Flock

Sean: Thinking of you.

What are you thinking?

Sean: All kinds of thoughts.

Care to get specific?

Sean: You’re beautiful and completely unaware of just how much. And you taste so fucking good.

What are you doing to me?

Sean: Not nearly enough. Come to the garage.

I’ll be there in an hour.

It’s been days since the waterfall and he’s barely touched me intimately since. He’s wrapped up in me constantly when we’re around the guys but leaves me every night with a chaste kiss, his mixed signals driving me up the wall. It’s as if he’s waiting for…something I can’t put my finger on. But instead of complaining about it, I’ve played along because, honestly, I’m enjoying the ache and anticipation. I’ve never been much of a fast girl, but my attraction to him makes my inhibitions hard to hold. The boys of my past have nothing on this man. Nothing. And these days, when I look at my reflection, I see the noticeable afterglow of the weeks spent draped in his attention. It’s a high I’d almost forgotten about, a high that’s more addictive to me than any drug could ever be. My heart has some scar tissue, but it beats steady, constantly letting me know that playing his game leaves it vulnerable, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear the warning. For now, I’m playing blissfully ignorant, all too ready for another hit.

“Can you put the phone down while we dine?”

I tense in my seat, feeling Roman’s stare and shove my phone into my pocket before lifting my fork.

“Sorry, Sir.”

“You are clearly distracted this evening.”

Because I’d much rather be in the now with Sean. I don’t know why Roman insists we dine together. Conversation is forced, our shared meals unbearably uncomfortable, at least for me. It’s hard to gauge what makes Roman uneasy because the man is impenetrable stone. He’s always a

“What were your parents like?”

I’ve never asked about them before. Not even when I was younger. Even when I had my youth to fall back on for false bravery, I knew better than to ask. They were both deceased, that’s the extent of what both Mom and I know.

Roman draws a perfect bite of pasta onto his fork. “What specifically do you want to know?”

“Were they as outgoing as you?”

His jaw clenches and I congratulate myself but steady my features.

“They were socialites, and my father kept regular attendance at the golf course.”

“How did they die?”

“They drank.”

“Poison? They go out in a Shakespearean way?”

“You find death amusing?”

“No, Sir.” I find this conversation amusing.

“They died not far apart. Three years. They had me when they were in their forties.”

“You got a jump on them in that sense, huh?”

My mother was twenty when she had me, and Roman was older by twelve years. He’d dipped into the honeypot.

“I never pla

I give him jazz hands. “Surprise. It’s a girl.”

Not even a twitch of a smile.

“Tough room,” I sip my water. “Sorry about the diapers, couldn’t be helped.” I’m positive the man never changed one of my diapers. Not one.

“Cecelia, do you plan on behaving this way all night?”

“One can only hope.” That you don’t destroy my soul with your death glare.

“So, no parents, no girlfriends. Do you have a friend to hang out with?”

“I have associates. Plenty of them.”

“So, what does Roman do to let his hair down?”

Another side-eye. I’m getting nowhere.

“Di

He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

As I flee the dining room, I swear I hear him echo my sigh of relief.

A little over an hour later, I enter the garage, and Tyler’s dimple greets me first. His eyes roam over me as I delight in his attention. I took special care tonight, soaking my body in lotion mixed with juniper essential oil. I styled my hair in beach waves and bronzed my skin so it shimmers, even in the muddled yellow lamps above. I went light with my makeup, so the freckles Sean told me he loves, shine through. But my lips I colored hot pink to match my new sundress.

“Damn, girl, you’re smoking,” Tyler says, greeting me with a warm half hug as Sean converses with Dominic on the far side of the garage away from everyone else. Even with the purposeful distance, their aggressive voices are muffled as Steve Miller croons out, “The Joker.” The conversation looks tense, so I decide to leave them to it. Jeremy greets me next with the lift of his chin and an appreciative sweep of his eyes as he takes his shot at the table. Jeremy is shorter in stature, but I can tell his second home is the gym. He’s bulky, solid muscle beneath his simple clothes, but he wears them well. He’s got the trendy man beard thing going on and sports suspenders over his T-shirt. His brown hair is cropped shorter, unlike Sean’s, who’s got that struck by God’s lightning hair.

“Up for a game, Cee?” Jeremy drawls before he taps the nine-ball in.

“You mean another ass whooping?” I ask as my eyes roam from his raven tattoo to the black beanie hanging from his back pocket. Even though the temperature cools considerably after sundown, it seems out of place for the start of summer.

“You pla

He pauses and then resumes chalking his cue before shoving the beanie deeper into his pocket. “Already did.”

“Oh yeah?”

He winks, and Tyler chuckles. “The only thing you robbed tonight is your mom’s dresser.”

Jeremy glares at Tyler. “Are we doing your momma tonight? Because I think we know how that ends. And for me, it’s always a happy ending.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Tyler snaps. Russell, who I consider the second mute next to Dominic, grabs a stick and chalks it. “Tyler, you know no one can do your momma quite like Jeremy can.”

I look to Tyler, who seriously looks pissed. “Is there really a story there?”

“No,” Tyler snaps, more toward the others than to me. “They’re just fucking with me.”

“If that’s what you have to tell yourself to sleep tonight, son,” Jeremy smirks and turns to me. “He’s a Momma’s boy. But I think we need some more quality time to remedy that. Daddy knows best.”

Gri

Shivers run down my spine when he looks at me this way. It’s as if we know what’s coming, and we aren’t the only ones aware of it.