Page 41 of Red Flags Only

Vivi gawks.

Jove shoves his wallet in his back pocket, grabs my hand, and heads for the door.

“Have a good night!” I call behind us, looking back in time to see Vivi poking at the multiple bills left on our table.

Outside, Jove steers us to his truck, face thoughtful as his thumb taps against the skin of my hand where he holds it.

Is he upset? Thoughtful isn’t upset, right?

I mean, he didn’t seem thrilled to be leaving Sweet & Salty, and our time at mini-golf was cut short, too, and we haven’treallydone anything research-worthy on this research date. As the designated romantic, I haven’t exactly curated any romantic moments for him. I’m supposed to be helping, not just hanging out, going along on the ride.

My goodness, I haven’t initiated a single couple-like moment this entire time.

Jovepicked me up.Jovepaid for everything.Joveputhis arm around me as we walked from hole to hole at mini-golf.Jovehas been leading this thing from the beginning. All I’ve been doing is letting him.

Even right now, we’re holding hands becauseJovegrabbed my hand, not because of me.

“Are you mad at me?” I ask, then wince. What a stupid question. Of course he’s mad at you, idiot. You aren’t doing your job.

Jove’s eyes shoot to me, and his brows slam together. “Mad at you?” he asks. “Why would I be mad at you?”

I hate that question. There are too many answers, and I don’t want to tell him the ones he’s not already thinking of.

At my hesitation, he stops, shifting us until I’m stood in front of him, his arms around me.

My lip, unbidden, finds its way between my teeth.

“Of course I’m not mad at you, Ly,” he says softly, one of his hands traveling up my back to my neck and around, tilting my head up by my chin. “Why would you think such a silly thing?”

Avoiding eye contact this close is difficult, but not impossible. I lock onto the white strip of hair hanging over his forehead, conveniently located for my focusing purposes. “I don’t know,” I hedge. “Reasons.”

He groans, and I lose my focus point when his forehead taps mine. “No miscommunication,” he reminds me. “Only fake dating. One trope at a time, remember?”

With nowhere else to aim them, my eyes hit his, green on green.

His are the kind of green that’s green through and through. Not like mine, which are more of a speckled amalgamation of greens and yellows. His are green like the forest at night, like the grass after the sun sets. Deep and wild and fresh, like you could breathe them in forever and never get enough.

Dark lashes lower, hiding some of the forest from my view. “Lyra-love,” he whispers. “Talk to me.”

As if that isn’t the scariest thing in the world.

I gulp, squeeze my own eyes shut, and blurt, “I haven’t done anything to help you with your research at all, and you’ve been holding my hand and complimenting me and doing all the date things, and all I’ve done is exist in your vicinity, and you’re never going to be able to write your book this way, and then you’ll lose your job and all your money, and you’ll live in the streets and it’ll be all my fault.”

A long, long pause follows. Then, “Breathe, my song.”

I do – a big, gasping thing that drags against my throat and burns through my capillaries, painful.

“Again,” he orders.

I obey.

“Again.”

Over and over until my breaths come easy. Until I realize that he’s moved, straightening so that he could shove my face into his neck and my breaths are all the woodsy scent of him. I dig in further, feeling the scrape of evening stubble against my skin.

His arms, already holding me tightly to him, squeeze.

“All I need from you is your existence, Ly. Your very presence is inspiration enough for a thousand novels. You don’t have to do anything special because youarespecial. All that is you – your beauty, your humor, your wit, your care and consideration for others. The way your eyes get big when you think I’m going to insult someone. The way you defend others with a vehemence I wish you’d defend yourself with as well. The way that defense shatters when given a reason to shatter it, like defending my brother, which you didn’t hesitate to do. Do you think just anyone cares enough about people to care about Mars? I love him. Ilove him more than anything in this world, but I’m not blind. I know that he isn’t easy for others to love, too. He’s intensity and chaos, and not everyone can handle that. But you? You can handle it. You can handle anything, my brave, sweet Lyra.”

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