Page 116 of Detectives in Love
God, why am I suddenly stuttering and oversharing around Xavier? And why the hell did I just say I’m my mom’s hope for offspring? That makes it sound like I’m not gay—which, okay, technically I’m not, because I’m bi—but now it sounds like I am straight. And like I’m trying to set some kind of boundary with Xavier. Like I’m making it clear that I—
“I didn’t know your sister’s gay.”
I freeze, yanked out of my spiraling thoughts. There’s a flicker of curiosity in Xavier’s voice.
“Uh, yeah.” I nod, a little relieved he’s switched gears. “She brought her first girlfriend home to meet our mom in eighth grade.”
Xavier smirks—and are we seriously having a normal conversation right now? About my family, of all things?Something that has nothing to do with work or death? And not just that—we’re talking about my sister’s sexuality, which somehow feels even weirder, considering we’ve never talked about our own.
Especially after what happened between us a few hours ago.
Might be something we should talk about.
“Are you planning to visit your mom?” I ask, mostly just to keep him talking.
Xavier shakes his head. “I’m sure she just wants to stick her nose in my business.”
“Well,” I shrug, “don’t be too hard on her.”
He frowns, like he’s not sure what I mean—then something shifts in his expression, and he gives a small nod.
“What about your father’s funeral, by the way?” I ask, careful not to push.
He throws me a quick, unreadable glance. “He was cremated. There won’t be a ceremony.”
“Oh. I see.”
We fall into silence again. The car hums beneath us, the city sliding past outside.
After a few minutes, Xavier says quietly, “Sorry…for, uh…this morning.”
I go still. Heat rises in my chest, but I don’t say anything—I just wait.So we are talking about it.
He clears his throat. “I wasn’t feeling like myself…” His voice trails off.
My breath catches. The car suddenly feels too hot, too small. The words slip out before I can stop them.
“You mean…you didn’t want to?” I think I’m going to be sick.
He blinks, startled. “What? No, I didn’t—I mean…” He falters, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m just saying I—”
Another breath. A shake of his head. “Never mind. Forget it.”
He falls quiet, cheeks flushed.
Shit. Does he regret it? My stomach twists as I turn toward the window, watching the snow blur into streaks of white and gray. My heart pounds, my eyes sting from the sudden rush of emotion.
We sit like that for a moment, neither of us speaking.
Then Xavier says, more abruptly this time, “That night you went drinking with Fred Collins… how much do you actually remember?”
I glance over, caught off guard by the shift. “Uh. Some of it. Why?”
He doesn’t answer right away. “You met him, and the next morning there was an article in the papers.”
I frown. “Okay…and?”
“Could Fred have planted the bug on you?”
