Page 148 of Detectives in Love
“Is this your partner?” the doctor asks as they step into the room.
I barely stop my eyebrows from launching skyward.
I love how Xavier just throws that word out without context—because judging by the soft smile the doctor gives him, she’s clearly picturing a very different kind of partner. Not the work kind.
And honestly, I’m in no rush to correct her. Not with how fast my heart’s doing the tectonic dance at the thought.
Still. We might need to talk about that. Eventually.
“Yes, that’s him,” Xavier says, his gaze locking onto mine. “How are you?”
“I’m great,” I say, forcing cheer into my voice. “They took the knife out.”
“Good,” Xavier says, relief written all over his face as he walks over to the bed. Then he turns to the doctor. “Can I take him home now?”
She nods, giving him another one of those warm smiles. “Sure. I just need to go over the medication and instructions for rebandaging the leg. You’re welcome to stay and listen.”
Yeah—she definitely thinks we’rethatkind of partners.
She walks over and starts explaining the aftercare routine, and Xavier stays by my bed, listening like he’s trying to memorize every word.
In the end, she hands me a few pill bottles and adds, “Keep the wound dry for at least a week. Cover it with plastic if you’re showering. No strenuous activity for now,” she glances between us with a flicker of a smile, “and that includes sex. You can be creative though—it’s actually great for pain management—but avoid cardio and definitely don’t put too much pressure on that leg.”
My face burns. I feel like a teenager getting handed a condom in health class. Xavier, on the other hand, doesn’t even blink—just nods politely and says, “Thank you, doctor.”
“You’re welcome.” She hands me the discharge papers and leaves us alone.
Still feeling my face burn, I avoid Xavier’s gaze as I take the backpack from him and unzip it. He packed jeans, a t-shirt, one of my sweaters, socks—and even my shoes, wrapped in a plastic bag.
“Thanks for the clothes,” I say, pulling on the t-shirt, though my voice comes out a little too upbeat, the strain slipping through.
“You okay?” Xavier asks, catching my elbow just as I’m tugging the sweater over my head. I pause, stuck halfway, and meet his eyes.
“Yeah, I’m great,” I say, flashing him a quick smile.
He doesn’t return it. There’s a quiet shift in his expression—concern softening into something almost sad. And shit, now I feel bad. He probably thinks it’s about something else.
“It’s just the doctor,” I mumble, cheeks flaring again. “What she said.”
Xavier lifts an eyebrow. I wince.
“I mean…she assumed we’re going to have sex. That was awkward.”
He watches me for a second. Then says, totally deadpan, “That’s probably because you have two hickeys on your neck.”
I freeze, my insides going cold.
“I havewhat?”
“Sorry,” Xavier says, though he doesn’t sound even remotely like he means it.
I grab my phone, flip on the front camera, and stare at the two bruises on my neck—one a faded purple, the other still fresh from last night’s taxi ride. God. I can only imagine how many people clocked them between yesterday and today and politely said nothing. Including Willand.
“Jesus,” I mutter, setting the phone down and getting back to putting on my clothes. I’m not exactly mad—just mildly irritated Xavier didn’t mention it sooner. I’m not ashamed it happened, not really. But the fact that my personal life is basically public domain at this point is…deeply annoying.
Xavier stays quiet, just watches me wrestle with the left leg of my jeans. Then, like he snaps out of a daze, he steps in to help.
“I’ve got it,” I mumble, but he ignores me and gently guides the fabric over my bandaged thigh.
