Page 35 of Detectives in Love

Monica gives my shoulder a light squeeze, her smile slipping. “Look, I know this isn’t easy. And maybe I’m way off—but from the little I’ve seen, he just doesn’t seem like someone who knows how to care about people. I don’t know what his deal is, or how he feels about you, but I don’t think he’s the kind of guy who does relationships. Not real ones.”

“I’m not interested in a relationship,” I lie, way too defensive, heat crawling up my face and tears pricking at my eyes. “It’s not like that.”

Monica sighs and rubs my back in that overly sympathetic way that makes me want to crawl into bed and die. “Well, if it’s just a hookup you’re after, I’ve got plenty of gay friends. Maybe not as hot as your man here, but at least they’re actually gay—and not a walking pile of mixed signals. That’s got to count for something.”

“Thanks, but I’m fine,” I say, my pulse hammering in my throat. I push back my chair and get to my feet. “I should turn in early. Can we catch up some other time?”

“Alright,” Monica says, standing too. She watches me for a moment, then steps forward and pulls me into a hug. “I wasn’t trying to upset you. I just don’t want to see you get hurt, Newt.”

I nod, trying hard not to cry, because I don’t think I can take another humiliation today. We stand there for a moment in silence, then I pull back, avoiding her gaze. She’ll read everything on my face, and I can’t afford that right now.

I walk her to the door and stand by while she puts her shoes on, then help her with her coat.

“I’m worried about you,” Monica says quietly as I open the door.

“There’s really no need,” I say, forcing a lightness I don’t feel. “Text me when you get home, okay?”

“I will.”

I hold the fake smile until the door closes behind her. Only when I hear the door downstairs click shut do I finally let myself exhale.

For a few seconds, I just stand there, my heart pounding in sync with the dull ache in my skull. A sting creeps into my eyes again, and I swipe at them, annoyed. I don’t have time for this.

A hot shower. That’s what I need.

In the bathroom, I find my mud-caked clothes dumped in a heap on the washing machine—and without meaning to, my thoughts drift to Xavier.

The second I read that damn article, I knew I’d lost it—whatever illusion I had of keeping this to myself. Like someone cracked open my chest and dragged it into the light. I can’t hide behind jokes or denial anymore. Not even from myself. But I can’t do anything about the way I feel either, because I know exactly where this road leads. Monica’s right. Xavier doesn’t love me—he never will. Not the way I want him to.

***

By the time I get out of the shower, it’s just past eight. As I head upstairs, it hits me—I was supposed to let Xavier know when everyone left. Totally slipped my mind.

I push open my bedroom door. The dark shape on the bed isn’t sitting anymore—it’s lying down.

“Xavier?” I ask softly, peering into the dim light.

No answer.

I stand there a second, listening to the slow, even sound of his breathing. Then I step back and quietly pull the door shut behind me.

I head downstairs—through the living room, the kitchen, down the short hallway—and into the room with Somerset Maugham’s portrait on the wall.

I pull back the covers, slide into bed, and press my face into the pillow. His scent hits me right away—familiar, soothing—and I breathe it in slowly. There’s a flicker of guilt, knowing I’m taking something from Xavier without him realizing, like I’m crossing a line. But the calm settles in anyway, and my thoughts start to drift, loosening at the edges as sleep pulls me under.

And he’s the last thing on my mind.

CHAPTER 7. TOUCH

“Newt.”

It’s dark, and I wake with a jolt, something cool brushing my cheek.

“Mhm?” I mumble, blinking. “Xavier?”

“Yes,” he says—and I can feel him close, like he’s sitting right beside me on the bed. “It’s time to go.”

I push up on one elbow, suddenly wide awake. He’s a shadow in the dark, barely moving.