Page 82 of Flock
“I’m good.” I see him visibly relax with my reply.
“Yeah?” One side of his beautiful mouth lifts. “Made peace with the devil inside?”
“Trying to.”
He rubs his thumb along the edge of my lips. “Had to wear that fucking lipstick, huh?”
“You like?”
“You’re going to pay for that later. Come on.” Loosening my grip on him, he grabs my hand and leads me toward the crowd.
“What’s going on?” I ask, just as we break through a line of tall, tattooed men—some of the faces familiar.
“Waiting on Dom to leave,” Tyler answers, giving me a dimple and a lift of his chin.
Of all of the crew, Tyler and I have grown the closest. We have a lot in common, and recently bonded over our shared love for all things nineties, while he helped me up my pool game.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see,” Russell chimes in. “’Sup, Cee.”
“Hey, Russell.” The warm reception from them helps my shaky confidence and I embrace it for what it is. They seem to have accepted me as one of their own, and it’s a foreign but welcome feeling.
“Hey, you.” Layla appears, breaking through the line and bumping into my shoulder. “Been a minute.”
“Hey, Layla,” I say, my gaze back on Sean who’s looking at me in a way that feeds my soul. A look that says we’re still us, and that’s truly what matters most to me. It’s still very much beyond my comprehension that he could be liberal with me and still look at me the way he does. In a hypocritical way, my romantic heart is disappointed he would, that he did. But so far, he’s practiced to the letter what he’s preached. He liberated me that day because he wanted me to have what I wanted. And that’s a different way—maybe Sean’s way—of showing affection.
Not only that, it turns him on.
A scenario I never saw myself living in.
But I am, and my heart starts to kick up as we gaze on at each other as though we’re the only two people in the parking lot.
“Let’s get you a beer,” Layla says glancing over at Sean. “I’m taking her for a minute. Girl talk.” Sean only nods, his eyes still fixed on me, his tongue tracing the ring on his lip.
She pushes past the wall of men, pulling me into her side as she walks toward the guy manning the keg. He pours us each a beer. Layla remains quiet as I survey the crowd of at least twenty guys. “What’s going on tonight?”
“Waiting on Dom, as usual. He takes his fucking time, on no one’s schedule.”
“Are we late for something?”
“Not really—a meetup.” She looks me over. “You look good, girl.”
I tear my eyes away from Sean, who’s now talking animatedly amongst his circle, and study Layla. Her outfit coordinates with mine. She’s in jeans and a tee that shows her toned midriff. Her blonde hair is sleeked back in a high ponytail. “Thanks. So do you.”
“Couldn’t miss that exchange if I was blind. So, Sean, huh?” She gives me a knowing grin.
And Dom. I hide my flinch at the knee-jerk thought, and she reads my posture.
She draws her brows. “Undecided then?”
I take a sip of my beer. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Do they ... am I?” I shake my head, frustrated. These are clingy chick questions.
“They?” She reads my face, my posture. “Ah, oh, okay, I got you,” she says through a laugh.
