Flock (The Ravenhood)

“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 carefully and hold out my hand.

“Let me see your driver’s license.”

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?”

“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.”