My Calling (9 page)

“It’s still just a free burrito!” she yells after me and I chuckle. If this isn’t sexual tension at its highest, I don’t know what is.

Saylor

Ever since that kiss the other night, I seem to spend all my time with Beck rambling on and on about nothing at all. It’s like the man is a force field for my hormones and the second he’s within an arm’s reach all my words just fly out of my mouth without any time to filter what may be said. Likewise, on the opposite end of the spectrum, Beck offers a familiarity that makes me oddly comfortable with him. In fact, I almost shared my sordid past with my ex-boyfriend but what little I know about Beck, it was probably a good idea to keep my mouth shut… for my ex’s sake.

Inhaling deeply, the aroma of my pumpkin Frappuccino hits my nose and I sigh happily. “Don’t you just love the smell of fall and Thanksgiving.”

Beck shrugs his shoulders. “Smells are smells. I don’t love or hate any of them, I just smell them.”

I turn toward him in the driver’s seat. “Seriously, Beck? You just smell them? A baby’s poopy diaper makes you feel the same way as a hot piece of chocolate cake fresh out of the oven?”

“Saylor, you think way too much.”

I scoff. “Me? I think too much? That’s hilarious, Beck, because you can’t even answer a simple question without going through a whole flowchart in your mind of possible outcomes depending on how you answer.”

He glances over in my direction. “A flowchart, huh? I never told you about that.”

I can tell by his tone that he’s teasing me and so I play along. “It’s that creepy connection we have. I know what you’re thinking without you even saying it.”

Beck seems to stiffen slightly as I say that then he shakes his head. “Yeah? What am I thinking now?”

I bite my bottom lip, debating where to take this conversation. Chickening out, I take the friendly route. “That you secretly love the smell of turkey and dressing, and even pumpkin pie, but you don’t have anywhere to celebrate Thanksgiving in a couple days.”

Beck shrugs like he always does, in a way that makes me want to punch him in the shoulder just so he can’t do it anymore. “Turkey’s okay, prefer pecan pie though.”

“Pecan pie it is then. Thanksgiving lunch will be served at two at my apartment.”

Beck looks at me as though my words were translated into German. “Excuse me?”

I roll my eyes. “We’re partners now. In the unwritten code of partners, it states that if one doesn’t have anywhere to go for a holiday then the other has to take him in.”

“Where can I read this unwritten code?”

“Duh,” I grin as I deliver my next line, “it’s unwritten. So be at my house by 1:50 and bring rolls. Can you handle that?”

Beck sighs as a call comes over the radio. “Do I really have a choice?”

“No,” I chirp happily, partly because I get to spend time outside of work with Beck again and partly because it’ll be the first Thanksgiving since Uncle Eddie died that I won’t be alone. Now, to figure out how to cook a bird…

CHAPTER 14

Saylor

This is a disaster, a complete and total disaster. Beck will be here any minute and this turkey is still hard as a rock. I’m starting to panic and that is not a good state to be in when I’m already a rambling, hot mess around that bearded man. Slamming the oven door, I jack up the temperature to 500 degrees, praying for a miracle that this bird will be finished by the time he knocks on the door. Luckily, all the other side dishes, including Beck’s pecan pie, are all finished and taste amazing if I do say so myself. Back in the day, I did all the cooking except for the turkey, that was Uncle Eddie’s job and he obviously didn’t pass that skill down to me.

Walking about ten feet, I rearrange the placements on my small kitchen table for the seventh time since I set it this morning. I move the candlesticks between the two place settings, pause then decide to ditch them. I don’t want Beck to think this is a date or anything although I really wouldn’t mind tasting his lips again.

Saylor, stop!
This is ludacris. No way, shape, or form do I want to be involved with this man. He’s emotionless, not that I want a man that cries or is totally in touch with his feelings, but I mean, he’s got to give me a little hint of how he’s feeling every now and then. He’s way too protective of me and we barely know each other. He’s rude, a rule breaker, and completely hot when doing so. Who am I kidding? I want nothing more than to seduce him right here on this teeny, tiny kitchen table instead of having pie for dessert. I sigh. I’ve spent one too many nights with Buzz Light Cheer.

A soft rapping brings me out of my vibrating, dirty thoughts. Startled, I jump and run for the front door, pausing in front of the mirror to check my appearance. My blonde hair falls over one shoulder and I try to poof it up as best I can. My eyes are outlined in black and shoot! I forgot my red lipstick, it’s my signature. Beck knocks on the door again and I’m torn between running to the bathroom and letting him in.

Too anxious to see him, I decide I can answer the door then run to the bathroom and maybe he won’t notice my nude lips. I pull open the door and Beck stands before me, looking sexy as ever in a pair of jeans and a plain white t-shirt. His tats on full display make me tingle in places I shouldn’t mention. For a brief second, deja vu hits me and I feel like I’ve done this before but that’s impossible since I only met Beck a few weeks ago. He lifts his dark eyebrows, his whole face almost hidden by his facial hair and I shake my head.

“Sorry! Come in, come in.” I step out of the way, opening the door wider. “Happy Thanksgiving.”

Beck nods, looking around my place as he enters. “Yeah, you too,” he mutters and it’s obvious he’s irritated.

I sigh, closing the door behind him. “What’s wrong?”

Beck turns around to face me, his shirt is loose but I know what’s underneath and my mind has no problem going
there
. I watch his lips as he speaks, thinking back to our kiss and barely listening to what he’s saying.

“You should really ask who’s there before you just swing open your front door. What if I was a robber?”

I scoff and hold out my hand for the bag he’s holding. “Like there’s anything to rob in this place. Besides, what are you, my dad?”

“I like your makeup without that blood red lipstick,” he comments.

My fingers touch my bare lips, shocked at his honesty and unsure what to say.

Beck reaches in the plastic grocery sack and pulls out a loaf of sandwich bread. I narrow my eyes, confused at the contents. Pointing, I ask, “What is
that
?”

“Carbs. Bread. Rolls. Whatever, it’s all the same.”

I roll my eyes, taking it from him. “Not exactly what I had in mind when I said rolls.”

Beck’s lips twitch like he wants to smile. “You’re the one that insisted I come and bring rolls.”

I walk to the kitchen, getting out a plate to arrange the ‘rolls’ on. Beck follows behind me, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms, his biceps flex and his ink rolls, creating way too much for my hormonal body to handle. Quickly, I turn away from him so I’m not distracted.

“Obviously, I’m not your father but why don’t you tell me about him?”

I sneer as I place the bread on the table. “You mean the sperm donor or the man who raised me?”

I turn around, forgetting Beck’s actual location and I run smack into his chest. His firm hands grab hold of my arms so I don’t fall. Our eyes lock briefly and he immediately lets me go.

“Both.”

Swallowing fast, I nod, walking around him and opening the oven to check on the icy igloo of poultry sitting beneath the hot lamp. Happy for the diversion from Beck’s hotness, I begin to ramble as I talk about the two male figures in my life.

“My father was a real son of a biscuit eater and my mom wasn’t much better. She was a junkie who couldn’t get clean, not even for her daughter. Eventually my dad had enough and took me one night, leaving her to OD a few years later on opium. He, himself, had a gambling addiction and sold drugs so he had money to bet with.” I shiver thinking about the people he made me hang around. “By that time I was eight and I knew what he was doing was bad. Being a simple minded kid, I told my teacher what my dad did when I was in fifth grade. He went to jail and that’s when my Uncle Eddie stepped up to raise me.”

Unable to stare at the turkey any longer, I shut the stove and stand up. Beck stands before me stoically and nods, encouraging me to continue. I take a deep breath, tears threatening to fall. Beck steps toward me, which only makes the urge to cry stronger.

“The turkey’s still frozen!” I blurt out.

Beck stops his motion toward me and cocks an eyebrow. “Who needs turkey?”

A tear slips down my cheek and I quickly wipe it away. “It’s Thanksgiving!”

Beck holds out his arm for me to take. “Well, I’m thankful to be here with you… turkey or not.”

I glance up at him, even more baffled at his actions than normal. Slowly, I reach out and take his arm. Who is this man and why do my insides feel like mush when I’m around him?

Beck

Finishing off my second piece of pecan pie, I recall that it’s every bit as delicious as when Saylor made it when she was only fourteen. Across the table, Saylor is grinning like a Cheshire cat. I drop my fork on the plate which makes a clanging noise and I rub my stuffed belly.

“Not too bad,” I comment.

Saylor giggles. “Not too bad? The only part of this meal that’s left is half that pie.”

I nod toward the stove. “And that frozen turkey.”

She narrows her eyes, frowning and throws a piece of bread in my direction. “Ha, ha, very funny.”

I grin, not fighting the unusual placement of my lips. “All kidding aside, dinner was great.”

Saylor jumps up with a grin on her face and saunters over to the kitchen where she runs water in the sink. She reminds me of a giddy puppy the way she’s wiggling her butt at my compliment. If I were standing closer, I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to lick my face to tell me she’s welcome.

I grab a few dishes off the table and walk over to Saylor, dropping them in the now soapy water. “Go sit down, I’ll do the dishes.”

Saylor turns to me with a look of disbelief on her face. “Seriously?”

Shrugging, I gently push her toward the living room. “Yeah and I even promise that I’ll replace anything I break.”

Giggling, she grabs her bottle of Mountain Dew and retreats to the couch. And because Saylor isn’t a quiet girl and can never just chill and relax, she starts to ask me about my family. I cringe as she does because I don’t want to reveal anything I don’t have to to her, like the fact that I ran away from home, joined a gang, and the only family I had until he died was her uncle.

“Not much to say about them, they all live on the opposite coast.” I pause, hoping she’ll buy it then quickly divert before she can ask any more questions. “What happened to your uncle?”

My gut wrenches just asking but it’s the first thing that pops into my mind. Then, something unbelievable happens, Saylor is silent. I drop the plate in my hand back in the suds, drying off my hands, and move to the doorway. Saylor sits on the cushions looking aloof, lost in memories that I had to drag up. I take a seat beside her, taking her hand in mine and giving a small squeeze.

Saylor shakes her head and looks over at me. “He was gunned down by some men my father hired. It was payback for me sending him to jail.”

Tears fall down her face but she isn’t exactly crying as she sits there quietly. I rub my thumb over the back of her hand, wishing I could tell her the truth, but I can’t blow my cover. Seeing her in this state, I decide to push things even further because there’s one part of her life after Eddie that I don’t know about.

“So, what happened to you? Did you get in the system?” Physical pain tears through my heart as I force Saylor to relive her past nightmare.

She shakes her head, pulling her hand out of mine and wiping away her tears. “No. I ran away.”

I swallow the lump in my throat, recalling that awful time for me. “Wh-where did you go?”

“Away, as far away as I could. I met a guy who took me in, it wasn’t an ideal situation, but it kept me out of the system. I stayed until I couldn’t take it any more then I came back home.”

Rage courses through my body as I think about some man taking care of a teenage Saylor, doing God knows what to her and traumatizing her for all things ahead of her. Then again, she has turned out pretty well all things considered. Hopefully, I’m overanalyzing and things weren’t as bad as I’m picturing. One day, I’ll find out the truth, but right now I’m not going to torture Saylor any more than I already have.

Saylor smiles through her tears and shrugs. “Whatever, it all happened for a reason because when I came back, things kind of fell into place. I was able to find an apartment that didn’t need my guardian’s signature, I got a job waiting tables, studied my tush off and got my GED. Then, I made up my mind to go to paramedic school and here I am now.”

I nod, knowing that all of that happened because I found her again. I signed off on the lease of that first god-awful apartment she lived in. I talked to the manager at the restaurant and got him to hire her. The only thing I didn’t do was help her get her GED or decide to go into this profession, those she was motivated, and able, to do on her own.

“Sailing,” I whisper, running my fingers over the script on her skin.

Saylor looks into my eyes, slightly surprised at my words. “Exactly. I listened to my uncle and decided to ‘Sail, Saylor.’”

My gaze drops down to her bare lip, void of that bright lipstick she always insists on wearing. I lift my hand, running my index finger over her bottom lip. Saylor’s mouth opens slightly and my balls tighten as I can feel the heat of her breath on my hand. Her tongue circles the tip of my finger, only intensifying the excitement going on between my legs.