HANGOVER
933 Words
Sloane woke with her head splitting down the middle and her mouth dry as sand. Sunlight cut across the room, stabbing straight into her skull. She groaned and buried her face in the pillow.
The last thing she remembered was whiskey. Shots lined up like dominoes. Jude’s face across the bar. Then… nothing.
A knock rattled the door. Too loud. Too insistent. She dragged herself up and staggered across the floor.
The pounding on her door was relentless. Sloane groaned, dragged herself upright, and staggered across the floor. Her head throbbed, her throat was dry, but she didn’t care. Whoever it was about to get punched.
She swung the door open. Jude Maddox stood there, immaculate as always, coffee in one hand, file in the other. His eyes flicked down, then snapped back up.
His eyes flicked over her once. Then stopped. Then darted away as he cleared his throat. “Ahem.....” He shifted, suddenly studying the floor like it held the answers to a case.
The silence stretched.
Sloane leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “What, detective? Forget how to speak?”
He gave a short, sharp exhale through his nose. “You could at least pretend to have some dignity.”
Sloane squinted at him. “Excuse me?” she said looking quite confused “Nothing.” He brushed past her, dropping the file onto her table.
She rolled her eyes, too tired to play his games. “What do you want, Maddox?”
“Another body!” he said flatly. “Same M.O. Heart gone. Politician. You coming, or do I brief your hangover instead?”
That got her attention. The fog in her head cleared a little as she moved closer. “Who?”
“Councilman Marcus Hargrove. Found an hour ago. We leave in ten.” He didn’t look at her when he said it, just sipped his coffee like he had all the patience in the world.
She leaned against the table, intrigued despite herself. “Hargrove… he was in deep with Hensley. This isn’t random. Someone’s cutting through the city’s food chain.”
Jude finally met her eyes, and for a moment, there was no smirk. Just the sharp edge of a detective who knew she was right.
He turned toward the door, and that’s when she noticed him staring again. His gaze flicked down briefly, then he snapped it away.
“What?” she snapped.
“Nothing,” he said, too quickly.
Suspicious, she looked down. And froze. Her shirt hung crooked, two buttons undone too far, collar slipping off her shoulder. Heat shot into her face.
“p*****t!” she barked, clutching the shirt closed throwing a seat cushion at him. “You just stood there staring?”
Jude’s eyebrows shot up as he caught the cushion. “I told you the second I walked in. You ignored me.”
“You could’ve said it clearly!”
“I tried to spare you some dignity,” he shot back, heading for the door. “Don’t flatter yourself you’re not my type.”
Her jaw dropped. “Says the monkey in a suit.”
He didn’t stop walking. “Grab your jacket, Calloway. We’ve got a killer to catch.”
She seethed, yanking her coat off the chair. Monkey or not, she wasn’t about to let him have the last word.
The precinct’s unmarked sedan smelled faintly of old coffee and rain-damp leather. Jude slid behind the wheel, put the file on the dash, and started the engine without looking at her.
Sloane buckled herself in with an exaggerated huff. “Don’t think you’re off the hook, Maddox. Staring at me like that…”
He cut her off before she could finish. “Relax. I’ve seen better distractions at the zoo.”
Her head snapped toward him. “Did you just compare me to a......”
“A flamingo, maybe. All legs and noise.” He smirked, eyes on the road.
She gawked at him for a second before scoffing. “Wow. That’s original. What does that make you then? A gorilla? Big, dumb, always pounding your chest for attention.”
His jaw ticked, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “At least gorillas are strong. Flamingos just stand around waiting to get eaten.”
She crossed her arms, chin high. “And yet you’re still talking about me.”
He glanced at her, smirk deepening. “Hard not to when you show up to work half dressed.”
Her cheeks heated, but she rolled her eyes. “I’d rather be half dressed than half conscious all the time, like you. Do you ever sleep? Or do you just brood in mirrors and practice your scowl?”
“That scowl’s what keeps me alive,” he said dryly.
“Please,” she shot back, leaning toward him. “That scowl’s the reason bartender’s water down your drinks.”
For the first time in days, Jude actually laughed. It was short, low, and he shook his head quickly like he regretted letting it slip.
Sloane grinned smugly. “There it is. The mighty Detective Maddox, human after all.”
He tightened his grip on the wheel. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” she said, leaning back, satisfied. “I won’t.”
The banter quieted, but the tension didn’t fade. If anything, the air in the car felt sharper like a wire strung too tight, ready to snap.
Neither of them admitted it, but both of them knew: for all the insults, they hadn’t stopped watching each other.
- Writer
