Imagine Romeo Flirting with You (Race's Girl)

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The evening air is cool on your face. As you approach the Lodging House, you fluff up your (h/c) hair and smooth your (f/c) skirt. Race has promised to take you out tonight. You push open the door and step inside, almost tripping over one of the boys who seated himself in a precarious position in front of the door.

"Mush!" you cry as you stumble, managing somehow not to fall.

"Oh, sorry 'bout that, (y/n)," he apologizes, distracted by the playing cards in his hands.

You scan the circle of boys, finally finding Race. You wait for him to notice you, simply staring at him as he intensely looks over his own hand of cards. At last, he looks up, meeting your (e/c) eyes and smiling.

"Let me just finish this hand?" he asks, cigar hanging out of the side of his mouth. Usually when you're around, he takes it out, knowing how much you hate it, but he's so involved in the cards that he doesn't even notice.

You nod, and he goes back to his game. Wandering further into the Lodging House, you are approached by Romeo.

"And how are you tonight, Miss (y/n)?" he asks, taking your hand and kissing it. You blush, knowing that it's only harmless flirting but enjoying it all the same.

"Quite well, thank you," you reply, assuming his flirtatious manner. "And how are you, Romeo?"

"Doin' great," he said and paused. "Now that you's here, anyway."

You blush a deeper red and open your mouth to respond, but Race is suddenly at your side. He steps in front of you, as if to shield you from Romeo's words.

"Quit flirtin' with my girl!" Race commands, giving Romeo a shove.

"Take it easy!" Romeo exclaims, putting his hands in front of him to protect himself. "We was just talkin'."

"Oh sure," Race replies, rolling his eyes. "You ready, (y/n)?"

You nod, following him out the door. As soon as the door closes behind you, you ask, "Racetrack Higgins, are you jealous?"

"No!" he quickly responds, but in the dim light you see him flush.

"You know Romeo flirts with everyone," you say, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "But no matter how much sweet-talking he does, I'll always like you best, Race."

"Honest?"

"Honest."

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