Page 8 of Embracing the Beat
I spend the rest of lunch learning about my coworkers—both in and out of the department—before heading back for fourth period American History again. I’d like to say a certain blonde isn’t on my mind at all, but who am I kidding?
By the time the release bell rings at the end of the seventh period, my missed sleep is catching up with me. Even the extra cup of coffee I grabbed last period isn’t touching the exhaustion dragging at my eyelids. Maybe physical exercise this afternoon will keep me awake for a few more hours. Driving home with the windows down and the wind whipping through the car doesn’t help.
“Mike, you home?” I call, opening the front door and dropping my keys on the table next to it.
There’s no answer—she’s probably out catching up with friends. It’s probably better she isn’t here when I’m trying to get her off my mind anyway.
According to the remodel plan I drafted, I’m right on track to meet the three-week self-imposed deadline, and I don’t want to fall behind. Dan and I did the framing and drywall in the guest room before he left for the cruise, so tonight only calls for me to texture those walls.
An hour tops.
I head upstairs to change my clothes, unbuttoning my shirt as I go. Each of my legs has to weigh fifty pounds right now. A nap sounds like heaven, but I promised Dan and Kelly the basement would be finished by the time they got home.
“Come on, Abbott, wake up and get it done.”
Mike’s door flies open as I step in front of it, and I jump back.
“Jesus Christ, Mike, slow down.”
She stares at me silently for a second before her gaze drops and seems to snag where my fingers are still undoing the buttons of my shirt. Her tongue peeks out, licking along her plush lips, and I close my eyes, unable to erase the image from my brain as easily as I can block the sight in front of me in real-time.
“Did you say something?” she asks, her voice husky. She blinks and rubs at her face, and I get the impression she just woke up.
The circles under her eyes are lighter, but still too dark for my liking.
“What? About you scaring the hell out of me?”
“Ha-ha,” she deadpans. “No. Earlier.”
“Just called your name when I walked in. I expected you to be out with friends or hanging out somewhere.”
She shakes her head, sending her wild mass of hair moving. “No. I slept for most of the day.”
Under normal circumstances, I might give her shit, but considering how pale she was when she got home last night, it was probably the right choice.
“Feel free to go back to sleep. I’m going to change and work on some texture in the basement.”
“Do you want any help?” Her expression is so hopeful that my automatic refusal instantly dies.
“Sure. Meet you in the basement in five?”
She nods, and ten minutes later, my attention is riveted to the strip of skin revealed where her t-shirt has ridden up.
Quit ogling your best friend’s little sister like a creeper and work.
Swallowing my sudden curiosity about the woman she’s become, I spend a few minutes demonstrating what needs to be done and set her up on the wall opposite me. Where I can’t see her.
My shoulders relax in the quiet, and I take a deep breath. The chemical smell of the texture spray and the new drywall linger in the air and remind me of my college summers. I clear my mind, knowing I don’t need to concentrate since this is all muscle memory. I’m not focused on anything when my ears perk at the low hum coming from the other side of the room.
I pause, barely daring to breathe as the sound continues for several breaths before the faint strains of a song whisper in my ears. She was ten the first time she sang in front of her family—Sawyer and I had been playing video games in the living room, and she’d wanted to practice a song she was learning for school. Her voice was amazing then, and it’s only gotten better with time.
The notes continue, not a song I recognize—either by her or by any other artist I listen to—but the sound wraps around me, infusing me with the sadness of the low tones and the heartbreak of the upper.
The sound stops and she turns to me, her eyes widening when she catches me staring.
“Um, how’s this?” She gestures to the wall behind her.
Reluctantly, I shift my attention to the area she’s textured, impressed by how well she did, given this is her first time.
