My Calling (6 page)

My long, blonde curls bounce over my shoulders as I skip into work. The time with Buzz definitely fixed the hangover I was suffering from and it’s like I’m a whole new woman now. Who knew a man who I know virtually nothing about could make me so horny? Then again, when am I not and it
has
been awhile since I’ve gotten any action from the real deal. I sigh, counting back in my head how many months it’s been.

Adjusting my backpack on my shoulder, I pull open the heavy glass door to the headquarters and waltz inside. The aromatic coffee in my hand warms my skin and I hope Beck will accept it as a peace offering for the awful cup I gave him this morning. And, well, it might also be an excuse to talk to him, too.

I wiggle my fingers and wave at the ladies in the office as I make my way to the locker room. The grin on my lips is ridiculous but I’m still running on a high from my little silver friend and the anticipation of seeing Beck again. I swing open the door to the locker room and stop frozen in my tracks.

A pair of navy BDU pants are slung low on Beck’s hips and that’s all the clothing that he wears. Beautiful ink is scripted across his shoulder blades in a tribal design. His perfectly sculpted back muscles ripple as he digs in his locker. The topless Beck show is about to end which will totally kill my buzz if I don’t stop him.

Thinking fast, or more like not thinking at all, I cross the room quietly. Reaching out, I touch his back, my fingers rolling over the designs. Beck jumps, startling me as I do. The peace offering coffee slips through the lid of the cup and lands on his skin leading to a string of four-letter words out of Beck’s mouth. Quickly, I set the cup on the bench and grab the first piece of cloth I can find.

“I’m so sorry!” I mumble, trying to wipe the hot liquid off his skin.

Beck grabs the cloth from me and yanks it again. “This is my fuckin’ work shirt.”

I glance down and recognize the light blue material, feeling like a total idiot. “Oh, Beck, I’m sorry! I brought you the coffee to make up for the one I made this morning and for taking care of me last night. I didn’t mean to spill it all over you—”

“While you were fondling my skin?” Beck’s eyes are dark, not hiding his irritation at all.

My cheeks get warm very fast and I shake my head. “I-I wasn’t fondling your skin. I was just in awe of the artwork.” I’m surprised that I managed to get that out without stumbling too much.

Beck stares at me, his chiseled chest rises and falls gently with each breath he takes. It seems as though he’s trying to reign his temper in, maybe by counting to ten, and I find myself desperately wishing that I knew him better to know if that is in fact what he’s doing. The awkward silence makes my eyes wander down to his pecs where the tribal design overflows from the back. I clench my fist to keep from reaching out and touching him again.

“You don’t owe me anything, your coffee was fine,” he finally says. He leans over and reaches in his locker, pulling out a brown sack. “I know Mountain Dew is more your style, but Coke will be better for your hangover.”

My face burns even brighter and I bite my lip so I don’t ramble about my own hangover cure that included dirty thoughts of him. I slowly take the bag as he makes a conscious effort to ensure that we don’t touch as he passes it off to me.

“Thanks. And I really appreciate you watching out for me last night. I promise next time we—”

“No next time, Saylor. You’re done drinking and we won’t be hanging out again outside of work.” Beck slams his locker shut and turns in the opposite direction.

I seriously thought having Mr. Hot Bearded Man hold my hair back while I puked was mortifying. Well, that’s nothing compared to him flat out rejecting me before I even suggested anything. Why do I always go for the jerks?

Beck

Why did I do that? Why was I a total asshole to Saylor for no reason? I don’t have to turn around to know her face is neon red, her mouth is hanging slightly agape in shock, and tears that she doesn’t notice are filling her eyes. I need to keep Saylor at a distance but I don’t have to hurt her like that. Then again, it’s for the best for both of us that we’re never alone again.

I turn on the faucet, rinsing the coffee spot under the water. The scalding coffee on my skin didn’t hurt. Feeling Saylor’s soft fingers on my skin and knowing I had to put the kabosh on that kind of intimacy with her burnt more than any scorching java ever could. And her coffee, yeah, it was fuckin’ awful but she made it… for me. How can I even complain about that?

My attraction to her is just too much. Surely there was a better way to keep an eye on her at work without having to be in contact with her. I’ve made it the last six years taking care of her without her ever even knowing I existed.

I should rephrase that. Saylor knows the former me exists. Jonathan Beckerdyte, scrawny, awkward kid that her uncle took under his wing after I made one too many bad decisions. Eddie saw me talking shit outside his shop to one of his customers one day and he told me, either take my drama somewhere else or clean up my act. At that point, the only family I had were bums around the ‘hood and the fact that Eddie invited me into his shop, no questions asked, knowing that I was a punk, let me know I made the right decision to let Eddie help me.

After his death, I tried to comfort Saylor, but she pushed me away, wanting nothing to do with anything that reminded her of Eddie. If I was to carry out Eddie’s plan, I needed a transformation so that Saylor wouldn’t recognize me. I bulked up, grew all my hair out, covered my body in ink, and so far, Saylor doesn’t have the faintest clue that I’m the Jonathan she knew back when she was in high school. And it has to stay that way.

I look at myself in the mirror, leaning close to see if even I can tell who I am beneath my scruffy beard. I narrow my eyes and whisper, “Hear that, Jon, stay away from her.”

It doesn’t matter how attracted I am to Sayler Warner or how much I’ve grown to care about her over the years. If I’m to execute Eddie’s plan, Say can’t know who I am, no matter how much I’m falling for her.

CHAPTER 9

Beck

It’s official. This job is going to fuckin’ kill me. Aside from the exploding car, most of our calls are to nursing homes for residents who think they’re having heart attacks or threw out their hip with one too many cha-cha-chas. I think our boss is purposely sending us the lame calls as punishment for how I handled the one dangerous one we went on. Well, maybe I won’t die from the boredom of it, but I firmly believe that my partner Annie is doing her best to try to talk me to death. I’ve been biting my tongue but who names their red headed, curly haired kid Annie? It speaks volumes of her parents that either they have an irrational obsession with the movie or they lack any sort of originality.

“Do you think if I have coral as one of my colors that it’ll make everything look washed out?” Annie stares at me intently, waiting for my input on the colors of her wedding.

I narrow my eyes in her direction without turning to face her. “Annie, do you honestly think I give a fuck about your wedding colors?”

Her face matches her hair and she mumbles, “Sorry.”

I close my eyes. I’ve been in the shittiest mood the past week since I vowed to stay away from Saylor. I follow her calls on the radio in the rig, I make sure she gets home safely, and not with Calvin, and my rejection to her has caused her to avoid all eye contact with me which is perfect. Still, after six years of no interaction, the few days we did hang out together was just a tease. Every day that I come to work and listen to Annie blab about her nuptials and gag at the sight of blood, I have to remind myself that I’m doing this for Eddie.

“Look, my bad, Annie. I’m just a guy so I really could give two fucks about weddings. It’s nothing personal, okay?”

Annie’s eyes light up and she nods. “Yeah, I get it, but one day you will care when it’s your own.”

I scoff and shake my head. “Fat chance that day’ll ever come.” That is, unless, I find someone that I can hand over the duty of taking care of Saylor to but I already know no one will pass any test of mine or Eddie’s. Annie opens her mouth, I’m sure to convince me otherwise, when a call comes over the radio. I lean forward, hoping the call isn’t something for the geriatrics unit.

“10-51 on corner of Elm and Third. Closest unit, please respond.”

I slouch back in my seat, disappointed at yet another uneventful call and the fact that we’re across town from the two streets mentioned.

“Rig 82 responding,” Saylor’s voice floats through the airwaves and my body tenses.

I flip on the engine and turn on our lights, pulling into traffic and making my way to Elm and Third Street. Annie grabs the oh-shit handle over her window and looks at me in shock.

“We aren’t the closest unit.”

“Don’t worry, Annie, there shouldn’t be any blood.”

A few minutes later, we’re pulling up to the corner the dispatcher listed and my blood pressure spikes when I see Saylor with some drunk businessman.
Where the hell is Calvin?
I throw the rig in park and jump out, jogging over to be by her side. I’m not even on the sidewalk yet and I can already smell the alcohol permeating from the asshole. He’s probably in his early forties, suit, tie, the whole nine yards but it’s not even lunchtime yet so something’s not adding up.

“You’re beautiful, baby, you know it?” He slurs his speech.

Saylor smiles and nods. “Thank you, sir. Now, why don’t you come to my rig so we can get you checked out, make sure everything’s okay.”

The man steps forward, reaching out for Saylor and I quicken my pace, stepping between the two of them. I give him hard shove, knocking him to the crowd. Towering over him, I glare down, my pulse races through my body.

“What the fuck, man?”

Saylor’s hands are on my ribs, pushing me to the side. “What was that for?” she hisses at me, kneeling beside the drunk.

His hand goes to his forehead, playing up the fall. “Who is this Neanderthal? I think he might have broken a bone or something.”

I roll my eyes, not buying any of his bullshit. Saylor on the other hand nods and places her gloved hand on top of his. “I’m so sorry about him. Let me look at that wound of yours.”

He tilts his head forward as Saylor leans in for a better look. His lips twitch and I squat beside her, realizing that the pervert is looking straight down her blouse. I grab Saylor by the arm, yanking her up and out of his view.

“Hey!” she yells at me, yanking her arm back but I hold on tightly.

“Get in the rig, Saylor,” I mutter under my breath.

She scrunches her nose, making my skin tingle, and shakes her head. “I’m working here, Beck, get out of the way.”

I squeeze her arm slightly. “Trust me, Saylor. Let me finish this.”

She pulls her arm again and I let go. Her hands are now planted on her hips as she speaks. “Finish this, huh? What’s that entail? Punching his lights out?”

“Ooh, my head,” the drunk moans down below.

“Fine, work on him, but I’m not going anywhere.” I cross my arms to let her know that I mean business.

Saylor rolls her eyes. “You really need to get laid, Beck,” she jabs at me then squats down to finish working. Her navy BDU pants hug every fuckin’ curve the woman has and I internally groan because she has no idea how true her statement is.

Saylor

I try to focus on the inebriated business man in front of me but there is way too much testosterone going on right now. It’s easy to ignore the drunk staring down my blouse but with Beck’s eyes glued to my backside, it’s nearly impossible to even function. Trying to steady my gloved hands, and not get sick at the pungent odor emanating from this man, I go through the checklist of drunk vs diabetic and this man is definitely just wasted. A squad car pulls up to the curb and finally, Beck is distracted enough to talk to the police officer instead of watching my every move. I let out the breath I was holding and the sloshed CEO wannabe looks up at me.

“What’s wrong, honey? Need a little lovin’?”

His hand moves slowly toward my cheek. I snatch his wrist in my hand, twisting it away from me in the defensive technique we were taught during paramedic training. The wasted dude screams out in pain, quickly gaining the attention of the cop and of course, Beck. Their actions happen so fast that I don’t even realize the cop has taken over my grip and the man is pinned to the pavement while I’m in the safety of Beck’s arms which are tightly wrapped around my waist.

I take a deep breath, enjoying the comfort of this position then hastily remember the coldness he’s shown me the past week and pull away. Spinning around to face him, I shove the bearded wall of muscle with all my might but he doesn’t budge.

“I don’t need your help, Beck, so back off!”

I try to shove him again, but he catches my wrists in his hands.

“Relax, Saylor, I was only trying to protect you since your fuckin’ partner was AWOL.” Anger shines through loud and clear at the mention of Calvin’s absence.

“He recognized the guy as his dad’s partner and didn’t want to get involved.” I half-heartedly try to pull my hands away, not really wanting to lose contact with Beck.

Beck’s hands tighten around my wrists, creating a vision that is not work appropriate, and he shakes his head. “That asshole! So, he sends you out here alone—”

“What do you care if I’m alone?” I ask, my eyes narrowed, tired of his wishy-washiness.

Beck goes silent, I think shocking himself more than me. A few seconds pass then he drops my hands, shoving them in his pockets, but not losing eye contact with me at all. It’s so intense that I find myself leaning forward on the balls of my feet in anticipation of what this man will do next.

“Saylor… I… I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”

His words hit a sore spot and I shove him again, this time taking him by surprise and he falls back a step.