Flock (The Ravenhood)

Back aching from long hours on my feet, I unlock my car and practically fall into the seat, turning on the AC to get out some of the humidity in the interior. Tilting the vents my way, I let the warm sticky air dry on my face before I pull my phone from my purse and see I missed a text from Christy. I can’t help my smile when I see I also missed one from Sean.

Sean: Come to the garage. I’ll ping you.

It’s been a long day. I think I’ll just go home.

Sean: Bullshit. You can sleep in tomorrow. Pizza’s on me.

Sean pings me the location and I weigh my fatigue against the rush of seeing him again. Decision made, it takes me ten minutes to get there, and when I pull up, I’m shocked by the size of the garage. Next to a glass-enclosed lobby are six bay doors, the largest at the end, I assume for commercial machine repairs. It’s nothing like I imagined. A few of the cars I saw at the party sit outside in a large lot. Stepping out of my car, I hear music blaring from the other side of the dented bay doors. Clearly, business hours are over, with little sign of life inside aside from a dim light in the lobby. As I approach, an unmistakable smell invades my nose.

These devil boys are smoking ‘the weed.’

I giggle as I take down my hair and run my fingers through it. There’s absolutely nothing to be done about my uniform. I approach the door to knock and see Dominic on the other side of the double-paned window with a King’s Automotive logo in bold, shielding much of the glass. The sight of him stops my curious footing as I drink him in. A lock of dark hair cascades over his forehead as he furiously clicks the side of the mouse on his computer underneath a stuttering yellow light, a lit joint between his perfect lips, and an open beer next to his monitor.

His lashes are so thick. I can see them dancing over his high cheekbones from feet away. He’s a fucking marvel to look at. His broad chest is cloaked in a grey T-shirt with the logo along with a few grease spots that trail down to his dark jeans. I can’t see this man looking bad in anything. Studying his hands, I imagine the damage they could do or the pleasure they could give. As if he can sense me watching, he looks up, and our eyes meet.

Bang.

It’s a shot right to the chest and my blood pumps overtime to keep up with the oxygen I’m now deprived of.

He studies me just as intensely for a few seconds before he moves toward the door. Jerking it open, he stares down at me, his expression unreadable, the joint hanging loosely from his lips when he speaks.

“What are you doing here?” His voice is slightly raw as if he’s been yelling all day, then had a hot shot of whiskey after.

“I was invited.”

“Allow me to uninvite you.”

“Why?”

He blows a plume of smoke from his lips, and I turn my head to avoid it.

“You don’t belong here.”

I’m not leaving. That much I know. Thinking on my feet, I pluck the joint from his lips and pinch it between my fingers. His eyes deaden as I take a timid pull on it, fanning my hand repeatedly to get the rest of the smoke away from me as quickly as possible.

“This tastes…” I inhale, “fucking awful.” I choke, and cough on my exhale.

His lips quirk slightly before the smile is gone. “That’s because you’re trying to be someone you’re not. You can’t stay, Cecelia.”

“I won’t drink.”

He takes his joint back. “Do what you will, sweetheart, but not here.”

He moves to shut the door, and I stick my foot in it. “If this is about my dad, then you should know I’m not his biggest fan either, okay? I’m just a result of his sinful fornication,” I mock in my best preacher man voice. “And them’s the breaks,” I glance around the lobby, “pun intended. He doesn’t own this town. Or me.”

He crosses his arms, my words not making a dent in his stance.

“He’s not the sheriff, okay? Since I’m new in town, bored out of my mind and stuck here for a year, I could use some friends. Now, let me in before I play girl and whine to your brother.”

“See that window?” He jerks his chin to the large window behind me.

“Yeah.”

“What does that say?”

“King’s Automotive.” I roll my eyes, reading his intent. “Fine, you’re the shot caller, right? Then let’s barter, Mr. King.” I take a step up, so that we’re close, not quite nose-to-nose due to his height, but so that I’m invading some of his space. It’s a bold move and I do the best to hide the shake in my voice. I pull a twenty from my pocket. “Beers on me tonight.”

Another jerk of his chin. His spoon colored eyes unwavering.

I shove the money back in my pocket. “Come on, Dominic, let’s be friends.” Batting my lashes in exaggeration, I glance past his shoulder, hoping Sean will see me and intervene, but I come up empty. “What’s it going to take to get in here?”

He doesn’t move or speak but robs my confidence piece by piece by just standing there as I try my best to muster up some sort of alter ego worthy of this opponent. I can see by his unimpressed gaze that I’m failing miserably.

But he’s right. I’m a wallflower trying to impersonate a mighty oak. However, I made promises to myself that I intend to keep. So, I do the only thing I can, I pluck the joint from his fingers and take a bigger hit before blowing it right in his face.

I’m so high from just two hits I swear I can see space. A deep rumble comes from his throat as he lets out an annoyed exhale.

To my surprise, the door opens, and in my spacesuit, I take a wobbly step inside. His voice covers me in goosebumps as he speaks when I move to walk past. “Don’t make me regret this.”

I present his joint back to him with pinched fingers, and he takes it. “I won’t, but don’t let me hit this again.” I make it halfway to the door leading to the bay on the other side when he stops me.

“Cecelia.” I could live every day of my life listening to the curl of his faint accent around my name. I glance back and see the warning in his eyes. I spent half my shift being lectured to about tangling up with these men, and it did nothing but intensify my curiosity. “I’ll say this once. It’s not smart, you being here.”

“I know.”

“Can’t know much.”

“Oh, mais j’en sais déjà beaucoup, Français.” Oh, but I know a lot, Frenchman.

I may have taken French in high school, but I’m far from conversational. However, the payoff of those classes is well worth it to see the mild twitch of his lips and muted surprise in his eyes.

“Je ne parle pas français.” I don’t speak French.

He smirks, and I could die. It’s utterly perfect coming out of his full lips. The indifferent ire in his eyes licks me with every second that passes before I break our stare due to the intensity alone. Turning back to the garage, I stumble a little as I make my way toward the door seeing the guys huddled at the far end in the last bay, shooting pool on an old coin table. Sean finally spots me, his warm grin lighting me up. “See you in there?” I look back at Dominic, whose eyes are on me, his take on me impossible to read.

All I get is a nod.