Page 41 of Red Flagged
She made a face, but it didn’t stop her from raising her eyebrows, clearly impressed. “Was it like... gentle and sweet? Intimate? Because you look like you’re about to run off to a chapel.”
“God, no.” I flopped back onto the pillows and closed my eyes, sighing. “Not to the running off to a chapel bit. That I’d do in a heartbeat.”Merde, I sounded like a lovesick teenager. “It was filthy. Like, he barely said a word. Just picked me up, put me where he wanted me, and ruined me. One of those blackout, out-of-body, did-I-just-see-heaven orgasms.”
There was a long pause. Long enough that when I glanced at her, I saw realization flicker across her face.
Then Ivy muttered, “Bitch.”
I grinned. “Iknow.”
She rolled her eyes and reached for my brow pencil. “You’re a whore, and that’s disgusting.”
“Don’t act coy,” I shot back. “Youloveit. A feminist sex icon in a field of misogynistic men? You said it yourself: it’s editorialgold.”
“Unrelated,” she declared, waving a hand in the air.
“And you’re deflecting.”
Ivy sucked in a breath. “Deflecting what?”
“You,”I said, eyes narrowing. “You think I don’t notice how you practically short-circuit when Marco so much as adjusts his sleeves?”
Her face went bright red. It was a startling sight to see the usually poised, unbothered Ivy Sinclair flustered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh mon Dieu.” I slapped a hand to my forehead. “You’ve been blushing all afternoon, Ivy.”
“I did not!” she whisper-shouted, horrified. “You’re hallucinating. That’s the drugs talking.”
Pulling myself to my knees, I jabbed a finger in her face. “It’s not the drugs, bébé. It’s the truth. And you need to talk about it. Speaking from experience, having no one to talk to about this shit will eat you alive.” She pursed her lips and looked away. I sighed. “Fine. I’ll keep talking about my sex life then.”
I removed my bunny heating pad and dropped it on the bed, then yanked Callum’s hoodie over my head, leaving me in just a white cropped tank top and bike shorts. I tugged the hem of my shorts down. Her eyes flew wide as she took in the sight of fingerprints mottling my hips, red stripes across my ribcage, a handprint on my inner thigh—the one Kimi so kindly pointed out earlier.
“Want me to describe what he was saying when he put them there?”
“Bloody hell, Aurélie. You’re a goddamn menace.”
“And you’re in denial.”
“Nothing happened,” she insisted through gritted teeth, but her voice wavered.
“Mhm,” I hummed, straightening my shorts. “So you begging Marco not to leave your side during the Morel altercation wasnothing?”
Ivy’s mouth opened and closed a few times before she glanced over at the door, partially ajar. The boys were inthe living room, low conversation filtering in. The murmur of three distinct male voices, the occasional clink of ice against glass. Kimi’s laugh, Marco’s dramatic commentary, Callum’s low timbre as he said something I couldn’t make out. It made my skin prickle and my heartbeat skip, and I wondered if that feeling would ever go away.
I rolled my eyes and stood, a wave of dizziness hitting me so strongly that I rocked back on my heels. Thankfully Ivy didn’t notice, not with her attention still on the door. I crossed the room once the wave passed and poked my head out.
“Cal, mon amour?” I called out softly.
He was leaning back on his elbows against the kitchenette island, and immediately turned his head. His eyes softened when he spotted me, and he straightened instantly, as if his spine answered to the sound of my voice before his brain could catch up. The tension in his shoulders melted, replaced by something warm and unguarded, like I was the only thing in the room that mattered. He looked at me like a man who would walk through fire barefoot if I asked, like he wasgratefulto be asked.
“Can you bring me the dresses, s’il te plaît?”
A tiny, crooked smile tugged at his mouth. “Anything for you, baby.”
“Oh my God,” Kimi groaned from his spot on the couch. “Youtwo.”
“Swear to Christ,” Marco added, “every time he talks to her like that, my blood sugar spikes.”
Callum ignored them completely, gathering the bags without breaking eye contact with me, like I’d cast a spell over him. Just like he said I had. Maybe that’s what love did when it was this fucked-up and holy. His gaze lingered on my bare legs, drifting upward to the red welt peeking out from beneath my top. His nostrils flared slightly.
