Page 6 of Flock
“Sorry,” a flash of teeth, “couldn’t resist.”
“Try harder.”
His chuckle sends a flutter across my skin. “Will do. That was pretty brave back there.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not looking forward to the job. It’s a condition of my sentence.”
He frowns. “Sentence?”
“Because of my last name. I’m being forced to work here for a year, so I’m deserving of it, I guess.” I shrug as if my bitterness hasn’t said too much on my behalf.
“Hmm, you aren’t alone. I’m not thrilled about being back here either.” He’s older, I’m guessing somewhere in his mid-twenties, his presence impossible to ignore due to his insanely good looks. His scent is just as tempting—cedar and something else I can’t put my finger on. The vibe he’s throwing off is irresistible. The more he stands in the golden sun, the more he seems to absorb. It’s alarming just how much looking at him is unnerving me. But I don’t berate myself for it because his gaze is equally shameless. This morning, though my mood was grim, I’d dressed up, and I’m glad I made an effort as I face off with Sean in a knee-length halter sundress, black with small white polka dots. I’d left my hair down, and it lays straightened over my shoulders. I’d spent extra time on my lashes and heavily glossed my lips, which I lick under his stare, and his eyes drop.
“Cecelia, right?”
I nod.
“So, what are you doing now?”
“Why?”
He runs a hand through his messy spiked mane. “You’re new in town, right? My roommates and I have a spot a few miles away. We’re having a few friends over today, and I thought you might want to come.”
“Yeah, I’m going to pass.”
He tilts his head, amused by my fast answer. “Why?”
“Because I don’t know you.”
“That’s the point of the invite.” His mouth might be moving with pleasantries, but his eyes are devouring me in a way I’m not entirely comfortable with.
“That crack I made back there might have given you the wrong impression about me.”
“I’m making no assumptions, swear,” he holds up his palms, where a heavily inked ace on his right wrist poses as a permanent top card up his sleeve.
Clever.
He winks, and it feels like a kiss on the cheek. All I have to look forward to at home is a swim and a book. And I have a feeling I’ll be doing that for most of the summer. I look him over suspiciously and hold out my hand.
“Let me see your driver’s license.”
With a thick blond brow raised, he pulls out his wallet and hands me his license. I take the offered card and eye it and him as a cigarette appears, dangling between his lips before he strikes a black titanium Zippo, and I flick my attention back to his ID.
“You are aware you’re the last smoker, right?”
“Someone’s got to keep up my old man’s bad habits,” he says on an exhale.
“Alfred Sean Roberts, twenty-five, and a Virgo.” I take a picture of his license and shoot off a text to Christy.
If I wind up dead, this dude did it.
The response bubbles start immediately, and I know she’s going insane. The picture does little credit to the real thing. His looks are jarring and seem out of place here.
“Sending out a safety net?” he asks, reading my move.
“Exactly,” I hand him back his license. “If I don’t make it home, you’re suspect number one.”
He seems to mull over my statement. “Do you party?”
