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Krissy laughed and rested her head against Becca’s.

“Sweetie,” she began, “I feel so sorry for you.”

“No, you don’t,” Becca said, petulantly. “You like being the BFF of Lesbian Wonder Woman and making lesbian jokes about pies.”

Krissy laughed harder now.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “How can I make it up to you?”

Becca lifted her head off Krissy’s shoulder and looked at her. Krissy licked her lips involuntarily. Becca’s lips were so close…

“Come with me to the press conference,” Becca said.

“What?”

“Please? Skip volleyball today—you all suck anyway without me and Rachel. Come to the press conference and give me moral support.”

Krissy liked this idea. It sounded fun. She’d never been to a press conference before, let alone one starring her best friend.

“Count me in,” she said.

Becca let out a relieved breath.

“Oh, thank god!” she replied. “Thank you!” She hugged Krissy and Krissy’s core started flooding. Their braless breasts—separated only by the thin fabrics of the shirts they were wearing, were now pressing against each other. Krissy’s clit went bam!

When they separated, Becca said, “Afterwards, I’ll buy you drinks and then let you have some more of my pie.”

Krissy quirked an eyebrow.

“There is so totally a lesbian joke in there,” she said.

Chapter 9

“Becca!”

“Becca!”

“Becca!”

Becca ground her teeth.

Here she was, in her dress uniform, at an official fire department press conference and these journalists were acting as if they were interviewing an average citizen they pulled off the street. Did they think her uniform was a costume? Something she just threw on because it was laundry day and she had nothing else to wear?

It’s Chief Roberts!

Carlsbad’s City Hall was not a grand structure; the press briefing room an even less grand enclosure inside of it, probably because hardly anything of note ever happened in this town. Becca, along with Chief Comstock—also in dress uniform—was seated at a folding table in a cheerless room with beige-colored walls and a drop ceiling. Some of the ceiling tiles were stained with rusty splotches from water leaks.

Before them, were about twenty journalists, seated on folding chairs, all clamoring for her attention. There was an equal amount of photographers. They were squatted on the floor right in front of the table, the constant shutter clicks from their cameras sounding a like swarm of alien insects. Arrayed in the rear of the room were video cameramen from TV stations. On their cameras, Becca recognized logos from stations in San Diego and Los Angeles. Others simply bore the logos of one of the big three TV networks in America: ABC, CBS or NBC.

And there was Krissy.

Her friend was sitting unobtrusively in a chair in the back of the room. She was dressed in a gray pencil skirt and soft-pink blouse with an open neckline and a white cami top underneath. A string of pearls was draped around her neck, just long enough to lead the eye towards the bit of cleavage teasingly revealed by the scoop neck of the cami.

Becca’s eyes kept returning to Krissy—and not only because Krissy looked really cute today. Rather, Krissy was like a safe port in this storm of craziness. Every time Becca’s eyes sought her out, Krissy gave her an encouraging smile which warmed Becca’s insides while also reminding her that eventually this would all be over.

“Becca!”

“Becca!”