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Charlotte still picks up Shona’s calls, these days. It’s a matter of professionalism, and it was what Shona’d wanted, after all - to be in business together. To not have feelings. Shona calls about budgets, about potential clients, about the leave she’s taking to go on her honeymoon, and Charlotte picks up. Every time. Including this one.
“I’m not in the office,” she says, distractedly putting the call on speakerphone while she tosses her coat into the laundry basket. She’d gone in two hours earlier than usual to catch up on work, and it’s no easy feat covering for her only other colleague while she’s away for two weeks and they’re seeing a surge in clients after Jim’s Business Pioneer article backfired on him and put them in the spotlight. By six o’clock her brain’d been fried for the day; all Charlotte wants to do after her commute home is put her feet up in bed, stuff her face with ice cream, and rest. Shona’s work worries will have to wait until tomorrow.
There’s a pause over the line, long and heavy with words Shona’s not saying, but before Charlotte can check in, she replies, “I know.”
Charlotte stops before a practiced, polished reply can roll off her tongue. Shona sounds… different. And Charlotte knows different, when it comes to her - after all this time. After everything they’ve been through. She shouldn’t care; she wishes she didn’t. Mostly. “You okay? What's wrong?”
“I,” Shona starts, then exhales, crackly through the phone line. “Charlotte.” Something prickles along the back of Charlotte’s neck, hot and unpleasant. “I was thinking about you.”
It takes Charlotte a full ten seconds to keep a hold on herself - to bite down the sharp snarl of rage that curls beneath her ribcage, stealing her breath. To pretend it’s just anger, and not a familiar hurt flooding her veins, bruised and bittersweet, the kind of hurt she’s only ever felt with Shona. “Don’t. Don’t say we’re ‘in business’ and need to ‘not have feelings’, and then do this. On your honeymoon. You don’t know how fucked up that is, Shona, but I’m not afraid to say it.”
“I’m not,” Shona interrupts. Her voice cracks, and Charlotte hears another exhale, short and explosive, before she continues. “I’m not on my honeymoon.”
Confusion gets added to the mix of anger and pain; Charlotte can feel a headache beginning to radiate from her temples. “What, did you lie to me and Julie to take your leave?”
“No,” Shona stresses, unhappy. “I didn’t, I wouldn’t - no. I am in Ireland, it’s just - I’m alone.” She stops for another agonisingly long beat. When she speaks again, she sounds shakier, hoarse, but sure. “I didn’t marry Vish. I called it all off.”
Charlotte feels her heart skip a beat, against her will. “What?”
“Three days ago. Yeah. I told him I couldn’t, and I gave the ring back, and I let Aine yell at me for half a day, and I just - ran.”
“Shona,” Charlotte starts; Shona’s sob, soft and helpless, stays her words. “I couldn’t, Charlotte. I thought of you - I couldn’t stop thinking about you - and I had to. I just couldn’t lie to myself any more. And I know it’s awful, I’m awful, and you didn’t ask for any of this, but I’m here now, and being here, alone, feels - free, and lonely, and - all I can think of is you.”
Part of Charlotte - a big part; the rational part that takes her to therapy every fortnight and puts Trust Together first and told Shona off in their office after the Business Pioneer interview and didn’t back down - wants to call Shona a coward, which she is. Wants to tell her that she’s cruel, she’s selfish, and unprofessional to boot, and to fix herself before she comes back and goes back to pretending everything’s fine in her head, fine between them. She should, and hang up, and enjoy the rest of her night as planned, recuperating in bed and worrying about absolutely nothing else.
But - and of course there’s a but, and Charlotte wishes it was a more intelligent rebuttal, but it is what it is - it’s Shona.
It’s Shona.
“Why did you call me?” Charlotte asks, even though she already knows the answer. It’s not their first time doing this, but Charlotte doesn’t like thinking about it - every memory from Before tainted by belated confessions, Shona’s lies casting a shadow over everything they shared. The nights they were in their own homes, their own beds, when Charlotte came with her vibe against her clit and Shona’s voice rasping in her ear, never knowing until weeks later that she wouldn’t be sleeping alone. But Shona’s alone now, and she gasps, “Charlotte,” from miles away, and Charlotte resigns herself to a losing battle. “Tell me, Sho,” she says, while she undoes her blouse and slips a hand under her bra to touch herself. Slow and easy, not rushing things. Waiting for Shona’s reply, in that sweet, broken, familiar tone. “I was thinking about you. Wanted to hear your voice.”
“Yeah? I’m here now,” Charlotte replies, keeping her voice deliberately low, just the way Shona likes. “And you can tell me exactly what you were thinking about.”
Shona’s breathing is a raspy staccato, and Charlotte can see it all in her mind’s eye - Shona sprawled in an oversized hotel bed, cellphone awkwardly held to her ear while she slides a hand between her legs, fingertips wet with her own slick. “Your hands,” she whispers. “Your fingers, inside me. You’re - ah. You’re filling me, Charlotte.”
“So wet for me.” It’s so easy to slip into this, the warmth overtaking her, a pleasant buzz down every nerve ending. Charlotte doesn’t bother removing her pants, just reaches past the waistband to circle her clit. She knows she’s dripping but she doesn’t push inside, wanting to last. “You’re soaked, aren’t you? Could make you come just like that. My hand inside you, sucking on your clit, just right there.” Shona whines, clearly close; Charlotte doesn’t stop. “So wet I could just slide right out, push into your ass instead.”
Shona gasps, reedy, and it peters off into a ragged moan. Charlotte hears a soft shuffle, fabric rustling, and imagines Shona turning on her side, legs parted in a better angle, rubbing herself, hard and frantic. Charlotte aches with how badly she wants to be there, to close her eyes and reopen them in that hotel room in Ireland, Shona’s body slack beneath hers, offering herself up to Charlotte, anything she wants. “I’d work you open. Two fingers, Sho, spread wide for me. And my mouth on your cunt, feeling you so wet against my tongue. Could you come like that?” Charlotte knows the answer, knows what Shona looks like naked in her bed, shuddering to orgasm against Charlotte’s mouth, clenching around her fingers. What Shona sounds like when they’re face to face, instead of her voice warped over the line, panting, “Charlotte, tell me - please -“
“I’m touching myself,” Charlotte says, an assurance. “Thinking about you, listening to you.” She thinks about taking the two steps she needs to get a dildo, or her vibe, to get closer to the edge, but there’s something about falling apart to nothing but her fingers against her clit and Shona moaning in her ear that makes her throat go dry. She closes her eyes, blocking out everything but the sounds Shona’s making. Her voice sounds further away now and Charlotte thinks about Shona’s phone, lying untouched on the mattress while Shona fucks herself on her fingers, everything else forgotten. “Need more,” Charlotte hears, almost unintelligible, and replies, “of course you do. So greedy.” Shona always has been, could spend (and has spent) an entire day in Charlotte’s apartment begging to be fucked on every surface. “When you’re home, Sho,” she adds, aware that it’s a promise. “My apartment. Or yours. Or the office, bent over your desk so you can feel every inch of my cock inside you.”
“Close,” Shona pants. “Charlotte.” Charlotte’s heard Shona come enough times to know when she does, and lets her cries wash over her while she pushes herself to her own orgasm. She takes her time, enjoys it, feeling a little fuck-drunk when her senses return. She listens, quiet, to Shona’s gasps easing back to normal over speakerphone, until their breaths finally sync.
“I’ll be back in a week,” Shona finally says. There’s a gentleness in her words, something genuine that Charlotte hasn’t heard in a while. “We can - talk? When I’m back. If you want that.”
“Of course I do, Shona,” Charlotte says softly. She holds her phone close in one hand, gathers up the sheets in the other, grounding herself with a clenched fist. Thinks about what it’ll be like to have Shona beside her again, smiling, and meaning it this time, honest, and belonging to nobody but Charlotte; nobody but herself. “I’ll see you soon.”
Shona makes a soft, pleased sound; Charlotte can hear her smile, and they’re an entire isle apart but it’s still the closest she’s felt to Shona in a while. It’s a good feeling. Shona says, “I’ll see you,” and that’s a promise, too. This time, Charlotte has faith she’ll keep it.