Hazard and Somerset Gregory Ashe (the little red hen ebook txt) 📖

not to smile and doing a fairly creditable job. He moved to the seat next to Hazard.

In one movement, Hazard rotated, straddling Somers and pinning him to the seat. In another single movement, Hazard yanked, and Somers’s shirt flew open, buttons pinging throughout the limo. Hazard ran a splayed hand down Somers’s chest.

Somers was breathing hard.

Hazard cracked his jaw. He drew air through his nose. Then he wrapped one big hand around Somers’s throat.

“Mine.”

Somers’s next exhalation sent a shudder through the blond man.

“I think you said something—” Somers had to stop to wet his lips. “About showing me.” His tongue ran over his lips again. “In bed.”

Hazard growled as he bent forward to kiss his boyfriend.

PRETTY AND PINK AND PERFECT

This story takes place before The Rational Faculty.

I

SEPTEMBER 7

FRIDAY

3:47 PM

EMERY HAZARD HAD A COLLEGE DEGREE. He had obtained the position of detective in two police departments, and in both jobs he had distinguished himself by solving difficult, sometimes impossible cases. Now, in the new house he shared with his boyfriend, John-Henry Somerset, he was pacing. He walked through the front living room, one of his big hands settling lightly on a present wrapped in Dora the Explorer paper, on a party hat, on the pink canvas tent he had ordered off Etsy at two in the morning in a kind of drunken revenge fuck on himself because he had been convinced, in the small hours, that he was going to ruin everything. He touched the tacks holding the banner in place. He stayed in the doorway. His eyes ran over everything again.

Then it was the kitchen: the pizza warming in the oven, the chicken fingers, the relish tray—which Somers had laughed about. He opened the double doors of the fridge like he was unlocking a safe, and then he wasn’t even sure he dared to breathe. The slightest vibration in the air seemed likely to topple the pink confection of frosting that occupied the width of the bottom shelf. Hazard read over the lettering on the cake again. And then he closed the doors—carefully, carefully—and jogged up to the bedroom to grab his shoes and keys.

Somers, as usual, was being Somers. He was sprawled on the bed in nothing but a pair of gym shorts, flipping through a paperback.

“Where are you going?” Somers said, breaking his concentration just long enough to glance up at Hazard before returning to the book.

“Can you put some clothes on? They’re going to be here in ten minutes.”

“Really?” Somers rolled, muscles rippling in his abdomen, and blinked at the clock. “No kidding.”

“Clothes, John. Now.”

“I just need to throw on a shirt.”

“You just need to—” Hazard spun to the closet. Then back to Somers. “No. No gym shorts.”

“Uh huh,” Somers mumbled as he turned another page.

“John, I’m serious.”

“I know.” He licked a finger and flipped back through the book.

“What did I just say?”

After what felt like an eternity, Somers raised his head, tousled blond hair framing him like a nimbus, and blinked. “Huh?”

“John,” Hazard said. Only it didn’t really sound like that. It sounded more like a growl. He spun back to the closet, threw open the door, and yanked out a polo. He laid it on the bed. Then he dragged open the bottom drawer of the dresser. It got stuck. Hazard yanked, and the pull came loose an instant before the wood shrieked and the drawer popped open. Swearing, Hazard threw the pull on the bed and dug out a pair of jeans. Then, just to be safe, he found a pair of socks.

Somers was already nose-deep in the book again.

In two steps, Hazard reached the bed. He laid his hand over the page Somers was reading.

“Hey,” Somers said, looking up with a little frown. “What gives?”

“Clothes, John. Real clothes. It’s your daughter’s third birthday party.”

“It’s our daughter’s third birthday party.”

“You aren’t going to wear gym shorts to her birthday party.”

Carefully folding the corner of a page, Somers laid down the book. Then he blinked big, blue eyes at Hazard and wiggled his hips. “Maybe you should take them off me. Just to make sure I don’t forget.”

“Stop fucking around, all right? I’ve got to run to the store.”

“What? Why?”

“Because they messed up the cake.”

Somers seemed to turn that over for a moment. “The cake.”

“Yes. Her birthday cake.”

“The one you picked up yesterday.”

“Yes, John. The only fucking cake she has.”

“The one you’ve been checking every fifteen minutes.”

“I haven’t been—will you just get dressed?”

“And suddenly, after twenty-four hours of double checking the cake, you noticed something’s wrong.”

“They spelled her name wrong.”

Somers snorted and rolled his eyes. He picked up his book.

“Get dressed. Right now. They’re going to be here any minute, and it’ll take me at least fourteen minutes and thirty-seven seconds to get to the store and back.”

“You’re insane.” Another lazy turn of a page. “I love you, but you’re insane.”

“I can probably shave it down to thirteen minutes and fifty-two seconds if I have exact change.”

“Ok,” Somers said, setting down the book again. “Let’s go look at the cake.”

They stood in front of the open refrigerator, staring down at the tower of pink and white icing.

“It’s fine,” Somers said.

“Really? Use your fucking eyes, John.”

“I don’t see anything wrong. Happy Birthday, Evie.”

“The last e.”

Somers leaned forward, but Hazard caught his arm to keep him from getting too close and sticking his nose in it.

“What?”

“Really, John?”

“It’s an e.”

“It looks like a c.”

Somers grinned. “Happy birthday, Evic.”

“Great. You think this is funny.”

“It’s so weird because Cora and I almost named her Evic.”

“You think this is all one big fucking joke.”

“Oh no. It’s an e that looks kind of like a c if you stare at it for twenty-four hours. That’s a big deal.”

“So now I’m overreacting. Now I’m crazy.”

Somers blew out a breath and studied Hazard from under raised eyebrows. “Tell you what.”

“Another fucking joke? I don’t have time. I’ve got to get to the store and buy one of those frosting kits.”

“Here’s what we’re going to do.”

“Could you hurry it up, please?”

“We’re going to