Page 54 of Detectives in Love

Xavier rolls his eyes, gives me one last look, and heads out of the kitchen.

Left alone, I find myself staring at the wall, that strange, all-encompassing happiness bubbling up again. It’s not butterflies this time—more like a whole swarm of bees, buzzingand restless, ready to burst free. The stupid thing is, I don’t even knowwhyI’m so happy.

And then, unbidden, the image flashes through my mind: Xavier Ormond on his knees in that dark bedroom. On his knees in front of me.

I swallow hard, pulse stuttering, my cock already hard in my pants. Shoving down the voice of reason, I let myself linger on the thought a moment longer. I picture my hands in his curls again—but this time, while his mouth is around my cock, his eyes on mine as he sucks the head, then takes me deeper…

Xavier’s phone buzzes sharply, yanking me back to reality. Shame floods in—fuck, I shouldn’t have let myself fantasize like that.

Another buzz. My eyes flick to the screen—2 new messages: Ernest.

I fight the urge to check. Tearing my gaze away, I grab the olive oil bottle and start reading the label like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

Buzz.

The screen goes dark before I can see who the last one was from. I try to focus—cold-pressed extraction, notes of green apple, whatever—but my mind’s already elsewhere.

And then—before I can stop myself—my fingers move.

I tap the screen.

3 new messages: Ernest.

Could be urgent, right?

My fingers hover for a second. Then I give in, type in Xavier’s password—one I know by heart now—and open the messages.

The first one hits me like a rock.

Ernest:“I know you want to be a real boy, Pinocchio, but I don’t think this one is for you.”

I frown. That’s…weird. What the hell is that supposed to mean?

I scroll down.

Ernest:“I can find you a better one, nephew. I know it’s scary trying something new, but I think you’re idolizing this one a little too much.”

Ernest:“I don’t want to see you get hurt. That’s why I’m prying.”

My pulse spikes. There’s no mistaking it anymore—Xavier and Ernest are hiding something. I just need to figure out what.

I’m about to scroll up, see what else is there—

But then I catch the sound of footsteps downstairs.

Shit.

I move fast—close the messages, lock the phone, set it back exactly where it was.

I barely manage to keep my face in check when Xavier strolls back in—wine bottle in one hand, a bundle of tarragon in the other, looking way too pleased with himself.

“Got it,” he says, grinning. Then his smile falters. “You okay?”

Right. My face must’ve slipped.

I nod, forcing something close to a smile. “What do you need me to do for your fancy chicken thing?”

“Fricassee, Newt,” he says, mouth twitching. “Wash the carrots and mushrooms?”