Page 65 of Red Flags Only

I nod, quick jerks of my head that sway my hair againstmy neck. “I have been,” I promise. “But I knew you were coming.”

He runs a hand through his hair, then approaches me. “Even still,” he says, pulling me in for a hug. “I can wait outside for you to unlock it.”

Right. Sure. Lock my door. Impede the love of my life in his mission to get to me. I’ll get right on that.

“I think I’m overdressed,” I mutter into the soft cotton of his sage-green t-shirt. I slide my hands from his back to his sides then down until they hit the bulky waistband of black sweatpants. “Are we not going out?”

His sigh ruffles my hair before he steps back to take me in. Like the last time he saw me in this dress, his eyes darken, lids lowering over deep green irises as he takes his time perusing me, particularly my hips and waist, where 3D butterflies dance along the fabric. “You’re dressed perfectly,” he says. “You should never wear anything else, actually.”

He tears his eyes from my hips when I blush, and his pupils dilate as they zero in on my warming cheeks.

Besties forever, huh?

Yeah, right.

“Are we staying in?” I ask, surveying his outfit. I pause when I get to his feet, rubbing my eyes. This does nothing to erase the hallucination in front of me. “You have carrots on your feet.” Carrot shaped slippers, to be exact.

“Yes,” he says. “We’re testing a new trope today.”

“They make carrot slippers in size gargantuan?”

“I had them special ordered. Do you want to hear the trope?”

“Rich people special order carrot slippers?”

“Ispecial order carrot slippers for Mars and me,” he answers. “They’re comfortable. I’ll get you a pair. Now, please, honey, focus. Trope testing.”

“Sure,” I mutter, eyes locked on his carrots. “Trope testing.”

Wait.

No.

I have a mission.

My head jerks up, almost colliding with his chin. “Not trope testing!” I exclaim. “I need to talk to you first.”

His brows pull together as he frowns, body tense. “Are you fake breaking up with me?”

“No,” I say, and he relaxes. “Because we aren’t fake dating.”

He tenses again. “That sounds like fake breaking up,” he accuses.

“Jove,” I start. “Do you remember what I said in my love letter?”

He nods slowly, lips getting poutier by the minute. “Yes.”

“And you know that I would never lie to you?”

“Yes.”

“Which means everything I said in that letter is true.”

He nods. “Of course.”

Okay… Deep breath. Courage, Lyra, courage. You’ve already told him once. You just have to tell him again. Easy peasy.

I drag air into my lungs, then release it as Jove watches. “Is everything okay?” he asks.

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