Page 117 of Detectives in Love
“What?” I let out a disbelieving laugh. “How would he even do that?”
“I don’t know.” His voice stays even, but there’s tension beneath it. Like he already has a theory—and he’s waiting to see if I’ll get there first.
And then it hits me.
“Wait—” I stop, the realization slamming into me. “Are you asking if I slept with him?”
Xavier doesn’t answer, but I catch the tight set of his jaw, the way he’s watching me—like he’s waiting for a confirmation he doesn’t actually want to hear.
“No! Of course I didn’t.” I drag a hand down my face, mortified he even thinks I could’ve. When I look back at him, I’m still stunned—and there’s a flicker of anger burning in my chest. “Seriously? You think I’d do that?”
“You were drunk,” Xavier says, still pointed, though the edge in his voice has dulled.
“So what? I don’t black out after a few drinks. I’d know if someone tried to take off my belt. Or sleep with me, for that matter.”
“You were really drunk,” he says again—and there’s a sharper note this time, just under the surface.
“I wasn’t that far gone. Trust me, I’d remember if anything actually happened.”
Xavier’s expression shifts. His eyes narrow, still locked on mine.
“Then you remember what happened after?”
“After?” I echo, hesitating.
“When you came home.”
“Yes,” I say, a little too quickly. “I came home. And went to sleep.”
“Right.” His mouth tightens. “Then that explains it.”
I blink. “Explains what?”
“How Fred could’ve planted the bug,” Xavier says, his voice flat. “You were completely out of it.”
I wince, heat rising to my face. God, this is humiliating.
“Look, yeah, I was drunk. And I remember lying on the floor in the living room, if that’s what you’re getting at,” I say, still not following.
Xavier doesn’t answer.
I sigh, uneasy. “Is there something else I’m supposed to remember?”
And the second the words leave my mouth—just looking at him—I know there is. I just don’t know what.
“Wait, is this about that sex and math joke again?” I ask, hoping that’s all it is.
Xavier shakes his head.
“Doesn’t matter. The point is, Fred sold you out.”
I let out a short laugh. “You think he wrote the article that same night? He was just as drunk as I was. And he’d only just moved to the city—he found out about your existence that evening. He didn’t know anything about us. Or the agency.”
“Or so he said,” Xavier mutters. “People lie easiest when they claim they’ve got no reason to.”
“What makes you think it happened that night? The bug could’ve been planted earlier. Maybe while we were out.”
Xavier considers this for a beat, then shakes his head.
