Page 162 of Detectives in Love
We pull away from Hickory Road, and the silence stretches. Ten minutes in, he still hasn’t said a word.
I don’t want him to shut down. Not after everything that happened this morning. Not after he told me he loved me.
Though part of me still wonders if that really happened—or if it was just a fever dream brought on by my leg going septic.
So I do something I wouldn’t have done before: I reach over and give Xavier a light pat on the thigh. It’s nothing, really—quick, casual—but it feels oddly comfortable. Like something you’d do without thinking, if you’d been together for years.
He glances over, raising an eyebrow. We were never really tactile before—not intentionally, at least—so this is unfamiliar territory for both of us.
“You okay?” I ask, voice low enough that the driver won’t hear.
Xavier softens almost immediately—I see it in the way his shoulders ease.
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
“You sure?” I say, giving his thigh another light pat.
He doesn’t answer right away. He’s turned slightly toward me, not quite meeting my eyes, his gaze lingering somewhere near my shoulder. But I can feel it—his focus is all on my hand, like he’s trying not to stare, like he’s waiting to see what I’ll do next.
“You look like you could use a kiss,” I say, bumping his shoulder with mine.
Xavier freezes, throwing me a quick look—caught off guard. Then he rolls his eyes, color rising in his cheeks, but I catch the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. I glance at the driver to make sure he’s not watching, then lean in and press a quick kiss to Xavier’s cheek.
His face flushes deeper, turning from pink to scarlet. He shifts closer and cups my face in his hand, still not quite meeting my eyes. His thumb brushes my cheek. There’s something quiet in his expression—almost solemn—as he studies me.
“You look really sad,” I say, my breath catching, heart hammering.
“I might need another kiss,” he murmurs, just above a whisper. He blinks slowly, eyes finally finding mine.
I laugh. And this time, when I lean in, I don’t bother checking the mirror. I pull him close and kiss him. Xavier’s mouth opens instantly, his tongue brushing mine, his breath hot against my face.
Just that—just a touch of his tongue—and I’m gone. The need to pull him close, get his clothes off, feel his skin—it’s burning in my chest, driving me out of my mind.
The kiss deepens—our breath mixing, his hand sliding into my hair, pulling me in. I’m aching, head spinning, and God, I really don’t want this to stop.
“Should I drop you at the nearest hotel, lovebirds?” the driver says, cutting through the haze like a slap.
We freeze.
Then let go of each other all at once.
“Sorry,” I say quickly, sitting up and fixing my clothes, not brave enough to look at the driver.
“Sorry,” Xavier says too—but he’s not talking to the driver.
We spend the rest of the ride in silence. Xavier keeps his eyes on his phone, not looking at me, but the tension between us is thick—almost physical. I can feel it where our shoulders touch, where our knees brush. It hums under the skin like static.
When the car finally pulls up outside a dim little pub tucked between Bury and Jermyn, I almost sigh in relief. The heat in the backseat was getting to me.
We get out, the cold air scraping off the warmth. I shut the door behind me and glance at Xavier as he walks around the car.
He nods toward the building.
“Strange place to meet in the afternoon,” he says, frowning—already back to normal, like we didn’t just get called out by the taxi driver for making out in the backseat.
“Hope she’s not planning to kill us in here,” I mutter with a dark smirk. The heavy metal door looks more like the entrance to a shady drug den than a pub.
Inside, we’re hit with the stale reek of smoke and music blaring from beaten-up speakers nailed to the walls. The place is empty, but it still feels off—like we should already be working out escape routes.
