Page 46 of Red Flags Only

“Worse?” I ask, hand to my chest. “You wound me. I’m a good boy.”

She stops dead, blinking at me. “Right,” she says. “A good boy.”

I’d probably take offense to that if I weren’t so busy being absolutely flagging mesmerized by the golden star-shaped freckles dusting her cheeks. She’s got matching shimmer on her eyelids, bringing out the golden hues of her otherwise grass-green eyes, and more stars grace her collarbones on either side of the dangling butterfly charm at the base of her neck, peeking out above a soft pink… something. Surely that is not a dress. Dresses are of this earth, tainted by the dirt of this world. What she has on… it’sethereal. Angelic. Flowing in wind that does not exist and laying so sweetly over curves that have me yearning. For what, I’m not sure. But I know that I want it.

“You could bring a man to his knees,” I mutter, eyes caught on the waistband of her not-dress, where a teensy little 3D butterfly sits, about to take flight. “Where did you get that?”

She might blush. I can’t tear my eyes away to check.

“I special ordered it a few years ago,” she says. “From a woman a few towns over.”

“Oh?” I ask, eyes roving to her sleeves, which appear to be made from the delicate glass wings of fairies.

“I’ve never really had anywhere to wear it before, so I thought…” she trails off, and her fairy sleeve shifts as her arms wrap around her middle. “Well, I thought a date would be a good chance.”

Finally, my eyes make their way back to her face. Blushing, yes, an endearing pink nearly identical to the color of her clothing. Her eyes meet mine, then flick away, and the pink intensifies.

“You thought right,” I mutter. “I am blessed. Grateful beyond measure. Humbled.” I approach her, holding out my hand, and she takes it, bless all. “I love your stars and your butterflies. You look gorgeous, Lyra-love. The prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Her smile is slight, but pleased.

“I’m not entirely sure how practical your outfit is for my plans, though. Do you have shorts underneath?”

Her eyes widen. “Are you asking about my underthings?”

“O-of course not!” I stutter. “I just wanted to know if you’d be covered for our activity!”

Her face, previously cooling down, beats red now. “I’m covered!” she squeaks.

“Great!” I respond, the opposite of squeaky. “We can go then?”

She nods and her feet click as she heads to the door. “We can go!”

My head drops to look at her shoes, and I almost do drop to my knees. So much string. So many teensy butterflies. So many peachy-pink toenails.

Flag, she’s adorable.

Somehow, I manage the walk to my truck without prostrating myself at her feet, begging her to let me worship. I even, miraculously, remember to open her door for her, sweeping cascading yards of fabric into my truck before closing the door, careful to make sure not an inch of fabric gets caught.

“Where are we going, anyway?” Lyra asks as I settle in behind the steering wheel and put the truck in drive.

“Go-karts!” I exclaim. “I called ahead this time to check.Definitelyflags involved in go-karts. Specifically red ones. And checkered, but who cares about that?” Not the girlies, so not me.

“You called ahead?” she asks. “Did you also ask if any delinquent teens work there?”

“Delinquent teens aren’t an issue,” I answer. “I was a delinquent teen. Theissueis stupid ones.”

“Is them doing something to Mars the only thing that qualifies them as stupid?”

“No,” I reply. “Doing something to you will also earn them the moniker.”

Her reply gets lost as we enter the parking lot for Trip’s Fun Emporium, where the go-kart course is located. Also located here are about five hundred speakers pointed into the parking lot blasting kid-safe pop music at full volume.

“What?” I yell over the music as I find a spot.

“I said,” Lyra yells back. “That it’s a good thing I don’thave any ongoing issues with any youths!”

I shrug. That’s what she thinks.

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