Page 166 of Detectives in Love
“Colleagues,” Xavier says, his voice flat with distance. “Next question?”
For a second, I think Selena’s going to press him to clarify—like she did with me—but she lets it slide. Just smiles.
“Tell me, Mr. Ormond,” she says. “What’s a typical day with Mr. Doherty like?”
I finally manage to look at Xavier, still feeling a little warm from the last question.
Xavier doesn’t meet my gaze. His voice is cool, even. “We wake up. Have breakfast. Go out to investigate. Come home, cook or order dinner. Go to sleep.”
Even before Selena reacts, I know exactly what she’s going to pick up on. The way Xavier phrased it—makes it sound like we do everything together. Which, honestly, we kind of do now. But I don’t think he meant it that way. Still, Selena’s eyes are already glittering with interest.
“That sounds very cute and cozy,” she says, then turns to me. “Would you like to add anything, Mr. Doherty?”
“Uh,” I say, clearing my throat. “Just to be clear—we live together, but we have separate rooms.”
The second the words leave my mouth, I want to take them back. I sound like a complete idiot—and worse, an insecure one, too. But what really guts me is knowing exactly how Xavierwill take it, even without looking. He’s going to think I’m ashamed—of him, of us, of whatever’s starting to grow between us. And the truth is, I’m not even sure why I said it—why I felt the need to deny what we are, after everything that’s happened.
I could’ve just let it slide. And even if people assumed—so what? They’d be right. Some fans might be upset, but they’d get over it. What Xavier and I have…it matters more than whatever damage it might do to our image.
“Good to know,” Selena says with a smirk—like even she thinks it’s pathetic that I felt the need to clarify. Heat creeps up my neck, my heartbeat loud in my ears.
“Alright,” she continues. “Next question. What are five traits you love most about each other?” She turns to me. “You start first, Mr. Doherty.”
“Uh,” I say again, then glance at Xavier—because I’ve wanted to for the past few minutes more than anything.
He meets my eyes, but his expression gives nothing away. The softness I saw in him before Selena barged in is gone, replaced by the mask he usually wears around strangers.
And right then, I feel this sudden, burning need to make him smile again. To see his eyes crinkle at the corners. It hits me so hard I want to say something—anything—and I don’t even care about the consequences.
I glance at the journalist. She nods, all encouragement.
“I, uh…I love how he’s really caring,” I begin, my cheeks burning, heart pounding at my own words. I can feel Xavier’s gaze sharpen, but I don’t dare meet his eyes again. “I love his loyalty to me. How he’s obsessed with mysteries.” I pause. “I love how his mind works. How he trusts me.”
I stop myself there, before I spiral into full-on confession territory. It already sounds like one.
“Amazing,” Selena says brightly, clearly thrilled with the overshare. Then she turns to Xavier. “What about you, Mr. Ormond? What do you love most about Mr. Doherty?”
“There’s no one like him.”
It’s all Xavier says. I turn to look at him, eyes stinging—not because of the words exactly, but the way they land. He’s not looking at me, but I can feel it, the weight of his attention, and something in me aches to lean in and kiss him.
Selena doesn’t seem to clock any of it. She just says, “Four more?”
Xavier glances at her, jaw tight. “Write it down five times.”
She blinks, then nods, apparently deciding not to push it. That’s when the door opens and the waitress walks in with a cup of tea. None of us speak as she sets it down and leaves again.
As soon as the door shuts, Selena takes a sip and says, like she’s picking up a thread, “Next question. Have you two ever had sex?”
The coffee hits the wrong way in my throat, and I start coughing—loud and choking, like I just swallowed a pebble. For a few seconds, I’m too busy trying to breathe to do anything else, while Xavier and Selena both watch me like I might pass out.
When I finally stop coughing, Selena repeats the question—then tacks on my name, as if she’s calling on a student.
“What does that mean?” I ask, still trying to clear my throat. “Like…in general?”
“With each other, obviously,” she says, every word a jab.
“No,” I say firmly. “The answer is no.”
