I could be genuinely interested. And I wouldn’t blame her.

  “You have to get in there first, Niall,” my sister says suddenly, dragging my attention back to her. “Hayes may not be the best guy ever, but he’s still a fireman – he has his ways. And his, er… charm.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Let’s just say there have been a few rumours going around about his…skills.”

  “What kind of skills?”

  She looks flatly at me, one eyebrow raised.

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah.”

  What a bastard. And my only friend.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Maybe you’re forgetting that I teach in a gym used almost exclusively by women.”

  True…

  “What about you?” I ask her. “What do you think?”

  “About what?”

  “About Hayes.”

  “Are you seriously asking me that?”

  “Well, you’re a woman, aren’t you? Tell me what you think of him.”

  “He’s not my type.”

  “That’s it?”

  “You’ve only been my brother for about ten minutes, Niall.”

  “I’ve been your brother for eighteen years.”

  “Depends on how you look at it.”

  “So you’re not going to tell me?”

  “No.”

  I huff.

  “You should ask the woman who’s actually interested.”

  “About Tyler’s skills?”

  “About whether she’s interested in anyone else.”

  I nod, smiling.

  “And whether she’s interested in you.”

  Niall

  Can I ask you something?

  No, I still haven’t thought about it.

  Not that.

  Oh. Okay, then.

  What do you think of Tyler Hayes?

  In what way?

  I think about this for a few moments, and decide that it’s better to cut straight to the chase:

  Have you heard the rumours about him?

  Silence.

  I wait, perching on the rim of the bath, my knees jiggling nervously.