Page 14 of Detectives in Love

Then he looks at me.

Dark eyes lock onto mine, so focused it makes my skin prickle under his gaze. A sharp jolt of something unwanted—something dangerously close to arousal—twists in my gut. Heat climbs up my neck, and the only way to keep from giving myself away is to go on the defensive. Because I can feel I’m blushing, and he cannot know what he’s doing to me.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I snap, forcing as much irritation into my voice as I can.

Xavier’s too close, his hand locked around my elbow, his chest brushing mine. I try to step back, but my shoulder hits a shelf, rattling bottles of disinfectant.

God. When he’s this close, it’s impossible to ignore the tight, maddening pressure in my chest—no matter how hard I try.

“I’m not one for niceties,” Xavier says, his voice edged with frustration. “So can you please come up with a decent excuse for us to leave. Now.”

I drag in a breath, trying to shove down the mess of emotions threatening to spiral out of control.

“Xavier, Fred’s doing us a favor,” I manage, keeping my voice level. “Did you not see that mob outside the police department? And our place? He got us out of that—”

“Your Fred is no different from the rest of them,” Xavier cuts in with a frustrated sigh. “Just another vulture looking to sink his teeth into a juicy story. And speaking of that…” His eyes narrow. “Care to tell me what this is really about?”

Heat rushes to my face again. I try to look away, forcing my gaze off his, but it slips—landing on his lips for a fraction of a second before I catch myself. Great. Now I’m definitely crimson. I shift my focus somewhere over his shoulder, desperate to cover the moment.

“The Weekend Heraldran a huge story about us,” I mumble, pinching the bridge of my nose like it might somehow erase this entire disaster.

Xavier doesn’t react right away. His face stays neutral—but something dark flickers in his eyes.

“A story,” he repeats, his voice flat.

I nod, swallowing past the dryness in my throat. “Yeah. Front page. Huge headline. With some random pictures.”

Xavier frowns. “Random pictures of what?”

I hesitate, rubbing the back of my neck. “Us.”

“I don’t understand,” he says, watching my face so closely it’s like he thinks it might hold the answer to all his questions.

I take a slow breath, bracing myself. “Different photos of us. Like at Little Italy, when we were—uh—having dinner—” I cut myself off, realizing there’s no good way to explain this.

“So?” Xavier frowns deeper, clearly not following. His patience is thinning fast. “Just say it, Newt.”

I exhale, my gaze fixed anywhere but on him. “They think we’re sleeping together.”

A slow, stretching silence settles between us, making my skin prickle. Xavier stares at me for several long seconds, the weight of my words pressing down on the space between us. I shift uncomfortably, finally daring to glance at him—but his face gives nothing away.

Then he speaks, his voice calm—too calm. “That explains Crowley and Gordon’s nonsense today.”

“Yeah,” I mutter, a flicker of relief washing over me. At least that’s where his mind goes first.

Xavier pauses, then says, “So you hid the paper from me this morning?” He tilts his head slightly, like he’s trying to scan my brain for answers.

I hesitate. “Yeah…” And just like that, I feel ten years old again, about to be told off by my dad for buying cigarettes with lunch money.

“Why?”

I swallow hard, but when I answer, there’s a faint edge of defiance in my voice. “I didn’t want you to see all that garbage. How they twisted everything.”

A crooked, humorless smirk tugs at his lips, but there’s a bitterness in it that makes my chest clench. “Newt, I’ve been called plenty of things in my lifetime. Being called Newt Doherty’s lover—” His smirk deepens, though it doesn’t reach his eyes, as he finishes, “Well, I think I’ll survive.”

Maybe I’m imagining it, but for a moment, I think I hear something almost like hurt in Xavier’s voice. Before I can process it—or say anything—the door behind him swings open.

“You guys do realize this is a broom closet, right?” Fred’s teasing voice cuts through the tension. “Oh. Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”