Page 9 of Red Flag, Green Light

Realization hits me, cold and hard, as it computes that I do happen to have another problem right now. One I am staring at. One that is standing in my living room, uninvited. After three years of amicable coexistence, half the town’s biggest bad boy duo is in my house.

My not freaking out overmuch is a testament to all the dark romance I read.

Until right this second, this situation did not even register as anissue, only a minor inconvenience. A bit odd and abnormal, but definitely explicable according to dark romance logic, whichis—unfortunately for my sanity—the only logic I possess.

The male leads in my stories who show up unannounced in their lovers’ homes always have a really good reason.

So what might be a really good reason for Mars to be here?

Back straightening, I turn and take a deep breath. “Is there a fire?”

I can only smell cake.

“Wouldn’t that be delightful?” Mars asks, positively charmed.

Slowly, I reaffix my gaze on my intruder, who appears to not be here warning me that I left my stove on, have lost my kitchen to flames, and must evacuate immediately.

Now that I’m thinking about it, though, there’s no reason for my stove to be on because I haven’t eaten today. Amelia’s call distracted me around the time I normally find food. After we hung up, I got right into work, completely forgetting about lunch…or possibly dinner? What time is it?

I might be hungry.

Imighthave rice.

The sound of Mars’s cards snapping against each other fills my head.

The weight of his stare rests upon me, so I abandon thoughts of food in favor of priorities.

After a solid ten seconds, he provides nothing that clarifies his presence in my living room, so I glance toward my computer monitor.

Do I…get back to work? Can I check on that rice situation?

No, that can’t be right.

There is a stranger in my house. I need to deal with the stranger in my house, even though I have absolutely no clue what to…dowith him.

Small towns are wild. Maybe people walking into other people’s houses is a thing. It’s like…common law. But with livingbeside one another. You hit a certain number of months, and then it’s all free range.

I clear my throat. “Correct me if I’m wrong…thisisn’tnormal behavior, right?”

“No, I suppose it isn’t,” he says, which means he can still talk, which means he’s choosing not to.

Which means it must be my job to do something right now.

Manners return to me, like a strike of lightning, and I stand. “Can I get you something to drink? Water? Juice?” I definitely don’t have juice, actually… I love juice. Juice does not survive long in this domain. Shopping day is tomorrow. There’s no way juice would ever make it from one shopping day to the next. “I might have some lemon juice…and sugar… I can make lemonade. Sorry. I wasn’t expecting company.”

Becausewhy would I be?

I am at least nineteen percent sure this is not how company is supposed to happen.

Mars fans his cards, makes them disappear, reappear, disappear again. “Lemonade sounds fabulous.”

Excellent.

Lemonade it is.

Mars follows me to the kitchen while I try to remember how people interact in this setting. My parents would have company over pretty regularly. But getting the house clean enough and schooling everyone on how to behave correctly was usually cause for contention between them. It’s not impossible that I’ve blocked out a chunk of thosebehaving correctlymemories; however, I am almost positive that invitations predated the company coming over part.

I haven’t invited Mars over.

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