Finally My Forever (3 page)

"I'm turning twenty-one soon," he said, trying to strengthen his case. Joan just kept painting and Thomas looked at me. "Do you know my baby brother?"

I shook my head indicating that I didn't, and without hesitation, he grabbed me by the hand.

Chapter 3

I really didn’t feel like being there in the first place, much less being dragged across the house to play meet and greet. I had been so frustrated with my parents about making me come that I'd barely even looked in a mirror beforehand.

"My brother's outside making the patio," Thomas said, pulling me down the hallway. "The stones are really heavy, so I can't help with that. My dad said I have to stay out of his way."

"It sounds like he's busy," I said. "Maybe I can just meet him later."

"No, you can meet him now," he assured me. "We just can't help with the stones. But that's okay because you still have more painting to do. Remember how you missed those spots?"

"Yep, that's why I should probably be getting back in there," I said. I gave him a slight tug in the opposite direction, and his grip tightened.

"I promise you will like my brother," he said. "Every girl likes him."

Before I knew it, we'd walked through the kitchen and Thomas was opening the sliding glass door that led to the backyard. There were three guys on the far side of the patio, and all of them were kneeling as they worked together to try to position a heavy stone.

"Hey Micah, this is my new friend Carly!" Thomas called. All three of them looked our way at Thomas' exclamation. I caught sight of Mr. Bennett first. He was smiling at me and I smiled back as my gaze shifted to the next guy who was about Mr. Bennett's age. I smiled at him for the briefest of seconds before shifting my attention to the third guy—the one who was mostly hidden from my view. The third guy, who I assumed was Micah, stood up to get a better look at me.

I'll never forget the first time I saw him. He had on torn jeans that rode low on his hips and a thin, white, skintight tank top that showed the rows and rows of sculpted muscle underneath. He used his forearm to wipe the sweat off of his brow. He looked like a commercial for… whatever. He could have been selling anything and I'd buy it. He might as well have stood up and wiped his brow in slow motion, that's how picturesque it was. He was comically gorgeous, and I felt myself smiling at the absurdity of the situation.

The other two men went back to the task of shifting the rock as Micah started to walk toward us. I began shaking my head the instant I realized what he was doing. I had no idea what I looked like, but I knew it was bad. There was no way I could let him get close to me. As if shaking my head wasn't enough, I stuck my hand out to stop him. "Don't quit what you're doing," I insisted. "Thomas just wanted to introduce me to his baby brother." I smiled real big and waved as I started to turn with the intention of heading back inside.

"It's okay," Micah said. "I needed to grab some water anyway." He looked at his dad and the other man. "You guys want anything?"

"I'll take some water," Mr. Bennett said. The other man just smiled, shook his head, and went back to work.

"Me and mom brought white Powerade for you," Thomas said proudly.

Micah was approaching us by that point. I was mortified at the thought of him coming close to me looking the way I did, but there was nothing I could do about it.

"White Powerade, my favorite!" Micah said, reaching out to ruffle Thomas' hair. I could tell by the way he approached us that he thought we would all go back into the kitchen together, but he put a hand on Thomas' shoulder and looked at him with a concerned expression on our way inside. "You okay?" he asked, noticing his brother's red eyes.

Thomas stared at him as if he had no idea what Micah was talking about. "He was telling me about his favorite Bible verse," I explained.

Micah understood instantly and regarded me with a relived smile. "He's tenderhearted about the Bible."

"The Bible's Carly's favorite book too!" Thomas said.

Micah reached into the fridge, got a bottle of Powerade, and leaned against one of the counters as he unscrewed the lid and took a drink. He had shaggy brown hair that was damp with sweat and haphazardly held back by some sort of headband. I watched in awe as he chugged down half the bottle of his drink. I could see the muscles in his neck flex as he swallowed. He was dark complected, and beads of sweat ran down the side of his jaw and onto his neck. It was all I could do to keep my mouth from literally hanging open as I stared at him. He was a flawless human being, and I was completely mesmerized.

I glanced away for fear of being caught gawking. Thomas was preoccupied staring at the nozzle of the sink, no one else was in there, so I figured I hadn't been caught. By the time I looked back at Micah, he was done drinking. He set the bottle onto the counter and gave me an appraising smile. He had straight white teeth that were framed beautifully by full but masculine lips. I had to pull my eyes away from his lips so I wouldn't be the weirdo who stood there and stared at them.

I looked at his eyes instead. I hadn't seen his eyes when we were outside, but I could see them clearly now. They were an odd shade of green—a soft, greyish green that stood out in stark contrast to his dark complexion and strong features. They were so beautiful I got instantly uncomfortable looking at them and quickly shifted my gaze to the floor.

"So, the Bible's your favorite book?" he asked.

My eyes snapped up to find that he was regarding me with a sarcastic little half smile. I had no idea how to answer his question. All I wanted to do was make a good impression on him. I thought about telling him I had only said that for his brother's sake, but Thomas was standing right there and I didn't want to hurt his feelings.

"Thomas knows way more about the Bible than I do," I said, hoping that was a safe answer.

"Thomas knows more about the Bible than most preachers," Micah said.

"I don't know more than Pastor Dale," Thomas said, still messing with the nozzle of the sink.

"Where'd you go to school?" I heard Micah say. I turned to see that he was looking at me. I instinctually adjusted my ponytail and shifted my weight. Micah was so comfortable and confident leaning against the kitchen counter, and all I could do was stand there feeling nervous and tongue-tied.

I had to swallow hard before speaking so I could find my voice. "Warren," I said. "I still go there. I'm going into my senior year." I paused, but continued, "What about you?"

He crossed his legs and braced his weight on his arms. "I went to Reagan, but I'm at UT Austin now. I'm going into my sophomore year."

"Micah's in the band!" Thomas said, with his arms raised.

"Not the marching band," he said with a smirk. "I'm in the commercial music program."

"Like where you make commercials?" I asked, having no idea what he was talking about.

He let out a laugh like he thought my question was cute. "No, commercial music just means pop, rock, jazz, and so on—you know, anything besides classical. I'm also taking some business classes in case I end up going into construction like my dad."

"So what do you play?" I asked.

Micah started to tell me but then looked at Thomas. "Hey brother, can you please bring dad a bottled water from the fridge?"

"You were gonna bring it to him, but you started talking to Carly about music," Thomas said, looking back and forth between Micah and me. "I'll tell dad you're busy."

"I'll be out there in a second," Micah assured him. Thomas was looking in the fridge when Micah shifted his attention to me again. "I sing and play guitar and bass—mostly guitar though. I'm in two combos at school, but I'm in a band that keeps me really busy."

"What kind of music does your band play?"

He shrugged. "I don't really know how to classify it—alt rock would be the best way, I guess." He paused and looked me over. "Are you eighteen?" he asked.

I shook my head. "Not yet, why?"

"Because we're playing at Ramone's tonight. I was gonna tell you to come check us out. We're opening for The Miffs so there should be a good crowd."

I immediately started racking my brain to figure out how I could get into a bar. I would have to get a fake ID, which could possibly get me into even more trouble. I stared at his gorgeous green eyes—light green at the center with a thin dark green ring around the edge, and I said, "I didn't know The Miffs were playing! I hate to miss that. I could probably borrow a friend's license for the night if I decide to go."

"You know The Miffs?" he asked, looking impressed. Thank goodness I actually did. They were a popular local band and Gigi was into that sort of thing. She had turned me onto them last year.

I nodded. "I've never seen them live, though. That'd be cool."

He smiled and my heart felt like it wanted to melt. "It'd be cool if you could make it," he said. "My band's called Sweet East. We go on at 9."

Just then, a small group of volunteers came in through the front door. We both glanced that way. There were two guys and a girl. "Look who's relaxing on the job," one of the guys said.

Micah laughed. "I've been lifting seven hundred pound rocks all morning, chief. Looks like you haven't even broke a sweat."

"Oh, I'm sweating plenty. Your mom's a slave driver out there with those flowerbeds. How about I come over there and stick your pretty face in my armpits? Then you can tell me whether or not I've been sweating."

Micah laughed again. They were all about our age, and I could tell they were good friends by how they were messing around. Before I knew it, the whole rowdy group came into the kitchen. They were all talking at the same time and seemed very familiar with each other. I suddenly felt extremely out of place.

"I should get back to work," I said to Micah, as I turned to leave. "It was nice meeting you."

"Nice meeting you too, Carly."

I smiled. "Good luck with your show if I don't make it."

He lifted his chin at me with a smile. My comment set the rest of them off talking about the show that evening and how they all wanted to go. Thomas was still outside delivering the water to his dad, so I headed out of the kitchen and down the hallway by myself.

I stopped in the bathroom. The walls hadn't been painted, and the sink and tub fixtures still needed to be installed, but there was a mirror hanging over the sink. I locked the door and took a second to stare at myself. I breathed a long sigh, letting my shoulders slump. I'd been so nervous talking to Micah that it felt good to slouch for a second. I took the ponytail holder out of my hair and ran my hands through the tangled mess before putting it up again this time more neatly. I leaned in closer to the mirror to inspect my own eyes. They were hazel with touches of brown gold and green, but not nearly as striking as Micah's. He was so gorgeous and exotic looking that I seemed plain by comparison.

I stared at my reflection, wondering if someone like him could ever be attracted to someone like me. I felt embarrassed at the thought and wanted to splash water on my face, but couldn't since there was no faucet. I breathed another sigh as I headed back for the bedroom to look for my roller and grey paint. And there they were, right where I left them.

Joan was in her assumed position on the opposite wall from me. "Did you meet Micah?" she asked. I glanced back at her but she was still staring the other way painting.

"Yes ma'am," I said.

A few seconds passed, and I thought that was all she was going to say, but then she spoke again.

"He's not a baby, is he?"

I paused. "No ma'am," I said tentatively.

"He's handsome, isn't he?"

I glanced at the door to make sure no one was in the hall overhearing us. "I guess," I said in little more than a whisper.

I dipped the roller into the paint and picked up where I'd left off, making a long, grey stripe on the wall.

"They're a good family," she said.

I didn't know what to say to that, really. It seemed like she was just making conversation, but all I could think about was how I simply had to find a way into Ramone's that night.

"Yes ma'am, it seems that way," I said.

Joan didn't say any more. We painted for a few minutes in silence before she took another break leaving me in there alone. Thomas came in while she was gone. He was holding a purple t-shirt. It was one of the ones they had made for the volunteers. He insisted that I put it on right then, so I slipped it on over the one I was already wearing. It was purple with white lettering, and it had the words "Happy House" along with a child-like drawing of a house on the front. The back said "Volunteer Crew". Thomas was proud to say he'd been the one to come up with the name of the place, and the one who drew the t-shirt design. I told him I loved both.

He stayed in there for the next two hours talking to Joan and me while we painted. He told us about his fifteen year old sister, Emily, who would have been there helping today if she hadn't been away at cheerleading camp. After he told us all about Emily, he elaborated on Micah's musical endeavors, making me even more certain that I wanted to find a way to get into Ramone's to see for myself.

We talked the whole time we painted about things other than Jesus and the Bible, and he didn’t cry once. He was funny and sweet, and I found myself charmed by his simple, positive outlook. I would have never dreamed I'd have such a great time talking to someone like Thomas. To my own surprise, I truly liked him—I felt like I'd hang out with him even if I weren't being forced to do so by my parents.