by Lyssa Layne
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.
“Are you kidding me? I mean, seriously, Beck, make up your mind! All of this hot and cold crap just isn’t cutting it! Either you like me or you don’t, which is it?”
My face flushes red, shocking myself at my bold statement. This man is really doing a number on my nerves to get me so worked up like this. Usually men melt in my presence, and I mean that in a completely non-vain way, but it’s true. This one though is very hard to read and is driving me insane.
Beck cocks his head to the side. “Did you just say crap?”
“What?” I ask flustered.
“Crap. You just said ‘crap.’ Saylor Warner, you just cussed.”
That awkward grin of Beck’s is making his lips twitch. I shake my head vehemently, denying his allegation but he just keeps nodding in the most annoying fashion. I can feel my cheeks getting warm with each movement of his head.
“I did not and even if I did, that word isn’t considered a curse word.”
“What word, Saylor?” Beck asks, egging me on.
I roll my eyes, knowing we need to get back to work. “Whatever, Beck.”
Retreating to our rig, Beck chuckles behind me. What I wouldn’t give to turn around and sock that laughter right off his face but I take a deep breath, doing everything I can to not let him bother me but it’s no use. His quirky smile and his uncharacteristic amusement makes me want to do nothing more than turn around and run into his arms so I can taste the laughter on his lips.
CHAPTER 10
Saylor
It’s been a week since I called Beck out about his indecisiveness. Despite every effort to steer clear of him, it’s impossible not to notice the man on any given day but especially when he’s half-naked in front of me in our locker room before each shift. I’m standing in front of my locker, keeping an eye on how perfectly his back muscles roll as he pulls on his shirt and I don’t notice anyone beside me until Calvin moans.
“Ahh…”
He continues moaning and I force myself to look away from Beck. When I look at Calvin, I’m a little startled because I seem to be looking into the face of a ghost.
“Whoa, what’s wrong with you?” I place my hand on his forehead which is burning up.
Calvin shakes his head, his normal macho-ness gone much like the color in his cheeks. “I… I don’t know. I just feel like death.”
“You look like it, too,” I mutter, taking a seat beside him on the bench.
“Warner, what’s wrong with your partner?” our supervisor barks from across the room.
I jump up quickly as though he’s some kind of sergeant in the army. “Um, sir, I think he’s running a fever.”
“Home,” the veteran paramedic says without looking up from his iPad.
Calvin moans his appreciation and wastes no time heading for the door.
“What about me? Who will I work with?” I ask, suddenly feeling self-conscience about working with someone other than Calvin.
He glances up for his tablet and nods behind him. “How about you and Beck—”
“What about Annie?” Beck jumps in before our boss can finish.
“There’s something about blood in this line of work that you need to be okay with. She turned in her notice after yesterday’s shift.”
I gasp, shocked that Annie quit without telling any of us. On the flip side, our supervisor turns and exits the locker room as quickly as he entered and I’m standing face to face with Beck. I regain my composure and narrow my eyes in his direction. Beck shakes his head, laughing softly. I stand there still trying to soak in just exactly what’s happening when the door slams closed and I realize that was Beck leaving. Running after him, I catch up to him in the bay where the rigs are waiting for duty.
“Hey,” I yell and then stop, not exactly sure what I’m going to follow up with.
Beck lifts his eyebrow, waiting for me to go on but when I don’t, he asks, “You okay if I drive?” He doesn’t even wait for me to answer as he opens the driver side door and gets inside.
I march around the rig, opening his door and glaring at him. “Fine, Mr. Macho, you can drive but don’t think that means you’re in charge. Calvin and I work as a team and I hope you can do the same.”
Beck holds my gaze for a few seconds before he glances down my body. “You leave those top two buttons undone on purpose or you can’t get them to close?”
My cheeks burn bright and I glance down to where I never finished buttoning my shirt thanks to Beck’s back muscles I was enamored with and Calvin’s ghostly appearance. From where Beck sits in the driver’s seat, he has a straight shot down my blouse and the top of my hot pink, lace bra.
“Don’t worry, Saylor, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before, but why don’t you cover the girls up before we run into another drunk on the street that wants to oogle you?” Beck says in the most condescending tone that I’m half-tempted to leave my shirt the way it is, but I know it’s not professional.
I cock my head to the side. “Beck, I promise you these are nothing like you’ve ever seen. Feel free to look but keep your hands to yourself.”
I slam the door shut, my heart racing as I strut around the ambulance to climb in on the other side. My fingers work quickly trying to clasp the buttons closed. I don’t know what it is about Bearded Beck but he brings out some sort of confidence in me that also makes me want to cream in my panties at the same time.
Beck
Saylor and her fuckin’ tits. Those words should never go together but they just did. It’s bad enough I have to work side by side with her, but now it’s even worse that I have do so with a set of blue balls thanks to a couple undone buttons on her blouse. Luckily by the time she climbed in the rig, her tits were covered, saving me from the dirty thoughts that were already running rampant through my mind.
The first few calls have been pretty basic and Saylor’s taken the lead, after all, she is the more personable one between the two of us. She also insists on doing all the paperwork while I’m basically her chaffeur. It’s actually a pretty easy way to keep tabs on her and not have to listen to Annie’s wedding plans that make my ears bleed. Plus, it allows me to listen to Saylor singing/humming along with the radio. She sings the words she knows then when a part comes on she’s not familiar with, her voice gets quieter and she only hums. It’s kind of hilarious and I would love to give her shit about it but right now isn’t the time.
A call comes in for a thirty-five year old, unconscious female at her home. I flip on the sirens and head to the address while Saylor informs the dispatcher that we’re responding. K
eeping my eyes on the road, out of the corner of my eyes, I notice Saylor leaning forward in anticipation of what awaits us. She does it every time a call comes in even if it’s something as simple as someone having indigestion. It shows her desire to excel and do well in her profession which I would never tease her about.
I pull the rig in front of a single family, two-story home. It’s the whole works, white picket fence, two-car garage, seasonal wreath on the door. The only downside is that the mother of this family is unconscious on the other side of that perfect decor. Saylor grabs the bag and throws it on the stretcher as we jog inside. If I had to be honest, a little bit of adrenaline sparks through me, too, each time we respond to a call. Call it the thrill of the job if you will but I’ve never been one to back down from a challenge… just look at my relationship with Saylor.
Saylor knocks on the door, waiting a few seconds then pushing it open. There, in the middle of the living room, is our victim. Saylor drops beside her, running through the basics and checking her vitals. I’m getting things ready for the next part of the check-up when a tiny sniffle catches my attention. I look over at the staircase and see a boy, maybe eight, hovering in the doorway. My eyes dart back and forth between him and Saylor, making sure she doesn’t need me and praying to all things holy that this kid isn’t getting traumatized.
“The vic is pretty banged up, looks like she had a seiz—” Saylor updates me but stops when I cough loudly to interrupt her. She sees the boy and nods. “She’s going to be alright. Whoever called 911 is a hero,” Saylor says, changing her tune but not making eye contact with the little guy.
I look at him again and nod, giving him a wink. Instantly, his shoulders rise and he takes a step toward us. Saylor and I move his mom on our gurney now that she’s stable. A cop walks in the front door as we start to roll her toward our rig. We move quickly, loading her into our ambulance and jetting across town to the hospital. The police car with her son is right behind us. Once we have her checked in and signed off on paperwork, we head outside to continue our shift.