Page 109 of Detectives in Love
10:30–11:30, V. Colfridge
13:15–15:15, B. Garfield
17:00–19:00, C. Hill
“It looks the same,” I say, frowning. Then pause. “Wait—no. The last one was someone else. Not C. Hill.”
Xavier nods. “And the time slots are different too.”
“You think that matters?”
Another nod. Then he snaps the laptop shut and sets it on the bedside table. “We should talk to all of them. Just in case.”
“You’re not planning to do that today, are you?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“I am,” he says, turning to look at me.
I meet his gaze. “We’re stopping by the station first. And you need to eat something. I’ll make you a sandwich so you don’t pass out in front of a witness. You need the protein—for all those muscles.”
Xavier just blinks at me, frozen. That’s when I notice how close we are—our faces just inches apart.
“I don’t think there’s much protein in sandwiches,” he says, voice low, almost dazed.
“I can make you eggs,” I murmur, barely above a whisper, pulse pounding hard.
His eyes flick to my mouth, then back up. “I think we can find better sources of protein,” he says—softer now, almost thoughtful. I wait for the smirk, the laugh—something to tell me he’s joking. But it doesn’t come.
Heat crawls up my neck. My throat tightens. “Like what?” It comes out rough, more breath than voice. I can’t move. Can’t think.
He still doesn’t look away.
Then I feel it—his hand on my wrist, thumb brushing over my pulse like he’s reading it. Testing it. My skin sparks under his touch, arousal shooting through me before I can stop it.
“Xavier,” I whisper, needing to know I’m not imagining this. “Like what?”
He leans in, his lips barely hovering over mine.
“Protein powder,” he murmurs.
Then he closes his eyes—and kisses me.
His lips are soft. Warm.
At first, it’s just the press of mouth against mouth, but the rush of it—of him this close—makes me let out a breath, shaky and a little desperate.
Xavier’s eyes open, panic flickering there—like he’s already second-guessing, convinced I didn’t want this. That he messed up. That he should stop.
I don’t let him.
I slide my hands up to his face, hold him still, stroke my thumbs across his cheekbones. Then I part my lips and run my tongue over his lower lip—and Xavier lets out the quietest moan.
Fuck.
Something in that sound goes right through me, and yeah—just like that, I’m hard. His lips part, and when his tongue brushes against mine, I melt into it, groaning into his mouth at the heat, the slickness, the way he kisses like he means it.
His hands find my hair as he pushes me back onto the bed, his weight pressing into me, slotting perfectly between my legs. My cock is trapped between us, aching against his stomach—and even through our clothes, he has to feel it.
When he pulls back, breathing hard, he doesn’t say anything. Just stares down at me, his eyes dark, fixed—like he’s only now realizing exactly how turned on I am.
