Page 108 of Red Flag, Green Light

Problematic,banzai.

Although, thinking about it like that, I do believe I’m the problem.

I whisper, “I am beyond attracted to you right now.”

Mars lifts his face from his hands to pin me with wide eyes.

“You are the best thing that has ever happened to me. You’re sweet, funny, kind, gentle, respectful—much to my chagrin at times. You’re my best friend. The only person who takes no energy to talk to. Every message from Rouge has brightened my day and made me feel less lonely all by myself. These past five years, you gave me the strength and the stability to make it on my own. I owe the confidence in my career to your hard work. Any time I’ve faced rejection or missed things in my clients’ stories, I am kinder with myself because you know what books I’ve edited?Rouge novels. And you know what Rouge novels do? Rise into the top charts. If Rouge still wants me to work with her, if she’s sending me year-long spreadsheets with her release schedule timelines, then who cares what anyone else thinks? I’m good enough for you. And that’s good enough for me.”

Pained, Mars drags his eyes off me, and whispers, “Rouge…isn’t just…me.”

“You’re the one I talk to, aren’t you?”

“Y-yes. But…Jove and I. It’s us. He drafts. I edit. Then you and I edit. Then I format. Then I publish and market and all the other stuff.”

Jove…writes…dark romance novels…

That’s.

News.

I say, “You and your brother have a very cohesive storytelling style. You can’t tell you’re two people at all. Excellent work.”

Mar’s lips part, and he deflates before saying, “It’s all him. Up until your story, I’ve only added the mush and tweaked things here and there in his drafts. I’m really…very genuinely…not much of a storyteller.”

“I think you’re an excellent storyteller. My favorite, even.”

Covering his mouth and stretching his fingers over blistering cheeks, Mars murmurs, “I love you…so much…”

The realization that those words aren’t stemming from mere months of interaction after a couple years of attraction hits me through the chest. Rouge knows me better than anyone. She’s the only person in my life who has been a stark two-way street. She’s never trauma-dumped on me. I’ve rarely ever had tobe there for herbeyond what my job entails. She knowsme.

Heknows me, and welcomes all the most mentally unstable parts as though they’re a twisted reflection of him.

The difference in the book he’s writing now versus Rouge’s backlist is because Jove’s not in this one. This one is all of Mars. For all of me.

And it’s my favorite.

Because he’s my favorite.

Chapter Thirty-one

To insanity, and beyond.

Mars

This is it. This is the end. The end, and I can’t even think clearly. I’m burning up and my heart is racing and everything hurts and I spilled the soup that Cereswent to the store by herselfto get me.

Making matters worse, she’s on the floor in front of me, kneeling by that soup to clean it up, and looking up at me as though…as though thisisn’tthe end at all.

“I hate that you’re sick,” she says.

Because if I weren’t, she’d have no compunction against hitting me square across my face?

“I hate that it’s not Friday.”

Friday…date night? Trampoline time?

“I hate that we’re not already married.”

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