My Calling by Lyssa Layne Page A

looking around my place as he enters. “Yeah, you too,” he mutters and it’s obvious he’s irritated.
    I sigh, closing the door behind him. “What’s wrong?”
    Beck turns around to face me, his shirt is loose but I know what’s underneath and my mind has no problem going there . I watch his lips as he speaks, thinking back to our kiss and barely listening to what he’s saying.
    “You should really ask who’s there before you just swing open your front door. What if I was a robber?”
    I scoff and hold out my hand for the bag he’s holding. “Like there’s anything to rob in this place. Besides, what are you, my dad?”
    “I like your makeup without that blood red lipstick,” he comments.
    My fingers touch my bare lips, shocked at his honesty and unsure what to say.
    Beck reaches in the plastic grocery sack and pulls out a loaf of sandwich bread. I narrow my eyes, confused at the contents. Pointing, I ask, “What is that ?”
    “Carbs. Bread. Rolls. Whatever, it’s all the same.”
    I roll my eyes, taking it from him. “Not exactly what I had in mind when I said rolls.”
    Beck’s lips twitch like he wants to smile. “You’re the one that insisted I come and bring rolls.”
    I walk to the kitchen, getting out a plate to arrange the ‘rolls’ on. Beck follows behind me, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms, his biceps flex and his ink rolls, creating way too much for my hormonal body to handle. Quickly, I turn away from him so I’m not distracted.
    “Obviously, I’m not your father but why don’t you tell me about him?”
    I sneer as I place the bread on the table. “You mean the sperm donor or the man who raised me?”
    I turn around, forgetting Beck’s actual location and I run smack into his chest. His firm hands grab hold of my arms so I don’t fall. Our eyes lock briefly and he immediately lets me go.
    “Both.”
    Swallowing fast, I nod, walking around him and opening the oven to check on the icy igloo of poultry sitting beneath the hot lamp. Happy for the diversion from Beck’s hotness, I begin to ramble as I talk about the two male figures in my life.
    “My father was a real son of a biscuit eater and my mom wasn’t much better. She was a junkie who couldn’t get clean, not even for her daughter. Eventually my dad had enough and took me one night, leaving her to OD a few years later on opium. He, himself, had a gambling addiction and sold drugs so he had money to bet with.” I shiver thinking about the people he made me hang around. “By that time I was eight and I knew what he was doing was bad. Being a simple minded kid, I told my teacher what my dad did when I was in fifth grade. He went to jail and that’s when my Uncle Eddie stepped up to raise me.”
    Unable to stare at the turkey any longer, I shut the stove and stand up. Beck stands before me stoically and nods, encouraging me to continue. I take a deep breath, tears threatening to fall. Beck steps toward me, which only makes the urge to cry stronger.
    “The turkey’s still frozen!” I blurt out.
    Beck stops his motion toward me and cocks an eyebrow. “Who needs turkey?”
    A tear slips down my cheek and I quickly wipe it away. “It’s Thanksgiving!”
    Beck holds out his arm for me to take. “Well, I’m thankful to be here with you… turkey or not.”
    I glance up at him, even more baffled at his actions than normal. Slowly, I reach out and take his arm. Who is this man and why do my insides feel like mush when I’m around him?
     
    Beck
     
    Finishing off my second piece of pecan pie, I recall that it’s every bit as delicious as when Saylor made it when she was only fourteen. Across the table, Saylor is grinning like a Cheshire cat. I drop my fork on the plate which makes a clanging noise and I rub my stuffed belly.
    “Not too bad,” I comment.
    Saylor giggles. “Not too bad? The only part of this meal that’s left is half that pie.”
    I nod toward the stove. “And that frozen