Flock (The Ravenhood)

“Good morning, Cecelia,” Roman says as I join him in the dining room. He sits at the polished table in a high-backed chair. The rest of the room is empty, save robin’s egg and cream draperies that I know are worth a fortune. He’s dressed in some designer or another as he skillfully plucks some grapefruit onto his fork.

“Good morning, Sir.”

“I heard you arrive last night. Is there something wrong with your car?” He’s displeased.

Tough shit.

“I’m having it serviced, and I’ll be picking it up this afternoon.” It’s the only lie I can manage as I fight the urge to press my hands to my temples.

I had no idea that cider could be so potent. Passing on the small breakfast display, I duck into the kitchen—a Michelin star chef’s dream—pull a bottled water from the fridge, gather some of the yogurt I requested his housekeeper buy, and snatch a few grapes. Back in the dining room, I peek out the window to see the front of the property lit up with the new day’s sun. The house would be perfect for a family that enjoyed each other’s company. It saddens me that it’s wasted on a man who doesn’t appreciate it.

“Your first day is today.”

“Yep,” I take the seat opposite him.

“Your word choice is not appreciated, nor is your lack of enthusiasm,” he says dryly, scrolling through his phone.

“Sorry, Sir, I’m still a little shell shocked from the move. I’m sure I’ll have more when I’m fully awake.”

He eyes me, and I see some of myself in our shared dark blue, along with my inherited chestnut hair. “Do you have everything you need?”

I nod. “Anything I don’t, I can grab myself.”

He sets his phone down and regards me with the authority of a parent, which is both laughable and irritating. “I want you to take advantage of this year. Really weigh your options. Have you decided on a major?”

“Not yet.”

“It’s getting late.”

I glance at my new Apple Watch, a first-day gift he had waiting on the threshold of my door last night when I got home. I’m still deciphering if it was a hint on the schedule I agreed to keep or a kind gesture. “It’s only eight a.m.”

“Don’t be coy.”

I wink at him. “Learned from the best.” That’s a lie. I haven’t learned a thing from this man, except time is money for him, and both seem to be better spent elsewhere. I pop a grape in my mouth. “Thank you for the watch.”

He ignores my appreciation, his jaw tensing. “I got a call from HR.”

I slump in my seat and swallow. “Oh yeah?”

“What were you thinking with that comment?”

“I wasn’t, Sir. And I assure you, it won’t happen again.” And it won’t. I’ve spent the majority of my life on the right side of things, and it’s always been by choice. Sean was right. I’m far more good girl than rebel by decision. I’ve seen one too many of my peers go the other way, and it did not fare well for them. Not at all. However, nothing about this exchange is sitting well with me. Any authority my father has right now over my life, I’m granting him, and hating it. It would be so easy to push away from the table and claim my life back, and the year he’s stealing. But it’s more than money, it’s my mother’s welfare dangling overhead, so I straighten my posture. “I’m looking forward to it, honestly. I just may have overdone it a little last night.”

“Not really what a father wants to hear.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to say, ‘where’s this father you speak of?’ but instead I play nice.

“Just blowing off a little post-grad steam. If it eases your mind, I only had three girl beers, and I’m not much of a fan of drinking, or anything else for that matter.”

“Good to know.”

You know nothing.

“Who brought you home?”

“Just a local.”

“Ah, does he have a name?”

“He does. Friend.”

And that’s the end of our discussion. I make sure of it.

Coast is clear.

Sean: I’ll be there in thirty.

I’ll be out back swimming. Join me if you want. The gate code is 4611#.

My first jump in the pool is glorious. I make sure of it by doing a cannonball and screaming a curse at the top of my lungs. It just seemed like the right thing to do. I don’t know enough about my dad to discern if he’s satisfied with his life, but I’m pretty sure he’s not happy.

Happy people can’t pick up pennies with their ass cheeks. He’s too high strung, a trait I’ve inherited, and am determined to try and rectify. But if this year is all about getting into his good graces and being on my best behavior, I’ll wait until I’m left to my own devices to ensure a quiet rebellion. Everything about my time here so far feels calculated, like everything is in its place, the feel and look of perfectly combed hair that I’m dying to ruffle up. If I’m a rebel at all, my fight is against the monotony. Maybe that’s why I felt so at home at that party. Everything about that group screamed lawlessness, at least in the parental sense. And this time—my time—between graduation and college should be the time I have the same freedom. I spend the first half of my morning deliberating on how to steal some of what’s being stolen back.

My dilemma has a simple solution. From now on, I’ll say yes more often. To whatever and whomever I choose. Playing it safe my first eighteen years has proven to be flavorless, if not a bit fruitless. I don’t want to move into the next phase of my life or the one after regretting chances I didn’t take. So, this summer I’ll trade no for yes. I’ll trade playing it safe for playing, period. I’ll toe the grey area, which includes my obligations to my parents and figure out a way to swirl in a little color for myself.

I’ll take this year of confinement and mix it with some much-needed liberation, not only from my responsibilities, by from my own self-inflicted moral code.

Free time will take on a whole new meaning for this wallflower.

I seal that deal with myself with a leap into the pool.

I’m several laps in when I see the blurry reflection of my new arrival. Breaking the surface, I manage to stifle the gasp that threatens when I spot Sean in swimming trunks, a lit cigarette in hand, standing at the edge of the pool.

From the mere sight of him, I have the urge to cross myself in the Holy Trinity and send up a prayer of thanks. He’s ripped, in every sense, from head to toe, from the razor-sharp cut of unruly hair to his obscene pecs, to the extra pebbled muscle flaring just next to his ribs. The delicious trail of golden hair leading past the waistband of swimming trunks accentuated by arrows of his deep V. It’s as if the devil himself and his physique made a deal, giving him zero room for anything other than golden flesh and muscle. Hovering above, he oozes with sex appeal on dry land as I drown in the sight of him. Even with his chunky gold glasses covering his eyes, I can feel his stare, and it’s a shot of adrenaline straight to the chest.

“Miss me, Pup?”

“Maybe.”

He leans down cupping water to snuff out his cigarette, and it’s the first time I can clearly see the tattoo on his arm. The feathered tips belong to a raven with stretched wings taking up the whole of his upper arm, the head and beak rest against his bicep, facing away from him as if watching his back. The menacing and lethal claws at the foot of the body embedded in such a way it’s as if they’re anchored painfully into his skin. The ink is so vibrant, so bold. It’s as if it’s a separate entity from him. Like if you were to reach out and touch the intricately defined feathers, the bird will react.

“Nice place.”

“Thanks, I’ll tell the owner.”

He looks around. “You really don’t want to stake any claim in all this?”

I shrug. “I didn’t earn it.”

He shakes his head and lets out a low whistle, scanning the grounds. “So, this is how the one percent lives.”

“Yep, and trust me, it’s just as foreign to me as it is to you.”

“How so?”

“We’ve been estranged for years. I had to outgrow my adolescence before he decided we could have a relationship again.”

“That’s shitty.”

“Enough about Roman. You swimming or not?”

Dropping his T-shirt and smokes, he dives in, and I turn in time to see him emerge, a river pouring from his thick blond strands, sliding down his impressive chest.

He lifts to stand, towering above the water line, marking his height an inch or two above six feet.

“How you feelin’ today, lightweight?” He asks, his faint drawl distinct, like perfectly edited punctuation.

“I feel…like I got drunk off a few chick beers. And maybe a little embarrassed.”

“Don’t be. You made an impression.”

“Couldn’t have been much of one, I got kicked out.” I tread water, feeling the burn of the sun on my back.

“That wasn’t you, it was Dom, trust me.”

“So, tell me why you quit the plant the first time.”

“I was working at the garage, but Dom graduated from college and came back to claim my spot.”

“Dominic just graduated?”

He hikes a brow. “You judged him that hard, Pup?”

“Maybe, but he’s a dick. Where did he go to college?”

“Just got his masters from MIT. Computer geek. He’s an evil genius with a keyboard.”

My interest only grows. “Really?”

He lifts one side of his mouth. “You impressed?”

I stand stunned, not at all able to picture Dominic on any school campus just as Sean cuts his hand along the water creating a tidal wave that drenches me.

I sputter out the water in surprise. “You ass!”

“You’re in a pool.” He lifts a thick brow. “Bound to get wet.”

His statement is loaded with insinuation, and I know Christy would have a field day if she saw this guy. I can hardly believe he’s standing in Roman’s pool.

I move to engage in his play and turn swiftly instead, pulling myself from the water before adjusting my bikini to make sure I’m covered. I picked the less revealing of the two I own, but I might as well be naked with the feel of his eyes on me.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m thirsty? You?”

His eyes dip to the water dripping from my neck. “Sure.”

“Water? Tea? Grape juice?”

“Surprise me.”

“Surprise,” I say, stripping the water from my hair with a towel before wrapping it around me and widen my eyes. “It’ll be grape juice.”

“Living it up today, huh?” His smile is blinding. I fight the urge to ask him to take off his shades. Walking toward the house, I can feel the tension coiling, and I know the goosebumps on my skin have little to do with the air hitting my wet body. Once inside, I carefully trek over the sea of polished marble and peek outside to see Sean hoist himself up on the side of the pool, lighting a cigarette, waiting for me. Fighting the urge to text Christy, I bury my face in my hands and feel a smile building beneath. Though I’ve only had two partners, I’m not an innocent girl. In fact, when I became sexually active, I surprised myself with my thirst, my sexuality, with my fascination for the act itself, and the unexpected cravings after, but this attraction is on another level.

Opening the fridge, I grab two bottles of grape juice and again glance outside. When I was seventeen, I had a horrible crush on Brad Portman. The feelings that stirred in me when the attraction was returned were some I knew could never be topped. Later, when he kissed me for the first time and fire exploded in my chest and belly before trickling to my core, I was sure nothing could come close to that euphoria, nor the feeling of when he closed his eyes tight with pleasure and pressed inside me, claiming my virginity.

Those feelings and memories, I swore would remain the hottest moments of my life, until I walked outside, juice in hand, to see Sean lift his sunglasses.