by Sabrina Kane
Falling for Jillian Ashley
A Carlsbad Village Lesbian Romance
Sabrina Kane
Copyright © 2021 Sabrina Kane
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
ISBN-13: 9781234567890
ISBN-10: 1477123456
Cover design by: Sabrina Kane
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309
Printed in the United States of America
To C.
So proud of you! Good luck with your new nursing career and your new adventure in another state!
About Jillian Ashley
Jillian Ashley lives in sunny Oceanside, California
Books by Jillian Ashley
The Fordham Road Fling
The Queens from Kings County
Crossing the Verrazzano
Rego Park Romance
Falling for Jillian Ashley
by Sabrina Kane
Chapter 1
Amy put her Kindle down, sat back against her headboard and let out a breath.
“Oh my God,” she said to the empty room. “That was awesome!”
That was Jillian Ashley’s latest lesfic novel, Rego Park Romance, book four of her best-selling Gotham Lesbians series, a collection of wlw romances about the intersecting lives of a group of New York City lesbians. Each book takes place primarily in one of New York’s five boroughs and this one took place in Queens. It featured two rival softball players whose teams meet for the city championship, played at a local ballfield in the titular neighborhood. It was one of Amy’s favorite tropes: enemies to lovers, and it delivered big-time. All of Jillian’s books delivered, quite frankly. Jillian Ashley was Amy’s favorite lesfic author—hell, Jillian Ashley was practically every gay woman’s favorite lesfic author—and each new release filled Amy with excitement and anticipation. Rego Park Romance was close to her best work yet, topped only by Fordham Road Fling, the series’ Bronx-based novel. Not only were the characters well-developed and the pacing good, but the sex scenes were out-of-this-world hot. In fact, Amy’s center was still reacting to the last sex scene in the book, about ten pages from the end. Amy was certain she hadn’t blinked once while reading it and she knew she’d have to take care of the throbbing between her legs if she wanted any hope of getting to sleep tonight. Such was the danger of reading a Jillian Ashley novel this close to bedtime.
However, that could wait—though not for long, she knew.
Managing to ignore her arousal, she reached over and picked up her MacBook from the nightstand, placing it on her lap. She took a brief glance at her bedside clock. It was only just past nine p.m.; still early. Her alarm would wake her up for work at seven the next morning. As long as she was asleep by ten, no later than eleven, she’d be fine. Midnight tops.
She opened her website in edit mode and began editing her blog, Lesbeing, first, hammering out a glowing review of Rego Park Romance, being sure to also link the review to a written interview Jillian had agreed to do for Amy last year after the third book in the Gotham series was released. For that interview, Amy had emailed Jillian the questions and Jillian had sent back her written responses.
Naturally, Amy had wanted to conduct that interview over the phone but Jillian had begged off, writing that she was painfully shy and would probably come off sounding like an idiot or something. Disappointed, Amy had nonetheless understood. She knew that a lot of writers were introverted and shy and she certainly didn’t want to ask Jillian to do anything that would make the author uncomfortable.
But since the release of that book and this one, Amy had branched out into podcasting. Lesbeing—the Podcast, had just released its twenty-fourth episode, a discussion with a professor of Lesbian Studies at UCLA about the changing representations of women in contemporary cinema. Previous episodes had included topics ranging from lesbian sex tips to real-life examples of common lesfic tropes. She had also produced several episodes featuring interviews with some of the top lesfic authors in the world, women who were always more than happy to discuss their work and the world of lesfic in general.
Except Jillian Ashley.
“Jillian’s the holy grail, apparently,” Susan Lyons-Dell, another popular lesfic author, had told Amy just before their podcast interview began several months ago. “You’re not the only one with a podcast who’s tried to get her on their show, but Jillian turns them all down. Don’t know why. I mean, any publicity is good publicity, right?”
Susan had even added that perhaps not appearing on podcasts was part of Jillian’s marketing strategy. After all, the reclusiveness of Jillian Ashley was actually a popular topic in the lesfic community, Susan had pointed out.
Sitting on her bed now, Amy sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and thought for a moment.
She wanted to do something special for the twenty-fifth episode of Lesbeing—the Podcast. It was a milestone—a quarter of the way to one-hundred!—and should be celebrated by having a truly special guest on. Jillian Ashley would be such a special guest, and, damn it, Amy was going to have her even if she had to beg.
She picked up her Kindle again and paged ahead to the About the Author page at the end of Rego Park Romance.
Her eyes went first to the photo, which, unlike a typical author’s photo, did not show the smiling face of the woman whose book you just finished. Instead, it showed a taken-from-behind shot of a shapely brunette woman on the beach, looking out at the sea. Even from behind, the woman seemed young and she was certainly very fit. But completely anonymous.
Amy already had Jillian’s bio memorized—an easy task given how it only contained one line and that she used the same bio for all of her books.
Jillian Ashley lives in sunny Oceanside, California.
Oceanside.
The next town north from Carlsbad.
A town so close to Amy’s apartment that she could actually walk to it.
That fact had always somewhat excited Amy. One of her favorite daydreams was imagining encountering Jillian in a meet-cute fashion somewhere and the author falling madly in lust with her. They’d end up back at Jillian’s place, not able to get their clothes off fast enough; then, in the bedroom, Amy would push Jillian down on the bed, totally top her, look into her eyes and say, “Chapter 25 in The Fordham Road Fling. Do that to me!”
Putting the Kindle down again, Amy opened her Gmail account. Tomorrow was Friday and should be an easy day. The North County Women’s Rights Group, the non-profit Amy was assistant director of, usually wasn’t terribly busy on Fridays; ergo, Amy felt like she could do with less sleep tonight. Which was good, because she planned on spending however long it took crafting the most perfect email to Jillian Ashley, trying to convince the author to be a guest on her podcast. As long as she was asleep by midnight. One o’clock, tops.
After that, seriously, she really needed to take care of what was happening between her legs.
Chapter 2
Sally put her Kindle down and stretched out on her sofa, easing the muscles in her long legs because she had been sitting still for a while.
“Awesome!” she exclaimed to the ceiling of her one-bedroom condo.
She had just finished Jillian Ashley’s newest lesfic book, Rego Park Romance and, a
s usual, she absolutely wanted more. Seriously, why couldn’t the woman write faster? Sally knew of lesfic authors who practically churned out a new book every month. Granted, they weren’t very good and the writing proficiency was somewhere around the grade-school level, but still…
No, no…Jillian Ashley was an artist, Sally reminded herself now, and artists take time to craft quality work. Sally would have to be fine with waiting the few months it might take Jillian to put out the final book in the Gotham Lesbians series.
But, seriously, Jillian couldn’t write just a little faster? She made a note to ask her that—jokingly—on Twitter. Jillian was one of several lesfic authors Sally followed on that platform and Sally wasn’t above doing a little fangirling every time she finished one of Jillian’s books, sending Jillian a DM to say how much she enjoyed it. Sometimes, Jillian even responded, just to say thanks for her kind words, which always made Sally super excited.
Sitting up, she poured herself another glass of wine and then pulled her black hair into a ponytail. It was Friday night and so a little wine headache tomorrow wouldn’t matter.
Just as she was about to take a sip, her phone rang. It was her bestie, Lisa.
“Did you finish it?” Lisa asked in lieu of hello.
“I did! Did you?”
“I did!”
Both women then squealed.
Whenever a new Jillian Ashley was released, Sally and Lisa always read it together, calling or texting each other along the journey with comments about the book.
“Oh my god! That last sex scene!” Lisa exclaimed.
“I know, right!” Sally agreed. “Like, thanks for making me need to change my underwear, Jillian!”
Both women broke into fits of laughter. Lisa and her had known each other since the fifth-grade and had been best friends ever since, that’s why she felt fine admitting how aroused she had gotten reading the book’s final hot passages.
“And I know Jillian always delivers with the happy endings,” Lisa said, “but fuck she had me thinking they were really going to break up.”
“She’s so good at that!” Sally added. “But she also knows if she doesn’t give us an HEA, her fans will hunt her down and slay her.”
“God, I can’t believe she lives in Oceanside,” Lisa said after a moment. “Like, literally, the next town over.”
“I know! Like, can we stalk her somehow?”
“Probably if we knew her real name,” Lisa mused. “But you just know that Jillian Ashley is a pen name. I mean, it totally sounds made up.”
“Totally,” Sally agreed.
“Unless…”
“Unless what?”
“Unless her name really is Jillian Ashley and she knows how made up that sounds and so she just assumes people will think it’s a pen name and so would never bother trying to look for her under her real name which sounds like a pen name.”
That made sense to Sally.
“Yes, it’s genius!”
“So, how do we find out, like, where she lives and where she hangs out?”
Sally laughed.
“Wow! You want to do, like, real stalking!”
“Not creeper stalking! Just, you know, accidentally bump into her at her favorite coffeeshop or something. We can systematically visit each and every café in Oceanside! How many can there be?”
“Stand in line behind her at Starbucks,” Sally suggested, picking up the thread, “and when she gives her name to the cashier, say something like, ‘Oh my God, what a coincidence! Our favorite writer is named Jillian! Jillian Ashley!’”
“Right! And then she’ll say, ‘But I’m Jillian Ashley.’”
“Right! And then we’ll say, ‘No way! Oh my God, we’re huge fans!’”
“Right! And then she’ll say, ‘Thank you! That means so much! And you two are super cute!”
“Right! And then we’ll all sit and have our coffees together and then end up back at her place for a threesome!”
“Exactly!” Lisa exclaimed. “I mean, I’d rather just have her to myself but you’re my BFF, so I can share.”
The two of them broke into fits of laughter again.
“So, what kind of coffee do you think Jillian orders?” Lisa asked.
Sally thought a moment.
“Hmm…I think she’s a caramel latte girl,” she decided.
“I get the caramel,” Lisa said, “but I think she’s a mocha chick. Like with whipped cream with the caramel drizzled on top.”
“And chocolate shavings.”
“Yes, good one! And I bet she adds a shot of espresso.”
Sally nodded.
“Ooh, yeah! She needs that extra caffeine for all those late-night writing sessions. And I bet her sex life is off the charts! I mean, she’s the woman who wrote Chapter 25.”
“God, yes,” Lisa groaned. “Anyway, her sex life has to be better than mine. I’ve never had a dry spell like this, Sal!”
“Preaching to the choir,” Sally replied with a deep sigh. When was the last time she had sex? It would have been Orla, which means…before Thanksgiving? It was April now!
“I’m doing the same thing,” Lisa said after Sally had been quiet for a few moments. “Figuring out how long it’s been.”
Sally laughed.
“I don’t understand,” she then whined. “We’re hot! Why are we not having sex, like, every night?”
It really did confuse her. Sally knew she was a desirable woman: lithe and long-legged, she had a runway model’s height of five-ten, with the physique and looks to match. Growing up, she had even been encouraged by many to explore modeling as a career but her natural shyness made the idea of showing up for cattle call auditions nauseating. She was much happier as a graphic designer.
And Lisa was flat-out gorgeous as well. Not nearly as tall as Sally, she was curvier and had an exotic beauty created by a Chinese mother and a Native-American father.
How they both didn’t have girlfriends now was a mystery.
“Anyway, I’m not going to dwell on it,” Lisa sighed. “Otherwise, I’ll reach for the tequila and you know that never leads to good things. Listen, I gotta go…I promised Mom I’d come over to watch the new season of American Horror Story with her.”
“Fun,” Sally said, though it sounded anything but. She had never taken to that show personally. She and Lisa promised to speak tomorrow and ended the call.
No sooner had she put her phone back down on the sofa cushion when it rang again. This time, it was her best male friend, Max.
“Hey, babe!” she greeted enthusiastically. She always loved hearing from Max.
She heard him sigh deeply.
“How many times do I have to tell you?” he said. “Having a lesbian call me ‘babe’ is weird. Cut it out.”
“Sorry, babe!” Sally replied, knowing he could hear the huge smile on her face in her voice.
Max sighed again.
“God, you are such a child sometimes,” he murmured.
“Well, compared to you, I am,” she rejoined before adding, “Babe.”
Last month she had helped Max celebrate his fifty-first birthday. That had been three weeks after he had helped her celebrate her twenty-eighth.
“So, what’s up?” she asked.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” Max inquired.
“Um…nothing. Which means I’m all yours.”
“Excellent. I’d like to buy you lunch, talk about something.”
Sally felt alarmed. The last time someone Max’s age had told her that he needed to talk to her about something, it was her Dad because her grandmother had died.
“Is everything okay?” she asked.
“Everything is fine. No one died and I just had a physical last week during which my doctor declared me immortal. So, stop panicking.”
“Okay, okay. So, are you going to give me a hint what this is about…?”
Max paused. Finally, he said, “Look, I’d rather just do it tomorrow, alright? Much simpler.”
Max
then told her he had to leave to run some errands and that he would text her tomorrow morning and they could decide on lunch plans.
After the call ended, Sally tried to figure out how to spend the rest of her girlfriend-less night.
Chapter 3
On Saturday morning, Amy was with her best friend Rachel, waiting in line at their favorite coffeeshop, La Vida Mocha. It was a chilly morning and so Amy, born and bred in Southern California, was dressed in her winter jacket, a slouchy beanie hat and black fleece-lined leggings covering legs that would normally be bare because of the casual flare dress she was wearing. Rachel, on the other hand, a transplant from New England who had met Amy freshman year at UCLA, was dressed as if it was the middle of summer in a fitted tee and nothing warmer than skinny jeans on her legs.
“Hey, Amy!” Vanessa, the owner of La Vida Mocha greeted her when it was their turn to order.
Amy smiled wide behind her mask.
“Hi, Vanessa,” she gushed like a teenager. She always gushed like a teenager when she got to speak to Vanessa. Vanessa was every lesbian’s dream. Even straight women went weak at the knees looking at Vanessa, Amy was sure. How could they not? For the longest time, Amy had harbored fantasies of somehow ending up with the stunning coffeeshop owner but those never came to pass and now Vanessa was engaged to Megan, some bigshot I.T. exec who also owned the art gallery next door to La Vida Mocha.
“My usual, please, and also a caramel latte,” Amy ordered for her and Rachel. Whenever they went out for coffee together they took turns buying and today was her turn.
“Coming up,” Vanessa said, punching in the order on the POS and taking Amy’s debit card. She then turned to Chloë, one of her assistants, behind her. “A caramel latte, please, Chloë, and Amy’s usual.” Turning back to Amy, she asked, “Are you staying to work on your blog?”