Red Flags In Guys Novels & Stories

He was dangerous, unpredictable, the kind of player coaches either worshipped or feared. The hockey groupies were already feral. Someone had found a photo from his Redmond days – dark hair, jaw like a blade, grey eyes that looked like they'd been designed to ruin women's lives – and it had circulated through every group chat on campus by Tuesday. I didn't look at the photo. I didn't need to. I'd been avoiding thinking about grey eyes all week, and I wasn't about to start now.

There was a small scar near his lip, pale against olive skin, and his jaw was shadowed with stubble, like he hadn’t slept properly in days. His eyes— I had never seen eyes like that. Cold. Sharp. A dark, flat brown that somehow managed to look like polished glass over something feral. They were scanning the crowd, emotionless, until they landed on me. They stopped. I felt the weight of his gaze like fingers around my throat. Not squeezing. Not yet. Just measuring how hard he might need to. “What the hell is this place?” one of the men muttered behind him. “A nest of lunatics,” another said. “Look at the robes. Looks like a damn sacrifice party.”

“I don’t care if we walk two steps in there and you call tonight off. It’s not for everyone. You say stop, we stop.” “What are the colors for?” I asked, looking back and forth between the boxes of ribbons and the red one he was tying fast around my wrist. “Red means nobody touches you. Nobody tries to fuck you. You’re here with one person and that person is the only one who comes near you.” A low warning carried in his voice, and I couldn’t help but wonder if that was for my benefit - or directed at me. Nobody but him was allowed to touch me. “Blue and green?”

None of it mattered. I wanted the whole world to know Red was mine. Mine alone. The thought of other guys flirting with her or giving her gifts filled me with a dangerous kind of anger. It made me want to slam their faces against the lockers until they couldn’t breathe anymore. I remembered this one time when a guy approached her, a senior criminology student, obviously another admirer. “Hey, lady,” the tall, muscular guy greeted casually. He had hazel hair and height going for him, but other than that, there was nothing impressive about him.

“Good. I was starting to worry I was losing my touch.” Ozzy snorted into his glass, the alcohol starting to hit harder now. His pours got heavier. His words slower. “I don’t care about his feelings,” Red said, tone casual but edged. “He’s just a kid with a gun. That’s why people are scared of him—he’s unpredictable. But I don’t see danger. I see mental instability.” Ozzy nearly spit out his drink, laughing hard now. “Fucking hell, you’re not wrong.” Red chuckled with him, then leaned back into silence, letting the laughter fade and the alcohol settle.

“Don’t look so scared, Red. They can smell it.” “I’m not scared,” I lied, though my pulse was wild. His smirk said he didn’t believe me. “Yo, Austin!” I turned to see three men making their way toward us, and for a second I forgot to breathe. They were gorgeous. Not in the polished, boy-next-door way. No. This was raw, dangerous beauty. Tattoos, piercings, sharp jawlines. The kind of men your mom would warn you to stay far, far away from.

“And please, girlfriend, don’t tell me you haven’t thought about crossing the line at least once, doing something that could get you into trouble.” I wanted to deny it, but that would’ve been a lie. My mind often wandered to thoughts of violence and her connections. The delicious fantasy of dating a hot alpha male made my mouth water. She was right; I was used to the uptight men who spent more on their ties than I did on a suit, with perfectly manicured nails and gleaming shoes. Oh wait, I’d just described Matt. “The image you’ve painted is mouthwatering, but it’s not going to happen. I’ll stick with my dazzling pink vibrator from now on.” It should have been a red flag that Matt hadn’t even

It's really hard to understand men sometimes, especially when they talk. Red scratched his head, and I snorted. "All right, don't answer. You don't shoot kids and nerds." I promised mockingly, and Theo turned around while laughing. Red was embarrassed. "You're getting infected with Theo by being crazy," said Red. Notice the blush on his face—is that what doesn't kill a kid and a nerd? Who are they talking about? As far as I can see, Red has no intention of saying anything. "You three," I said, shaking my head."You have many secrets."

I comment harshly, going through the lines of red bands. Most are pretty and eye catching, I will admit. This silly tradition and pining for a mate all seems too far out of reach for someone like me. Ivan grumbles, deciding not to quip back at me. “Don’t tell me you also believe in this bull crap about a red string finding your mate.” “And if I do?” I ask, looking up at him. “…you know, it's a popularly known fact that red strings symbolize fate.” “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

‘Can you smell that? I frowned. ‘No. I think wearing Alpha Ugly’s face is messing up my senses.’ ‘He’s not that ugly, Hunter! All the ladies seem to love him, just as much as they love you.’ ‘Because I’m still me. Not because I have red hair.’ I tugged at it and pulled a face. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Red is the colour of love and passion, after all.’ Reg shrugged. ‘Well? What can you smell, dummy?’