Page 90 of Detectives in Love
“Her?” Monica echoes, frowning.
“His girlfriend.”
“No, no.” I shake my head quickly. “This is my sister, Monica.”
“Oh—sorry.” Katie laughs, and Monica does too. “I was wondering when I’d finally meet her.”
Monica glances at me, mischief creeping into her voice. “Yeah, Newt. Whereisyour girlfriend?”
I ignore her, helping Katie with her coat. Another doorbell rings, saving me from the question.
I check the monitor and spot Fred and Bernard on the stairs, brushing off snow like wet dogs. I buzz them in and open the door at the top of the landing.
A moment later, I hear the front door downstairs creak open, followed by footsteps echoing in the hallway. Then the heavy tread of boots on the stairs.
“Come in,” I say as they reach the top, forcing a smile that feels anything but natural.
“Newty, buddy!” Fred barrels into the living room and claps me on the shoulder. “What’s up?” Then his eyes land on Katie. “Kitty-Kat! No way!”
While the two of them get caught up in an overly enthusiastic reunion, I shake hands with Bernard, who—standing next to Fred—looks reserved by comparison.
“Hello, Newt.”
“Hi, Bernard. Good to see you.”
He hands me a bottle of wine.
“Thanks,” I say, nodding as I take it.
“Gonna introduce us?” Monica says, stepping closer.
Bernard’s eyes pause on her.
“Oh—right.” I gesture toward him. “This is Bernard, Fred’s colleague. Bernard, my sister, Monica.”
“Nice to meet you,” she says, offering her hand.
Bernard takes it, his handshake careful, his eyes lingering just a beat too long.
“Nice to meet you too.” He looks a little dazed, and Monica smiles at him.
I almost roll my eyes—men flirt with Monica constantly, and she knows it, playing along just for fun. She only tells them she’s a lesbian when they get particularly annoying.
“And this is Fred,” I say, turning to him. He’s deep in conversation with Katie—who already looks a little overwhelmed—so I tap him on the back.
Fred spins around and gives Monica an interested once-over.
“Well, hello there,” he says, eyebrows lifting in mock charm.
“Hi,” she replies, just enough sarcasm in her tone to make me smirk. “Monica. Newt’s sister.”
“Fred. Newt, Katie, and I went to high school together.”
“Oh yeah?” Monica smirks, and I can already see her trying to remember which stories I’ve told her about these two.
After the introductions, I tell everyone to make themselves comfortable and head to the kitchen to grab drinks. At the fridge, I pause and pull out my phone.
No missed calls. No texts.
