My Calling

by Lyssa Layne

  “Careful what you say, sweetheart.”

  My heart races as does my mind. Who is this Beck and why does the think he can get away with calling me sweetheart?

  CHAPTER 3

  Saylor

  It’s been one week on the job and I’m still loving every minute of it. Well, every minute that doesn’t involve Calvin trying to hit on me. Other than that, it’s a different adventure each shift and while I haven’t exactly seen anything super crazy, I can feel it in my bones that any day now will be the call that will liven things up.

  “Hey, baby, what do you want for lunch?” Calvin asks, leaned back in the driver’s seat of the ambulance like he’s some sort of gangster.

  I avert my eyes out the window so he doesn’t see me rolling them. “Not sure who you’re talking to but I brought my lunch.”

  Calvin chuckles. “What? That bag of Snickers?”

  I whip my head in his direction, narrowing my eyes. “What’s wrong with Snickers for lunch?”

  “Nothing, nothing at all,” he says, holding his hands up but laughing as he does.

  This man is beyond annoying. Although given my other two options, Annie or Beck, I think I’ve got the better end of the deal. Poor Annie is puking daily at the sight of any bodily functions. There’s no way she’ll get through the end of the week much less our six-month probation period.

  Then there’s the dark bearded man, Beck, who seems so familiar to me but I haven’t quite placed where from yet. The most time I’ve spent with him was at the bar the first day of work and other than that, it’s just been in passing. It’s almost as though he tries to avoid me and I haven’t figured out why. I’m a likable girl, very friendly and energetic. Granted, he’s the exact opposite of friendly and energetic but there’s no need for him to avoid me as though I have pinkeye.

  Calvin’s trying to rap along with the radio when the voice of an angel, okay, our dispatcher, comes over the radio.

  “We have a 45 on South Bend Boulevard, closest units respond and wait for fire before responding.”

  I squeal and reach over, punching Calvin in the arm. “Come on! Let’s go, I don’t want to miss this!”

  Calvin rubs his arm and groans. “Chill out, Say. She said wait for fire. Even if we get there first, another rig with more experience will edge us out.”

  Adrenaline rolls through me as I sit on the edge of my seat. “I don’t care. Now, floor it or get out and let me drive!”

  Calvin presses harder on the pedal, laughing as he makes comments about my driving. Big deal, I hit a couple curbs the one day I drove and now Calvin acts like I drive on two wheels. Two minutes later, he pulls up to a wicked car accident. A blue Impala has its front end smashed into a tree like an accordion. Smoke billows out from under the hood and if it weren’t for the medic in me, I’d almost cry for the car thanks to everything my Uncle Eddie taught me in his garage.

  I jump out the rig, slamming the door behind me in hopes of blocking Calvin out. Immediately, my tears for the car are vanished when I hear a woman crying out for help from inside the wreckage. I want to run to her, hold her hand, and tell her help is on the way but the gasoline in the air is thick and I understand why we were instructed to wait for the fire department.

  Chewing on my bottom lip, I glance at my watch and the road behind me, wondering when the fire department is going to arrive. Another rig pulls up and I hope they don’t send us away. Looking back at my watch once more, I glance up and see Beck striding in front of me toward the wreckage. His BDU pants hug his backside and I’m distracted for a split second at the way they perfectly detail his thick legs underneath.

  The woman’s cries stop as Beck approaches the car. The man is flippin’ crazy to stroll right up to the ticking bomb without the fire department nearby. Without thinking, I follow his lead and run to the car. Behind me, Calvin yells for me to stop. As I get closer to the car, Beck is kneeling outside the driver’s side, trying to open the handle but it won’t budge. Even on his knees, he’s tall enough to see through the window. I’m moving full speed now and by the time I realize I need to put my brakes on, I’ve already ran smack into the back of him.

  “Ow,” he mutters, glancing up at me then turning his attention back to the lady in the car. “Get out of here, Saylor.”

  I look in the car. The lady has a gash on her forehead but seems to be moving her head back and forth with ease. The smell of gasoline is strong and I know we don’t have long. Placing my hand on his shoulder, I squeeze it tightly and lean down so I can whisper in his ear without the lady hearing me.

  “The dispatcher said to wait for fire, we need to get out of here.” I glance over in the vehicle, giving a polite smile to the trapped woman.

  Beck shrugs me off. “We don’t have time to wait, this car is going to blow any second.” He looks at the lady and nods with that awkward smile that he does. “Sorry, Mel, it’s true, but you don’t have anything to worry about.”

  Mel nods, fully trusting Beck, this stranger she just met even though her life is hanging in the rafters. Beck stands up, pushing me back a few steps and I almost fall on my butt.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, trying to see around his broad shoulders.

  “Getting her out,” he mutters like an idiot.

  He leans in the car, clicking the seatbelt but it obviously won’t budge. A small flicker of light sparks under the hood and my adrenaline kicks into overdrive.

  “Fudge… fudge… fudge…” I mutter, trying not to let my nerves get the best of me.

  “Is she saying fudge?” Mel asks, obviously trying to distract herself from the drama at hand.

  Beck nods. “Yeah, woman’s got a sweet tooth like you wouldn’t believe.”

  Mel laughs nervously as Beck reaches in his pocket, pulling out a pocketknife and snapping it open. He leans inside the car, cutting through the seat belt.

  “Co…come on, Beck. Let’s go!” I urge him, staring at the fire that could end all three of our lives.

  Mel screeches in his ear for the small victory then wraps her arm around Beck’s neck. The surly man, gently and calmly pulls her out of the mangled vehicle. I, on the other hand, am bouncing back and forth, anxious about the entire situation but unlike Annie, I’m able to keep my breakfast of powdered donuts down.

  Beck turns, facing me, Mel still in his arms. “Run, Saylor,” he says calmly, walking past me as he speaks.

  I stare at the vehicle, still in awe of what is transpiring in front of me. The fire gets bigger, the smell gets stronger, and a large pair of thick hands surround my waist, pulling me backward. An explosion fills the air in front of us, forcing us back almost ten feet, and I find myself lying directly under Mr. Bearded Man Beck. In a small state of shock, I don’t move, I don’t think, I barely even blink as I look into his dark brown eyes.

  Breaking the silence, Beck sits up, shaking his head in disgust. “I told you to run.”

  Snapping out of my trance, I sit up, pushing him as I do. I stand up, brushing off my pants. I glance down at Beck, the only time I’ll ever have a height advantage over him. “And I told you to wait for fire.”

  I do an about face, my back to Beck as he calls out to me with a chuckle, “Don’t be upset that I saved her life, Say.”

  Ugh! Who does he think he is? He acts like he hates this job then jumps at the chance to put his life on the line… and to save mine as well. Why does this man get under my skin? Why do I want to spend more time with him? Why am I picturing what his uniform would look like on my bedroom floor?

  Beck

  If it wasn’t my mission to protect Saylor Warner, I’d probably kill her myself. It was her idiotic idea to go into this line of work. Sure, the dispatcher said to wait for the fire department but I wasn’t going to stand by and watch that lady explode when I knew I could get her out safely. Then, fuckin’ Saylor had to run up behind me, begging me to leave. Doesn’t she know she’s not supposed to watch out for me? It’s supposed to be the other way around. I can’t r
isk her following me into danger when it’s my job to keep her out of it.

  “You’re bleeding.”

  Her delicate fingers brush across my forehead and I wince at her touch, pulling away. It never bothered me before, but being close to Saylor lately has me uneasy. Then again, this is the closest I’ve been to her since she was a teenager and she’s… different. She’s no longer awkward, well, Saylor will always be awkward but that’s her personality. As much as I don’t want to admit it, Saylor is fuckin’ beautiful, which makes my job that much harder for a variety of reasons.

  Jerking my head away from her, I grab some gauze and place it over my wound. “I’m fine.”

  But in true Saylor form, she doesn’t drop it and just let me bleed to death. No, she gives this dramatic sigh as though the tiny cut on my forehead is the size of the Grand Canyon. She takes my hand in hers, gripping it tightly so I can’t slip away and an unfamiliar feeling runs down my spine. Well, it’s not all that unfamiliar, I’ve experienced it before with women that have piqued my interest, but this is Saylor Warner and I should not be feeling this way with her.

  She walks us to the back of her ambulance, pushing on my shoulder and forcing me to sit down on the bumper. The fire department fights the blaze behind us and another rig with a couple of experienced medics take the victim to the hospital. Calvin is holding back Annie’s hair as she loses her lunch and here I am, face to face with Saylor, who is frowning with her hands on her hips.

  “Now, are you going to be a baby or are you going to let me stitch this up?”

  She squints her eyes as she inspects my wound. Her bright red lips are directly in front of me and suddenly, I don’t find the shimmering color that annoying. My eyes are fixated on her thick lips and my mind wanders to places it shouldn’t. Suddenly, I notice Saylor’s eyes go wide as she clears her throat and I realize she’s waiting for me to answer.

  Standing up, I step into the back of the rig, looking for the shit I need to fix my forehead so Saylor will get off my back. I open a drawer, searching for a suture. Saylor’s hand is on top of mine with her body pressed against me. I stifle my moan successfully but she needs to back off fast. My life, or the life Saylor leads for both of us, doesn’t allow me much personal time except for an occasional wham-bam-thank you, ma’am. For whatever reason, maybe because I placed her in danger just moments earlier and my adrenaline is still rushing from that, I don’t know, but Saylor’s got me on high alert and the best solution is to get as far away as possible.

  Her tiny frame allows her to slip in front of me, our bodies even closer. Her hands move to my chest and she pushes me down on the gurney behind me, standing between my legs. She reaches in the drawer, pulling out the supplies she needs to stitch me up.

  Saylor’s hands work right in front of my face and I notice the scar on her left wrist. Her uncle told her to be careful but she insisted that she had to get a closer look. He told her to back up and she ignored him. Then I piped up, reprimanding her and of course, she spouted off her smart mouth, not paying attention as she did and her wrist landed on the piping hot tailpipe of that Harley Davidson. She was fifteen at the time but her uncle treated her like a small child as she howled in pain yet I was the one that tended to her injury. I roll my eyes today, the same way I did back then as I recall the memory. The irony is that today, I do the exact same thing with her, only from a distance.

  “Seriously, are you always such a pain in the tush?” Saylor asks, letting her mouth gape open as she focuses on the task at hand. It’s the same face she makes when she puts on her eye makeup. I’ll never understand how having her mouth open helps her to put on mascara.

  “Yep, so you’d better steer clear.”

  The final stitch barely in place, I pull my head back and stand up. Bad idea because now I’m chest to chest, well, if she was a little taller, we’d be chest to chest, as it is she’s chest to my stomach with her head tilted back to stare at me.

  Her eyes narrowed, I can tell she means business. “Why is that?”

  Aside from the truth, which I can’t tell her, I rack my brain trying to come up with something quick. My brain is still working but drawing a blank when I hear goodie two-shoes Calvin calling Saylor’s name. I take Saylor’s chin in my hand and move her head so she’s looking at me.

  “Because I’m a bad boy and you can’t handle it.” Shit, that’s way too flirtatious than I wanted it to be but hopefully it’ll scare her off.

  Calvin closes in on us and I begin to exit the rig. Right before Calvin’s in ear shot, Saylor grabs my hand, jerking my arm so that I turn to face her.

  “You have no idea what I can handle, Beck.”

  Her baby blues are shining as a smile spreads across her face. Shit, Saylor Warner is going to be the death of me, one way or the other.

  CHAPTER 4

  Saylor

  Tugging on my skinny jeans that should probably be painted on my legs as tight as they are, I question why I put myself through this torture. Sure, I love to wear makeup and do my hair but the icing on the cake would be if I could walk around in sweats and a tank top all day. That’s probably the reason that I thoroughly enjoy our uniforms while almost every else hates them.

  Finally, getting the button through the hole, I exhale the breath I’d been sucking in as a locker slams to my left. I turn my head and don’t stop the smile when I see Bearded Beck standing a few feet away wearing nothing but his BDUs as he stares into his locker. At first, the whole idea of sharing a locker room was a bummer but I’m seeing the perks of it now.

  Going for the sneak attack, I tiptoe down the row, leaning against the locker beside his with my arms crossed over my chest. I have a perfect view of his sleeve of tattoos that looks like it consists of randomness thrown together but from personal experience, I’m sure it tells a story. I’d really like to reach out and run my finger over each one as Beck tells me the meaning behind them, but I’m going to go with that’s not an option based off my limited interactions with him.

  Beck slams the locker shut, startling me even though I saw it coming. His shirt in his hand, he narrows his eyes. “What?”

  My eyes roll to the top of my head involuntarily. “So, Beck, what is it that makes you a bad boy? These tattoos?” I can’t help myself as I place my hand on his bicep but my eyes stay locked with his.

  Beck glances down at my hand on his arm then looks back up at me. “If it’s the tats that make me a bad boy then that would make you a bad girl and we all know that’s not true.” His eyes move up and down my own tattoo sleeve that is visible in my tank top.

  He shrugs me off and tugs his shirt over his head, a smirk on his face as the fabric descends over his body. Ready to defend my bad girl status, I pause as a feeling of deja vu hits me. Beck’s dark, hooded eyes seem a bit softer with the half smile on his lips. I swear I’ve seen him before, but the man I’m thinking of laughed a lot more than Beck which still isn’t that much.

  The smirk disappears and Beck’s permanent angry face resumes. “Let me guess, you’re going to try to convince me how bad you are?”

  I shake my head, having totally forgotten about my argument. “No, but you look familiar. I swear I’ve seen you before… but smiling. Were you in any of my paramedic classes?”

  Beck freezes briefly then shakes his head. “I don’t smile so it wasn’t me.”

  Plastering a giant grin on my face, I tease him. “Come on, it’s fun to smile. Why don’t you?”

  Beck scoffs and turns away from me. “You’re crazy, Saylor, you know that?”

  As he walks away, the ink on the back of his bicep catches my attention. His legs are twice as long as mine so he’s already to the door of the locker room. I run after him, my heels clicking against the tile floor as I do but the urgency in my steps doesn’t slow Beck down. His hand on the door handle, I grab his arm, twisting my head to get a better look at the car inked on his skin.

  “Is that a 1970 Buick GSX?”

  Beck clears his throat but doesn
’t pull his arm away. “Um… yeah.”

  “Cherry red even,” I mutter, more to myself than Beck.

  My index finger traces the outline of the car. Beck’s strong muscles beneath his skin distract me at the irony of my uncle’s favorite car being inked on him. His muscles flex slightly and then his hand is on top of mine, gently moving it away instead of jerking his body like before.

  “Like it?” Beck asks, his voice much softer than normal.

  I nod, snapping out of my trance and wiping at my teary eyes. “Yeah, my uncle used to have one. It was his baby, cherry red, too.”

  “He had good taste.”

  He searches my face and I push a smile through my sadness.

  “Yeah, he did. And Beck, I’m more bad A than you think.”

  A stiff smile crosses over his mouth and he lifts his eyebrow. “Bad A, huh? Yeah, I think in order to be called badass, you have to actually be able to say the word ‘ass.’”

  The door slams shut as he walks through it and my cheeks burn red. I am bad A and I’ll prove it to him.

  Beck

  My pulse is racing as I escape the close encounter with Saylor. Before today, I would blame my high blood pressure on the fact that Saylor almost recognized me. The last time she saw me was nearly six years ago. I was a scrawny thug with a buzz cut and a brand on my left shoulder with no ink on my body. I’ve undergone a transformation to ensure that Saylor wouldn’t connect the dots should our paths ever cross. Saylor also went through a complete change as well and I never expected it to have an effect on my pulse the way it does.

  I’ve kept my distance over the years. Close enough to keep her safe but far enough away that she could lead her own life, or the life I chose for her without her realizing it. Being in such close proximity twice today, I finally smelled her unique daisy-scented perfume and now, I understand why men flock to her based on that alone.