Page 54 of Red Flags Only

Jove’s head whips toward me, eyes narrowing. “Love?” he asks, holding his arm out for me.

No hesitation, I scurry over to him, squeezing as far from Chrissy as I can get in the doorway, barely clearing an outstretched elbow.

Jove’s arm lands on my shoulders when I reach him, pulling me into his side like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Mimicking his casual, I wrap my own arms around his waist and lean my head against his chest.

“Is she paying you or something?” Chrissy asks,drawing Jove’s eyes away from me. “Is that what this is?” She sneers. “Or is it charity work?”

Oof.

“Whatstuffdoes Lyra have of yours?” Jove asks, ignoring her questions.

She sniffs. “My favorite lip gloss is here, and she has one of my sweaters.”

Silence meets her.

She’s acting like this over… lip gloss?

“It’s discontinued,” she defends. “And I want it back.”

Right. “Okay,” I mutter, ducking out of Jove’s hold. “Give me a minute.”

“I’ll come with you,” she clucks. “I don’t trust you not to ruin it before you bring it out here.”

“You’ll go to the sidewalk out front, and you’ll wait there,” Jove rumbles. “You’re not stepping foot in Lyra’s house, and once you hit sidewalk, you’re not stepping foot on her property ever again either.”

“I know you think you’re big and bad and can do whatever you want,” she hisses. “But you’re not in charge here. It’smystuff.I’llmake sure it’s retrieved without issue.”

Jove’s eyes darken, and he steps forward. “You’ll stay on the sidewalk, or the least of your concerns will be a missing lipgloss.”

Her eyes narrow. “Are you threatening me?”

“Yes,” he answers. “And you’d do well to heed it.”

Chrissy does not like that. Not. One. Bit.

“You don’t scare me, Jove Rogue,” she spits, leaning forward with murder in her eyes.

I lean back as far as Jove’s arm allows, avoiding spit and malice.

Jove does not like that. Not. One. Bit.

Hostilities rise, and I squeak. “I’ll be right back withher stuff!”

I book it down the mosaic path that leads to my front door, grateful when I hear Jove’s heavy footfalls behind me, squishing on wet leaves and separating me from a huffing Chrissy following in the rear.

At the front of the house, Jove blocks her way as I ascend the porch, standing wide legged in front of my steps with a simple, “No.”

Chrissy tries to step past him.

Jove’s arm whips out, hooks around her waist,liftsher, and deposits her back in front of him.

She tries again, glaring.

Effortlessly, he moves her back to her spot on the sidewalk.

“This is abuse!” she screams. “You can’t touch me like that!”

I blink.

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