Page 56 of Dangerous Pursuit
The door squeaks open and I'm on my feet within a flash, cop's orders be damned. Xander emerges first. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is in disarray, but he looks otherwise put together, nothing about him indicating the clothes he's wearing had potentially been somewhere other than on his body within the past fifteen minutes. And again, I hate myself for even engaging in this train of thought.
A ball of relief explodes in my abdomen when Xander's eyes meet mine this time. I deflate. Whatever happens, it's sure nice to see him.
Xander steps aside, and Stevens shows up.
I remain standing—no point in pretending I've been a good boy now. Taking a deep breath, I brace myself to be, at the very least, told off.
Xander stands by the door as Stevens looks straight at me and approaches. But he doesn't look like he's about to scold me. He doesn't even tell me to sit back down like I was told. Instead, he walks up to his desk, picks up my ID he'd been using to copy my information before handing it back to me. "Thank you. That'd be all for now."
I'm in the middle of reaching for my ID when the words leave his mouth, halting all my movements, so for a few beats we're just looking at each other, both holding the ID by opposite corners. "I— Excuse me?"
Stevens clears his throat and backs his hand. I catch my ID at the very last second, because apparently I just imagined I was holding it and I blink as I listen. "I have everything I need," he says, despite not having questioned me at all. "You’re free to go. We'll contact you if we need a follow up."
My eyes bounce from Stevens, to Xander, back to Stevens again.
Am I getting punk'd? Cause it sure feels like I'm getting punk'd.
Stevens raises both eyebrows as if to say,Why are you still here?
"Right." My voice comes out raspy from not using it in hours. "Thank you." I shove my ID in my back pocket and I'm just about to bolt the fuck out of here, but the corner of my eye catches a peculiar type of mischief in Xander's eye, so I add, "Glad I could help."
And with that on my lips, I pace to where Xander is waiting for me by the door. We both produce a half-hearted "Goodnight," as we make our way between the desks, picking up our pace the closer we get to the exit, and the second I push on the handle and we spill out of the station the sweet breeze of freedom fills my lungs.
Exhaling all the night's bullshit, I welcome the familiar post-fight stress in my muscles that finally comes, after having been squashed away by my own brain for hours. Finally, I feel like myself again.
Without a word we pace through the small parking lot in front of the building, as fast as we can without running, and the second we make the first possible turn, disappearing from the prying eyes—and cameras—of the station we simultaneously stop and fall into each other's arms, embracing, squeezing each other with all our might, as if we hadn't seen each other for months, despite the fact we've been rolling around the sheets earlier today. It feels like an entirely different lifetime now.
"What the hell happened?" I ask against Xander's neck, taking a whiff of his shampoo, the same one I've been using for the past two days. Somehow, it smells better on him. "Also, I missed you."
Xander laughs against my ear. God, I missed that laugh, too. "Looks like you've auditioned to be my personal bodyguard, is what happened."
Now it's my turn to laugh. "Did I nail the audition, at least?"
Xander moves his head back so that he can look at me, but the rest of our bodies remain connected. "With flying colors. But don'teverdo that again."
I don't even try to remind him it wasn't exactly me who started anything, because what's the point? What's the point of talking when I can lean down and kiss him, invite myself inside his mouth and show him exactly how much I missed him. And that's what I do, all the while silently pledging to myself, I will never again let anything or anyone stand in between me and this man.
We stand like that for minutes on end, against the wall of someone's house, kissing, hugging, being. We don't stop when a light rain begins to fall, wiping the droplets off each other faces, and it's not until the night grows very dark and very cold that we seem to remember we're free to continue wherever we please, no longer bound to the proximity of the police station.
"So… Are you gonna tell me?" I finally get the courage to ask when we're halfway to Xander's place, holding hands.
He turns his head to look at me. "Tell you what?"
"How you… What you…" I suck in my lips and search my brain for a proper way to say it. Finally, I settle on, "What did you say to the officer?"
"Oh," Xander says, and I'm relieved when he doesn't sound tense. "I told him he needs to get his liver checked, ASAP."
I inhale to retort, but what comes out instead is a barking laugh. "Youwhat?"
Xander shakes his head like he's making perfect sense, and I'm the slow one. "Not straight away. Duh. I first told him what actually happened, and then Ivery accidentallydropped a stack of Tarot cards when I was fake-checking my phone and it went from there."
I stop walking. "You didn't."
Even though the facial expression he assumes is a professional one the way the corners of his eyes twitch betrays that he's pleased with himself. "What can I say. It was a very prominent advice portion of the reading."
"And how did you possibly convince him of that?"
"I told him the tips of his fingers were yellow."
