Page 5 of Detectives in Love

Good thing I already caused plenty of chaos last night when I came home drunk and blacked out. Most likely, Xavier will bring that up—probably to remind me how I ended up sprawled on the floor, babbling nonsense. That is, if he even decides to talk to me. We haven’t exactly patched things up since our last fight.

Right then, Xavier’s door at the end of the corridor creaks open, and my stomach drops. I shoot up from my chair, grab the newspaper off the table, and make a beeline for the living room.

“Newt.”

His voice stops me in my tracks—sharp, like a tomahawk aimed squarely at my back.

My heart skips a beat as I force a neutral expression and turn around. “Yes?”

Xavier stands in the doorway, wrapped in a comforter. His chest is bare, and his long, muscular legs peek out frombeneath the fabric. Wait—is he naked under there? Oh god. My face heats up instantly, and I look away, focusing on a random spot on the floor.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, his tone softer than I expected.

I blink, completely thrown. No teasing about me stumbling home drunk? No smug comments? This has to be a dream…

“All good,” I say quickly, avoiding his gaze.

“That’s good.”

Xavier’s eyes stay on me, and I can feel him watching, like he’s waiting for something. Before he can say anything else, I turn and step into the living room.

“Are you angry with me?” His voice cuts through the air, and my heart does the Macarena in my chest.

I freeze and turn back to him. It’s not the question that catches me off guard—it’s his tone. It’s so tender, as though he actually cares about the answer.

“What?” I ask, my voice flat.

“You’re angry with me because of what happened.” He says it like a statement, not a question.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m not angry. I’m just going to my room.”

Xavier frowns, his brows drawing together, but he doesn’t say anything else. I leave him standing there, the comforter barely clinging to his shoulders, and make my way through the living room and up the stairs.

Once inside my room, I shut the door and lean against it for a moment, letting out a shaky breath. Then I walk over to the bed, lift the mattress, and shove the newspaper underneath. Out of sight, out of mind—at least for now.

Later, when Xavier isn’t around, I’ll tear it into tiny pieces and toss it away. Yes, that’s the plan. Maybe the mailman forgot to deliver it—again. That’s happened before, so it wouldn’t seem suspicious.

As I step away from the bed, something on the floor catches my eye. I bend down and pick it up—a long, black satin belt. I stare at it for a second before realizing it’s from Xavier’s robe.

I frown. Was Xavier rummaging through my room again, searching for my hidden stash of sweets? He’s always swearing off sugar, purging the cupboards and declaring himself sugar-free for a month—until the inevitable crash. When the cravings hit, he starts hunting for the chocolate I sometimes keep in my bedside table.

I toss the robe belt onto the bed and move to the wardrobe. As I unbutton my shirt and shrug it off, a line from the article worms its way back into my head:“…world-famous private detective Xavier Ormond is in a relationship with his roommate, Newt Doherty…”

No, I think, shaking my head as I stare blankly at my wardrobe. The writer of that article couldn’t possibly know Xavier. Anyone who even remotely knows him would find the idea ridiculous.

Would they?

I think back to the first time we had dinner together, not long after the Carver case—a year and a half ago, just after I’dbeen released from the hospital. I’d sent Xavier a massive fruit basket to thank him for saving me, and somehow, he’d gotten my number and messaged me, inviting me to dinner.

At the time, I remember thinking it was a little odd for one guy to invite another to a restaurant instead of a bar, but I convinced myself that Xavier was just…unconventional. The dinner had felt vaguely like a date: the restaurant was fancy and expensive, and Xavier had shown up in a perfectly tailored three-piece suit, looking effortlessly polished. He’d been charming, joking, and laughing as he poured me wine. In the moment, it hadn’t seemedthatstrange. But looking back, I realize now—Xavier had been trying. Really trying.

When the bill came, he paid without hesitation and refused to let me contribute. Unusual for men who aren’t dating. Then again, considering how expensive the restaurant was, I figured that was why he insisted—it didn’t feel like the kind of place where you split the check.

But the strangest part of the night came when he dropped me off at my apartment. As we sat in his car, saying our goodbyes, there was this awkward moment—Xavier leaned toward me, and for a second, I thought he was going to…kiss me.

I panicked and jerked back, only to realize he was just reaching over to open the door for me.

The moment turned painfully awkward after that, and I mumbled a quick thank-you before practically bolting out of the car.