Page 57 of Red Flag, Green Light

An odd sensation sprouts in my chest. “I don’t like to be.”

Those bright green eyes deepen. “I know.”

“I kind of reject it, to be honest. I hate the compulsion, so I isolate myself, so I don’t have to worry about others or what they think or how they are. Because the second I’m with someone, I forget myself entirely.”

“Yeah. I know, little goddess. I know.”

I feel like he does. Like he…gets exactly what I’m saying. Somehow.

Continuing my trend of idiocy, I say something even more stupid. “You know…”

“Hm?”

“I’m not exactly mentally stable.”

His grip on his phone tightens. Then he lowers the device. “Aren’t you?”

Heat crawls up my neck. “Not even a little bit.”

“Must’ve missed that. I’ll have to work on my observation skills.”

“Maybe you should set up cameras to better observe me.”

He swallows, wets his lips. “Maybe I should.”

My stomach twists. “Would be hot and cool of you, probably. Very villain mastermind.”

“Q…quite.”

My heart rate leaps into my throat, nearly strangling me. “Are we…”

His breath seems to catch. “Are we…?”

“Is this banter?”

The red in his cheeks grows until it’s unmistakably coating the curves of his ears. His dark hair brushes across the crimson when he rustles it. “Pretty sure this is…flirting.”

“Oh.” The heat in my neck reaches my own cheeks. “Okay. Yeah. I…thought so. Sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“I don’t.” My breath quivers. “I don’t know what I’m doing. You’re not my type. I’m just…”

“Not your type?”

I shake my head. “You’re too sweet. Respectful. Kind. Other adjectives that meannot toxic enough for meto not get bored. I do this thing where I try to act in the way I think the other person wants me to act, but you’re absolutely not interested in me, so I don’t know why I’m doing this and—” I suck in a breath, fight to quell the panic.

What am I doing?

What am I doing?

Silent, Mars rises. Drops his phone. Steps around my coffee table.

He’s in front of me in a moment, face burning, eyes…scorching. His hand lifts, planting to the back of my chair. My throat closes as his other hand cups my chin, tips my head back until my eyes are glued to his. “You don’t think I’m interested, so you’re not just filling in what you think I want right now?”

I gulp.

“Your type,” he murmurs, “is kind of concerning.”

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