Page 40 of Flock
Chapter Fifteen
Sean guides me into the dark bar by the hand, our bellies full after feasting on fajitas; our collective pockets lighter after tipping Selma profusely. Uneasy, I fidget behind him as I take in our new surroundings—neon lights of every color line the walls, the floor littered with overused cocktail tables. The only thing that looks new is a jukebox sitting in the far corner. The bar has the shape of a shoebox and smells a lot like a soured dish rag.
“’Sup, Eddie?” Sean greets the man behind the bar. Eddie looks to be in his early thirties and rough around his every edge. His eyes are the color of midnight and his size is intimidating to say the least. I can’t help but note the presence of a familiar tattoo on Eddie’s arm as he drapes a soiled towel over his shoulder.
“Hey, man,” he replies, eyeing me over Sean’s solid frame. “I can see what you’ve been up to.”
Sean gives him a lopsided grin. “This is Cecelia.”
I give him a little wave behind Sean’s bicep. “Hi.”
“What are you drinking?”
I grip Sean’s arm, hesitant. He knows I’m not of age. He runs his thumb over the back of my hand.
He’s got this.
Of course he does.
“I’ll take a beer.” He turns to me. “You?”
“Jack and Coke.”
I damn near giggle when Sean’s brow lifts. I lean in. “I’ve always wanted to order one. The alternative is a martini, and I don’t think Eddie would make one of those.”
He grins. “You thought right.”
Sean pays for our drinks and leads us to a table on the far side of the bar closest to the jukebox. He pulls out the leftover stash of quarters from our laundry run and hands them to me. “Choose wisely, or Eddie will throw us out on our asses.”
I take the money and make a few selections before joining Sean at the table. He lifts my drink to me, and I thank him before taking a huge sip. My eyes widen as the whiskey latches to the back of my throat and I start to choke. Sean winces and turns back to Eddie, who raises a skeptical eyebrow.
Even with the burn threatening imminent death, I know I need to play this underage drinking thing a lot better. My eyes watering, I clear my throat as Sean chuckles.
“First time drinking the hard stuff?”
“Piece of cake,” I say, as the warm liquid starts to filter through my veins.
He shakes his head, a rueful smile on his lips. “Where exactly did you grow up again? I’m thinking there’s a ville on the end of it.”
“Shut up. And you’re calling me small town? There’s like four stoplights in this one.”
“Twelve.”
“I told you I didn’t party much in school.”
“Or ever,” he jests.
“I just . . .” I sigh.
“Just what?”
“Well, my mom was a mess and lush enough for both of us. One of us had to be the grown-up.”
Sean’s hazels soften and I decide they’re far more green than brown. “Don’t get me wrong. I wouldn’t trade her for the world. She was a lot of fun.”
“Was?”
“Yeah. I learned how to drive when I was eight.”
