Last Call by Olivia Brynn

swear that the pain had soaked through to his bone. He didn’t mind. He deserved it and maybe more. He didn’t blame Kevin one bit.
    Calloway belched and propped his beefy forearms against the scarred bar. “You know who’s afraid of the chief, don’t ya? That Jackson kid. God, that’s funny as fuck, watching him kiss ass. I sure as shit never did that when I was a probie…”
    Probie. Calloway’s voice turned into white noise as thoughts of Josie filled his mind. Coming here was a bad idea. The chances of her showing back up inside the dive were slim to none, so subjecting himself to it was idiocy. Of course she wouldn’t be there on an early Thursday evening. Still, he couldn’t help but look at the door every time it opened, and when he’d seen the jar of promotional pens on his way in, he couldn’t resist helping himself to a yellow one. Just in case.
    In case what, Layton? She obviously wants nothing to do with you. She let her brother drag him out by the scruff of his collar without a word. She didn’t even follow them outside to ask for his side of the story.
    Whenever Eric thought about that Saturday morning, he remembered her face, so full of the pain of betrayal. That expression kept his mouth shut then, and it even had prevented him from calling her over the past six days.
    Hell, he’d made sure she wouldn’t have any regrets, and she probably didn’t. She’d probably already made peace and moved on. He needed to quit thinking about her and do the same. Chances were he’d never see Josie again.
    “Swear to God. If they don’t replace those fucking BAs next fiscal year, I’m going straight to the mayor. I’m surprised no one’s suffocated trying to breathe through one of those goddamned pieces of junk. If the AC doesn’t care, he can go to hell.”
    The assistant chief was one of the few guys on the crew that really didn’t give a shit, but Eric wasn’t about to agree with Calloway. It would only spur him on. Eric’s phone vibrated in his pocket. Thank God. Anything to interrupt Calloway’s droning. He held up a finger to the guy and flipped open his phone.
    “Hello.”
    “Eric?”
    He spun around on his stool, focusing on the flashing lights of the jukebox. “Josie?”
    She laughed. “Yeah, it’s me. This is Eric Layton, right? Do I have the right number?”
    Eric grinned, ignoring the dull pain the movement caused his jaw. “If you’re trying to reach me this time, then yeah, this is the right number. How are you?”
    “I’m fine. How are you doing? I mean, I’m so sorry about what Kevin did.”
    “Kevin is a good brother. If I had a sister, I’d do the same.” Two girls at the end of the bar were doing body shots, much to the enjoyment of the group of men watching. Eric covered the phone and walked out the door.
    “You sound busy,” she said. “Why don’t I call you back later?”
    “No,” he barked, then softened his voice. “I mean, no, that’s fine. Just having a drink after work with one of the guys.”
    “You’re not drunk, are you? Need a ride home?”
    He caught a glimpse of his reflection in a storefront window. He looked like a sap. He wiped the grin off his face and spun around to face the street before it reappeared. “Yeah, I just might need a ride. You offering?”
    “Well, I do owe you, and it just so happens that I’m sober and available. Where are you?”
    Eric’s heart thumped in his ears. “I’m at this place called the Ranger. It’s a real dive. The peanuts are stale, but they have free pens.”
    “Oh God, I can’t believe you’re there.” She laughed. “I’ll have to pick you up on the corner. I don’t want to embarrass myself.”
    “You won’t take advantage of me, will you?”
    “Hm. I’m not going to promise anything.” And she disconnected.
    On the way back inside, he talked his erection down. He’d lost his barstool to an overweight man—a plumber, from the amount of ass cleavage—but he was able to find Calloway,