Page 72 of Red Flags Only

“Okay,” I whisper. “They can be friends-to-lovers.” I run my hand through her hair again, continuing down herback when I reach the end. “Do you want me to take you to bed?”

“Mm,” she replies. “Comfy. Sleepy.”

Cold, too, I notice. Goosebumps line her arm and upper back where they’re exposed to the air, and when I bring the blanket up to warm her, her feet peek out the other end. My nose wrinkles.

“Sorry, honey,” I rumble. “We’re going to have to move you. These blankets aren’t big enough.”

She groans, twisting to squint up at me. “You hate me?” she asks. “That’s what this is? Hatred? If you cannot in love me, you will in hate me?”

I sigh, bringing my hand to her cheek, red and puffy from where it pressed against my leg. “I could never in hate you,” I tell her. “Do you want to walk or would you prefer I carry you?”

She frowns. “I want to stay here. Forever, preferably.” Her hand covers mine, and she moves it back into her hair. “You can play with my hair,” she offers, so magnanimous. “It will be perfect, yes?”

“No,” I refute. “Because you would be cold, and I can’t bear the thought.”

She pouts, hand sliding to my forearm and squeezing her displeased revenge.

“I can play with your hair in your bed,” I offer. “After we’ve locked up the house and brushed our teeth.”

She huffs, but concedes, rolling away from me to sit up.

My breath catches in my throat as she stands, the back of her tiny shortsrightin my face.

Flagging, flagging, flag, I was not prepared for this.

Blessedly, she turns, realizes how close we are, and takes a big step back. “Whoops,” she mutters, stumbling over the blankets. “Sorry.”

I nod my forgiveness, not trusting my voice. “Go aheadand brush your teeth,” I say. “I’ll clean this up and close up shop.”

She looks around at the mess, biting her lip. “Are you sure?” she asks. “I can help.”

I look at her as I stand – her mussed hair, her barely opened eyes – and raise my eyebrows. “Go brush your teeth,” I order. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

She smiles, sheepish, and nods. “Okay,” she says. “I’ll see you in bed?”

My heart jumps, stops, and restarts.

I dip my head in an affirmative, and she comes to me, reaching up on her tiptoes to kiss the line of my jaw.

My stomach erupts, a flock of butterflies taking off so violently, I think I must be floating.

She turns to walk away and my hand covers my midsection in a vain attempt to quiet the riot happening within. One butterfly escapes, despite my efforts, and flutters its way past my seized lungs and stumbling heart, straight up to my brain, where it whispers a teensy little niggling thought at me.

“Ah,” I whisper to it. “Right.”

Well, flag.

I was wrong.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Oh, what, heis?

Jove

It’s 3:00 AM, and I can’t sleep.

If you’re not in love, then why am I here?

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