Page 20 of Flock
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. Instead, he 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 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. I make my way toward the door and see 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.
Chapter Eight
After eating my weight in pizza—no doubt due to the buzz—I steal another look at Dominic, who went straight to work on a Chevy after entering the garage. His shirt has ridden up, giving me the perfect view of the ripples in his stomach along with a hint of his V while he lays on a roller on his back. The bay I assumed was for commercial use turned out to be an after-hours lounge set up with leather couches that surround the ancient, ratty green pool table.
Tonight’s gathering consists of Sean, myself, Russell, and Jeremy, whom I’ve learned also works at the garage with Dominic. I sit tucked into the corner of a long, beat-up, pleather couch next to Sean as Jeremy and Russell shoot a game. Southern rock croons softly in the background at Sean’s insistence. He’s to the left of me, his muscular thigh touching mine, arm draped behind me along the back of the couch. Between the heat of his body, his smell, and the sight of Dominic’s bare midriff just feet away, I’m having a horrible time keeping my hormones and accompanying imagination in check. But my pheromones must be working overtime because I can’t seem to escape the stares of the men I’m keeping company with either. I don’t flatter myself they’re interested, but just as curious about me as I am them, and their collective raven tattoos.
Sean had said they were a promise, but I can’t imagine what that means.
I’ve timed my glances at Dominic, feeling a little like a creeper with the amount of attention I’m giving him. He’s the quietest, making him the most enigmatic of the four.
Much like Sean, it’s just not natural for a man to be so fucking enticing. As many times as I’ve glanced over, I haven’t managed to find a single thing my eyes disagree with.
