Page 7 of Flock
“In what sense?”
“In every sense.”
“Not really, no.”
He looks at me with such ... intensity, new hesitation in his posture, as if weighing whether or not to take back his invitation. Despite being slightly offended, I decide to make it easy on him.
“I guess that’s a dealbreaker? Don’t worry about it, see you around—”
“It’s not that, just ...” He cups the back of his neck. “Jesus, I’m fucking this up good. It’s just the guys, they’ll, well, they’re—”
“I’ve been to plenty of parties, Sean. I’m no Little Red Riding Hood.”
This earns me a grin before he stomps out his cigarette with a greased-stained tan boot. “Good, because we don’t want to let the wolf get a whiff.”
“Where exactly are you taking me?”
He flashes a blinding smile that feels like a bat to the chest.
“I told you, my spot.”
I should be wary, especially because of his hesitation, but I’m intrigued more than anything. “I’ll follow you.”
We pull up to a two-story house, the only one in a tiny cul-de-sac. The rest of the houses on the street spaced just far enough apart to allow a fair amount of privacy. It’s a far cry from the inch-between-houses neighborhood I grew up in. I get out of my Camry and meet Sean at his car, an old classic that I struggled to keep up with on the ride over. It’s fire engine red, looks newly polished, and seems to suit him perfectly. The rest of the parking spots in the circle and lining the street are cars of the same nature, mostly classics—all shiny metal with powerful engines or huge trucks that require some effort to climb in.
“This is beautiful,” I tell him as he gets out and closes the door, eyes hidden due to a pair of vintage Vegas Elvis-style shades. Sunglasses that would look ridiculous on anyone else but work effortlessly on him. Darting my eyes away, I run my fingers along the glossed exterior of the car.
“What is it?”
“’69 Nova, SS.”
“I love it.”
A flash of teeth. “Me too. Come on.”
I glance up the driveway, and it’s easy to see the tan-sided house is suited for bachelors. It’s nothing special—the lawn manicured enough to make it clean, but lacking a personal touch. There’s a group of people gathered on the porch, a few of their heads already turned our way.
A twinge of social anxiety keeps me idle as Sean walks a few steps ahead of me to follow. When he senses I’m not at his side, he turns back, and I latch my wrist to the arm draped loosely at my side. “Who all lives here?”
“Me and two others. They’re like my brothers, and both will bite.”
“That’s reassuring.”
He pushes his shades up to his crown and eyes me skeptically. “Maybe we should go somewhere else.”
“Should we?”
Sean takes the few strides toward me, his voice level when he speaks.
“Look, I’ll admit back at the plant I thought you were a bit more bulldog than pup.”
I give him a dead stare.
He points to my expression, a new grin in place. “See, now that, that mean mug right there, is what will keep you alive in this house. Think you can keep that up while you’re here?”
“I don’t understand. Aren’t these your friends?”
He lifts a steady hand between us before pushing some hair away from my shoulder. I don’t shy away from his touch. “If you had flinched, I’d take you somewhere else—you’ve got this. Just don’t take any shit like you didn’t from me back at work and you’ll be fine.”
