Page 28 of Red Flags Only

“Jove, people don’t go on research dates in real life,” she tells me, as if I give one flag about whatpeople do. Shehesitates then, like she wants to say more, but doesn’t.

Hm. I don’t like that. “And what else?”

Her eyes dart away from mine, then return, and she gulps. Visibly, she bolsters. “And I’m unsure I want to end up in prison, which is where I’m pretty sure a date with you would land me. Do you haveanylegal pastimes? Outside of letters?”

Well. She might have a point there.

“What if I promise not to have you do anything questionable as far as the law is concerned?”

“And not to do anything questionable yourself, thus making me an accessory to whatever crimes you commit?”

I scowl. “What if they really deserve it?”

“Who would ‘deserve it’ enough that you’d need to exact revenge in the middle of a date? How is that supposed to help withresearch?”

Uh… “I write dark romance,” I remind her. “As far as I’m aware, the crime and revenge are half of what the girlies love.”

“Crime and revenge aren’t what you’re struggling to write, though, are they? It’s the…” She coughs. “Romance?”

Another fair point.

It takes some effort, but I manage to rearrange my face in such a way that I’m no longer scowling. I am, instead, pouting. “Fine,” I grunt. “No crimes on our dates. Strictly romance.”

She freezes, eyes darting again. “Are you sure there isn’t some other girl you could, I don’t know,realdate?”

Ew. Gross. Vehemently no.

I say as much, and her shoulders sag.

“Dearheart,” I murmur, “I must reiterate. I care only for my brother and for you. If you can’t help me, I’ll be back to what I was doing before – butchering romance dialogueand slogging through every character interaction attempting and failing to give them chemistry instead of a horrible, dry awkwardness between them. I can do it, and Mars can fix it, and everything will probably be fine, but… I’ll hate it. Every moment of it.” I remove myself from Lyra’s lap, but don’t decrease our proximity. My hands land on her shoulder as I sit close enough for one of my legs to dig under hers, half positioning her in my own lap. “I don’t like feeling like a burden, whether Mars thinks I am or not. It’s enough thatIthink I am. ThatIknow exactly how much work he puts into fixing my mistakes and making up for my pitfalls. I hear him in his room when he edits, muttering curses and complaints and a thousandwhy, Joveys. I make things hard for him.” I inhale through my nose, deep, before letting it out through my mouth, ignoring the sting in my eyes as I go on. “I don’t want to make things hard for him. My Mars deserves the world, Ly. I can’t give it to him, try as I might, but I can give him this. I can get good so that he doesn’t have to experience so much frustration and annoyance. I just…” My hands squeeze, compulsive, on her shoulders. “I need help. If you’re willing. If you can.” Green on green, our eyes grapple. “Please,” I whisper.

She blinks hard, sniffing, then her hands slide over my skin, thumbs wiping wayward wetness off my cheeks. “Okay, Jupiter,” she says softly. So softly. “I’ll help you.”

Relief floods me. “Thank you, my song. You won’t regret it.”

Her bottom lip pulls in, snagged by anxious teeth. “I’m not sure about that,” she says. “But I’ll do it anyway.”

I smile, grateful, and pull her in for a hug, squeezing until she puffs, reminding me she needs to breathe.

“Okay,” I say, letting her go. “Extreme friendship schemes laid. Now we can focus on what matters most.” Isnag her nuggets, giving them back to her. “Food.”

She huffs a not-quite-laugh and grabs her remote off the coffee table. “Do you want to watch something while we eat?” she asks, but doesn’t wait for my answer, queuing up The Iron Giant – my all time favorite movie – with a few quick button mashes.

I practically purr. “Absolutely I do,” I answer, knocking my shoulder into hers as I relax into the couch, her legs still half on mine. My hand falls to rest on her thigh as the other transports a deliciously spicy nugget from her carton to my mouth.

She eyes my hand, and her nugget, but says nothing, lips smooshing together until they turn a pale, pinkish white.

Man, real life Lyra is nowhere near as mouthy as pen pal Lyra.

Stealing another nugget, I consider how fun it will be to pull the mouthy out of her.

And then I grin.

“One more thing,” I say, gathering our food trash into the empty Wendy’s bag as the movie credits roll.

Lyra’s eyes dart to me, and she freezes, breath halting mid-inhale.

I sigh. “Relax, my song. Would I ever hurt you?”

---