Page 73 of Red Flags Only

I don’t know, butterfly, I’m not a flagging expert.

Clearly.

Considering I’ve been in love with a woman for years and had no clue.

My goodness, then my stupid self didn’t believe her when she told me.

I have worms for brains, I swear.

Lyra lies next to me, cuddled deep into my side as she sleeps. Her little honk-shoos tightening a knot in my chest.

I have to tell her.

She already knows, but she doesn’t know thatIknow, and it’s tearing me apart.

I can’t sleep.

By the time I made it to bed after securing the house, she was already under the covers and out like a light. I couldn’t bring myself to wake her.

I couldn’t calm enough to sleep.

And so here I’ve lain, thinking over every letter I’ve ever written, every hint there’s ever been that I’m completely gone for this girl.

It’s terrifying.

It’sinvigorating.

Do I actually hate Brian Single, I ponder, or do I just hate that she gave him pieces of her heart that should have been mine?

When I promised her at fifteen that I’d wear my necklace over my heart so that it would be next to her, how did I not see it?

Nearly a lifetime of signs, and I missed them all, including the huge light up one she shoved in my face.

“I’m so stupid,” I tell the ceiling, frowning at the faintly glowing fairy lights strung across it. “I’ve wasted so much time.”

I could’ve been here with her ages ago. What was Idoing?

Being stupid. So unbelievably stupid.

I hope she can still love me despite my incredible lack of brain cells.

She shifts, nose nuzzling my skin as her lashes flutter, tickling me. “Jupiter?” she slurs. “You okay?”

I am, unequivocally, the most okay I’ve ever been.

“No,” I answer. “I have to tell you something.”

She smiles, a sleepy, beautiful thing. “Didn’t take long,” she mutters. “Outfit worked.”

I snort, then shove my arm under her to lift her up on top of me. “I love you,” I confess. “I’m so stupid.”

Her smile is a little bit dopey, and she doesn’t open her eyes when she responds, “You totally are. It’s cute.”

I groan, throwing my head back against the pillows. “I’m a himbo,” I complain. “And you’re encouraging it.”

Her answering giggle is as adorable as it is sleepy.

“Will you even remember this?” I ask.

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