Page 59 of Detectives in Love

Xavier closes his eyes.

And in the dark, mine stay open just a little longer—then finally, they close too.

CHAPTER 9. HINGE

“Mm-mm, Xavier. You just carried me across the threshold.”

I’m grinning. Xavier’s frowning.

He sets me down on the bed, but when he tries to pull away, I tighten my arms around his waist. Our faces are barely three inches apart—if that.

“Mmm, Xavier,” I breathe. “You smell like coffee. Were you worried?… Lie down…”

“I need to go,” Xavier mutters, trying to lean back, to free himself.

“Okay,” I say, but instead of letting him go, I push up, closing the space between us until our lips are just a breath apart.

Xavier’s expression shifts. Tightens.

“Newt,” he says hoarsely, almost a warning. “Let me go.”

“Okay.” I release him—but just as he starts to pull away, I flick my tongue out, grazing his lower lip. A challenge.

His eyes widen. He exhales sharply, frowning, but he doesn’t move. I keep smiling. Lean in. Kiss him once. Twice. A third time. Soft. Fleeting. Then my tongue traces the curve of his upper lip—

“Newt—”

I blink awake.

Faint gray light filters through the curtains. Slowly, the room takes shape—the outline of the wardrobe, the bed, the desk by the far wall. I shift slightly—and that’s when I feel him.

Xavier.

He’s still asleep, curled up against me, face buried in the crook of my neck, one leg tangled between mine. He’s warm and solid in my arms, his chest rising and falling against mine. My hands are under his shirt, palms resting on his bare back.

Without thinking, I rub his back gently, breathing in the warmth of him. His skin is damp with sweat.

For a while, I just lie there—listening to his breathing, feeling the weight of him against me.

Then I close my eyes and drift off again.

***

Morning comes too fast.

I wake up shivering—the warmth that held me through the night is gone. Blinking against the harsh sunlight, it hits me: this isn’t my room. I’m in Xavier’s bed. I turn over, reaching instinctively for the other side, but it’s empty. He’s gone.

I didn’t exactly expect to wake up still wrapped around him, but the cold stretch of sheets still catches me off guard.

And then—like a gust of wind—memories of last night come rushing back. Xavier, soft and vulnerable, admitting hewas afraid of losing me. Us falling asleep on the living room floor. Him asking me to stay.

My stomach twists. My heart kicks hard against my ribs. I can’t believe I spent the whole night holding him.

The memory leaves a buzz of warmth in my chest, but it’s quickly followed by a tight, creeping panic. He left early, without a word. Maybe he regretted it. Maybe it was a drunken mistake, and now that the sun’s up, he doesn’t know how to look me in the eye. Maybe I scared him off—too eager, too ready to be close.

I sigh and flop back onto the pillows—instantly regretting it. They, like everything else in this bed, reek of Xavier. His clean, citrusy scent clings to the sheets, sinks into my skin, and that traitorous flutter in my chest only gets worse.

With a groan, I sit up again and swing my legs over the edge of the bed, scrubbing a hand over my face. My head’s still heavy, my mouth dry—but at least the bruises have eased. I look down at my stomach, but they’re just as dark as they were last night. That’s when I pause—I don’t even remember taking my undershirt off. I glance around the room and spot it crumpled on the floor. Then I drag myself to my feet and head for the door.