My Calling by Lyssa Layne

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,