Page 104 of Detectives in Love
There’s a pause before Mrs. Waverly says gently, “I would, dear, but I’m afraid he’ll just barge in here like he did the other day.”
I try to sit up, but Xavier’s weight keeps me pinned, so I end up half-upright, awkwardly propped against the headboard. He grumbles in protest, sliding off my chest. There’s a dull throb at the back of my head—I feel underslept and slightly hungover, even though I didn’t drink that much last night.
“What did he want?” I ask, blinking through the fog.
Trying to hold eye contact with Mrs. Waverly while Xavier’s practically wrapped around me is painfully awkward. My face burns. Especially since I’m doing my best not to think about the fact that we’re tangled up under the covers. I don’t know what Mrs. Waverly and her husband believe about me and Xavier—not with everything that’s been in the papers—but I’m pretty sure after this, she’ll have made up her mind.
“I don’t know, really,” Mrs. Waverly says with a shrug. “You’d better call him back.”
“Okay, thanks,” I say, keeping it brief, hoping she’ll take the hint.
But she lingers in the doorway a moment longer, then adds with a soft, slightly mischievous smile, “I’m glad you two made up.” She winks. “It’s awful seeing you quarrel…”
My face goes hot, but luckily, that’s when she finally leaves—humming something cheerful to herself.
I drop back onto the pillow, flustered and exhausted, and the moment I do, Xavier’s head emerges from under the comforter. He looks better—still flushed, but not alarmingly so, eyes clear and bright, his dark curls scattered messily across the pillow.
Suddenly, the space between our faces is too small. And for a second, the whole thing feels…domestic. Like we just had sex and are now lying here in the hazy aftermath.
“Hi,” I say, looking at him, my heart pounding so loud I’m sure he can hear it.
“Hi,” Xavier murmurs, eyes on mine, searching—like he’s trying to read something in my face.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, reaching up to touch his forehead. He doesn’t flinch exactly, but I feel him tense beneath my fingers before he tries to play it off.
“Better,” he says softly.
“You’re still warm,” I say, sliding my hand to the side of his neck. “What would you like for breakfast?”
He swallows, eyes still on mine. “Not sure I trust my stomach with food just yet.”
I raise an eyebrow. “So what can I do to convince you to go to the doctor?”
“Nothing,” he says, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Don’t even try.”
“How about one wish,” I offer, smiling.
“One wish?” he echoes, voice still hoarse. “What am I, five?”
I shrug. “You could ask for literally anything. I’d do it.”
Xavier actually pauses at that. Then his eyes crinkle. “You can’t say literally anything.”
I snort, my stomach doing a somersault under the weight of his gaze. “Alright, nothingseriouslyillegal. But other than that.”
“You still can’t say that,” he mutters.
“What are you thinking?” I ask.
Xavier just looks at me—wide-eyed, incredulous—like his brain is catching up, like he’s trying to telepathically say something without actually saying it.
“You’re blushing,” I lie, just to mess with him.
And oh god—it works. He actually blushes.
He turns away fast, red blotches rising on his neck and cheeks as he mutters, “I’m not,” so flustered my heart throws a rave.
Wait. Whatwashe thinking?
