My Calling

by Lyssa Layne

  Closing the door behind me, I lock it with the deadbolt and the chain then follow the sounds of Saylor heaving. The bathroom light is on and Saylor is on her knees, praying to the porcelain gods. I take a seat on the edge of the tub, leaning over and gathering her hair in my hand but not saying a word. As Saylor continues to get the alcohol out of her system, a chill runs down my back at the amount of pink and purple I’m surrounded by.

  “You… can… go,” Saylor mumbles, cradling her head in her arms.

  I stand up, letting Saylor think I’m following her directions. Instead, I open the hall closet and find a pink washcloth with lace. I do my best not to barf myself at all the frills as I run it under some cold water. Without warning, I press the damp cloth against the back of Saylor’s neck who responds with a relieved “ahh.”

  Maneuvering carefully, I shimmy myself beside Saylor, pulling her onto my lap as she curls into a ball, looking, and probably feeling, like death turned over. She buries her head against my chest, murmuring about how awful she feels. Little does she know, she’s going to feel even worse in the morning. I choose to bite my tongue and keep that little tidbit to myself.

  Fifteen minutes later, Saylor’s snores tear through the tiny, and way too feminine, bathroom. Bracing myself, I stand up, cradling her in my arms and walking us to her bedroom. Gently, I place her in the middle of her bed, unhooking her ridiculously tall high heels and pulling the blanket over her body. I snatch a pillow off the bed and toss it on the floor to make my own pallet to sleep on. After lying on the floor for barely five minutes, I thank God that Saylor doesn’t drink often because my back can’t handle this stiff floor.

  My eyes, already adjusted to the darkness, roam the room until they fall on a frame with a picture I’m familiar with. It’s Eddie and Saylor on her fifteenth birthday. He finally let her under the GSX and the grin of her face tells the rest of the story. Leaning up on my elbow, I pick the frame up from the nightstand and somehow, still manage to see the exact same Saylor that’s passed out drunk on the bed.

  “Look, Eddie, I told you I’d take care of her but this is pushing the limit.”

  In my mind, I can hear Eddie’s high pitched, yet still manly, laugh and I shake my head, joining his laughter. Man, I’d love for him to be around to see Saylor and deal with all the girlie shit she’s put me through but he’s not and there’s no one to blame except me.

  CHAPTER 7

  Beck

  The strong aroma of coffee tickles my nose, bringing me out of the hour of sleep I’ve had. After I was finally satisfied that Saylor wasn’t going to puke again and choke in her sleep, I let my mind rest and drifted off to sleep when the clock said four. Now the red lights on the clock are telling me it’s a little after five and Saylor is sitting beside me on the floor, tempting me with a mug of potent coffee under my nose.

  Leaning up on my elbow, I accept the cup she’s holding in front of my face and take a sip. It’s the most disgusting cup of coffee I’ve ever tasted but I bite back my expression of distaste for Saylor’s sake. Choking it down is a bad idea because the extreme bitterness travels up my sinuses and burns my nasal cavity.

  It takes both her hands for Saylor to hold a bright red mug with hearts dotted around the cup. She nods in my direction. “I take it you’re a coffee drinker?”

  I nod. “Yeah, usually, but I’m good today.” I politely set the mug on her nightstand, taking note that it says, ‘Watch out world, I’ve got my sassy pants on today.’ I point to it as I look at her. “You did that on purpose.”

  Her eyes light up and she hides her mouth behind her gigantic cup but it doesn’t stifle the giggles that escape. I roll my eyes, wondering if Saylor really is all that different from when she was in high school.

  “You drink coffee?” I ask, hoping to end her giggle fest. Never in all the years that I’ve known her have I ever seen her drink the black stuff. She always loved the smell of it but refused to drink it back in Eddie’s shop.

  She shakes her head then takes a sip of whatever liquid’s in the cup. As she brings it down, she explains, “It’s Mountain Dew. I just drink it out of a coffee mug so I feel like a grown-up.”

  “You’ve got a pretty fuckin’ important job that should make you feel grown-up enough.”

  Saylor’s eyes get cloudy and she shrugs. “Yeah, I guess…”

  “You guess? Why’d you go into the field, Saylor?”

  Without warning, Saylor leans across me, her chest dangerously close to my own. Trying to put some space between us, which would only amount to maybe an inch, I inhale quickly and it’s a bad idea. Saylor’s tantalizing sweet smell mixes with the scent of bitter coffee and stirs my morning wood that is luckily hidden under my thick, denim pants.

  After what seems like an eternity, she moves back to her original position, sitting cross-legged next to me. In her hands, she holds the frame I recognized last night. Her thumb rubs the faces in the picture and she stares at it as she begins to speak.

  “When I was sixteen, my uncle was gunned down and died in my arms. There was nothing I could do but watch him die. I desperately wanted to stop his bleeding or take away his pain but there was absolutely nothing I could do. After his funeral, I realized that I wanted to make a difference, I wanted to save people’s lives when it mattered most. Paramedics are the first on the scene, they’re the ones that really save lives, because if we can’t get them to the hospital breathing, there’s nothing any doctor can do for them.”

  Uneasiness creeps over me because I was there. Shots were fired and Saylor went to Eddie while I took off after the shooter, not exactly sure what I’d planned on doing since I didn’t have a weapon on me to fight back. Saylor’s screams followed me down the road as I ran after the assailant. Three blocks away, I could still hear her and it drew me back to the garage. A teenage Saylor sat in the middle of Eddie’s garage, holding him in her arms as blood poured out of his body. Sirens blared in the background, letting us know that help was on its way. I sat behind Saylor, holding her in my arms and trying to comfort her, because we both already knew it was too late for Eddie.

  Saylor looks up from the photo. “It was my calling to be a medic, Beck. I’m doing this for my uncle.”

  I nod, taking the photo from her hand and inspecting it myself. “I don’t know him, but I imagine your uncle would be proud of you.” My words are genuine because that is one thing I’m not lying about, Eddie thought the world of Saylor then and he’d be impressed by her even more today.

  From the outside, I know the answer to the question I’m about to ask but I’ve never asked Saylor herself. “How did you cope with everything?”

  Saylor bobs her shoulders and stands up, her perky derriere right in my face. Dammit, Saylor, what the fuck are you doing to me? Despite a late night of drinking, followed promptly by hurling, she looks picture perfect. She’s changed into a pair of yoga pants that makes me shift to hide what the jeans can’t. Her round breasts are accentuated in the teal and pink tank top she’s wearing. I don’t think the shirt is supposed to be sexy but the woman exudes it with a confidence she isn’t even aware of. And, of course, she’s got those damn bright red lips that make me want to crush them with my own. Saylor Warner, you’re going to get us both in trouble…

  “I went on with my normal life. Finished up high school, traveled a little, odds and ends jobs then went to school. I was devastated by the loss of my uncle but I mean, it didn’t like traumatize me or anything.”

  I hold in my urge to scoff at her statement. Didn’t traumatize her? Yeah, right! I’ve seen her break down more than a 1980 Volvo and every time, I’ve been the one to pick up the pieces of Saylor without her knowing it. It’s an understatement that she needs to talk to someone about the effect of watching the only male figure in her life be gunned down, but Saylor’s stubborn and won’t listen to anyone but herself when it comes to this topic.

  Ready to end the conversation, Saylor walks out of her bedroom, swaying her hips ever so slightly and I
hold in the moan I want to release, except in this moment, it’s more like a roar. A dirty image flashes across my mind as I picture Saylor pressed against the wall by my body, my tongue exploring spaces I shouldn’t even be thinking about.

  “Nice place you have here,” I comment, trying to distract myself. It is some nice digs, two spacious bedrooms, full bathroom with a view of the beach. All it needs is a little de-girlifying and it would be pretty close to perfect.

  Saylor swings her head around to me, her upbeat attitude having returned. “Yeah, isn’t it great? For the view and location, the rent is really cheap! I was afraid I’d be living in a studio over some restaurant or something, I really lucked out.”

  Depends on how you look at it. She can only afford this apartment because I cover half the rent with the life insurance policy that Eddie left for her but she doesn’t know it. I saw the other places she looked at, checked them out myself, and there was no way in hell I was going to allow her to stay in those shitholes. Now, I’m the one staying in the studio and she’s got the fuckin’ penthouse of apartments. California livin’ is anything but cheap. It’s all part of the deal though… whatever it takes, I take care of her for Eddie.

  Saylor

  I can’t believe I just told Beck, the mysterious, broody, bearded man about my uncle. What the hey was I thinking? Maybe the alcohol is still in my system but I’m just thanking God that Beck hasn’t brought up last night. Things are hazy but I think I recall trying to kiss him and then holding on to the rim of my toilet. Just like with my uncle, maybe if I pretend it didn’t happen then I won’t have to face it.

  My internal alarm clock woke me up and I immediately jumped in the shower, hoping it would wash away the pounding headache I had. It didn’t work. I was mortified when I saw how awful I looked before I got cleaned up. My eyeliner was smudged, my lipstick was on my teeth, and my hair looked like a rat’s nest was on top of my head. No way in tarnation was I about to face Beck like that so after my shower I got all dolled up, and yes, maybe I am wearing my push-up bra. Then I attempted to make coffee, pretending to have some touch of domestic goddess in me.

  Honestly, I’m surprised Uncle Eddie’s old coffee maker still works and I was in luck that my neighbor is an insomniac who lives on coffee and loaned me some. I followed his directions exactly but judging from Beck’s reaction, it wasn’t the best he’d ever tasted, but it was hilarious to see him drink from that mug.

  I catch Beck’s eyes wandering down my arm and I clear my throat. “Surprised by my ink?”

  Beck looks up, his eyes not giving away any emotion. “Not really, pink and yellow roses are a pretty safe choice for a chick.”

  I sneer at his comment. “Safe choice? There’s meaning behind the roses!”

  Beck lifts an eyebrow, stirring the butterflies awake in my stomach. “Yeah? Explain.”

  I hop up on the counter and hold my arm out. Dragging my finger from rose to rose, I disclose the meaning behind the artwork on my arm. “There’s four roses, two yellow, one pink, and one black. Two for my parents, one for me, and one for my uncle.” I flip my arm over so he can see the hidden black rose on my inner bicep. “It’s to remind me that I wouldn’t be here without my parents, no matter how horrible they both are, and underneath my uncle’s rose it says, ‘Sail, Saylor,’ because my uncle used to say that to me all the time.”

  By the time I finish talking, my cheeks are burning because I revealed way too much in that simple explanation. I’m staring at the ground, hoping Beck will disappear, but his thick finger swirls over mine on the ink. His voice is husky and way too close to my ear. My tongue rolls over my lips, only embarrassing me more.

  “Sail, Saylor,” he whispers, reminding me of my uncle because I’m having deja vu, like I’ve heard these words from Beck before.

  I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts. My hand moves to his colorful arm, sending my pulse into overdrive but I manage to squeak out “What about yours?” without sounding like I’m in too much distress.

  Beck leans back against the counter on the opposite side of the kitchen. He crosses his arms, his muscles rippling as he does. Beck doesn’t touch his tattoo like I did mine. He looks at it then up at me.

  “Just a collection of things I like,” he says with a shrug.

  I slide off the counter, closing the space between us and standing directly in front of him. Gingerly, I take my index finger, drawing a line from each piece of art to the next. “The Buick GSX, good choice. What’s this? A pocket watch and a compass? What do those mean?” I look up and our eyes meet.

  Beck drops his arms to his side and shakes his head. “You know, all those bullshit meanings behind them… a compass not to get lost, a pocket watch to remind me not to let time slip away. Look, I was young and stupid, no idea what I really wanted so it’s just a hodge podge of shit, really, nothing deeper than that.”

  Beck steps around me, heading to the door. I pivot quickly and follow him but he already has the door open. Not sure exactly what I did or said, I grasp for anything to get his attention. “See ‘ya at work!” I call after him before the door closes.

  The slamming as the door clicks shut makes me jump. I sigh, entirely confused by the last twelve hours and this mystery co-worker of mine that is having way too much effect on my panties then he should. I glance at the clock, there’s still plenty of time for me to get in some quality time with Buzz Light Cheer, my favorite silver friend.

  CHAPTER 8

  Saylor

  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 r
eign 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?