Excerpt of Last Call by Olivia Brynn

With the first shrill ring of his phone Eric was wide awake. He was used to interruptions, but he didn't have to like them. He swore, rolled over, searched in the dark for the ringing phone, and knocked both the latest bestseller and his watch to the carpet. He cursed again. Phone calls at--he checked the clock--two twenty in the morning could only mean a fire, and one that's bad enough to call in off- duty firefighters. Why the hell did it always have to happen on his first night off?

The love to serve unselfishly whenever I am called.

He was out of bed before the third ring.

"Hello," he barked, hiking a pair of jeans over his hips and reaching for a shirt.

He expected a similar harsh response, but rather than his chief's gruff voice, he heard a feminine giggle. "You sound funny."

What the hell? Eric pulled the phone away to look at the readout. This wasn't his chief's number. It wasn't any number he recognized. Listening again to more giggles, he sat on the edge of the bed and tried again. "Hello?"

"Helloooo," the voice sang. "Your voice is weird. I guess I woke you up huh?" More giggles.

"Who is this?"

"Thiss iss your sisser..." More musical words. "Member how you said that what I needed was to get good and drunk? Well guess whaa-haat?"

Oh Jesus. A drunk. He didn't recognize the woman's voice, so his first impulse was to snap his phone shut. On the other hand, if it turned out to be someone he knew, he'd feel like shit for hanging up.

"Shh," she whispered. "Don't tell Mom. I got a drunk on."

He smiled, adrenaline slowing, since he knew he wouldn't have to run into a burning building. "I won't tell."

She giggled. "You sound funny. Did you get a drunk on too? Oh my phone is blink-eting. Did you hear that? Was that your phone? Kevin, I'm drink. Drunk. Keeev-in! I'm drunk. I gotta tell you something too. I went to The Ranger for drinks, and you said not to go by myself and I did anyway because I'm bad! I'm bad, Kevin. I'm a bad girl. Oh! You should see what I got ... the bar had pens. For free! I got a blue one, and a pink one, and a ... hey..." he heard rustling, and he imagined her digging through a purse. "Hey! Someone stole my yellow one! Kevin, someone stole my yellow pen!"

"It's okay." Eric tried not to laugh. "We'll get you another yellow--"

"Yeah but that's not right, taking someone's pen like that. I was drinking my--hey, did you know they have a drink called a slippery nipple? It's yummy." The music in the background switched from country-western to a news report and to rock and roll before settling on hip hop, then the volume increased and she started singing along.

Sort of. She didn't seem to know the words, and Eric couldn't get one in edgewise.

A male voice came through. "Come on, sweetheart. We can't wait out here all night. Let me just call you a cab."

"No way. Huh uh. Cabs are icky." Her voice grew distant, and Eric imagined that she'd forgotten she had him on the line. Muffled sounds, and a few tones as she pushed buttons. "...and that was the last time I rode in a taxi. Gross."

"Why don't you turn off your car and let Mac drive you home?" The guy's voice practically dripped through the phone with the amount of condescension he'd poured on. "I'm sure he won't mind."

"Huh uh. You guys can go. I promise not to drive 'cause I called my big brother and he's ... was that your phone, Kevin?" Her voice was clear, obviously speaking through the mouthpiece again. "It's beeping. My phone's beeping. I think the battery is pooping out. Can you come get me? Don't tell Mom, but come get me, ‘kay? I'm waiting in my car, ‘kay? And hurry 'cause some guys are watching. I think they don't want me to wreck, or they wanna drive me, but I said no, so no ... because you know ... and remember that document-chaly we saw about the girl who went home from the bar with ... ah more beeps ... Kevin did you hear me?"

"I hear you, but..."

"Kay, 'cause almost everyone went home already, except a couple'a guys and the bar twender are staring at me. Bar twender?" She laughed. "Twender. That's a funny word. And he looks grumpy." She lowered her voice to whisper again. "Maybe he needs a drunk on too. I'll ask."

Eric heard her ask, but he couldn't decipher the reply. "Kevin's coming, mister twender twinkle twonk ... twonkley twonk... Oopsies. Blinkey beeps again. Phone's pooping, Kevin!" She sang, just before the phone went dead.

"Shit." Eric ended the call, then tried to redial. It went straight to voicemail, where the same voice--but this time level and succinct--explained that Joanne couldn't come to the phone. At least he had a name.

Lot of good that does. This Joanne would be at The Ranger bar, sitting in her car waiting for her brother Kevin who would never come. He stared at his phone until the keyboard dimmed.

He could call her a cab.

No, she'd refuse it, thinking Kevin was on his way. He could call The Ranger, and explain...

No, one of the “guys watching” would end up taking her home. For some reason that bothered him. Eric didn't have a sister, but if he did, he wouldn't want her climbing into a car in her condition with whoever "Mac" was. A complete stranger taking a drunk woman home? That's asking for trouble.

He pulled on a T-shirt and was at the front door before he stopped to think. He'd be a complete stranger taking the drunk woman home.

He snorted, and pulled the door shut behind him. I can trust me.