The heat in Hazard’s face spread to his throat and chest.
Somers kissed him again. Then, with an Eskimo kiss, he said, “You know, there’s one part of the romance formula you forgot.”
“Well, I eliminated some of the beats for the sake of time, but I got the major structure.”
“A very important part.”
“Oh yeah?”
Somers tugged on the sweater again. “Yeah.”
“What did I forget?” Hazard asked, feeling the heat lick down from his chest into his belly.
“The hot, steamy, maybe even raunchy, sex. Lots of it. Pages and pages.”
Twisting under Somers’s weight, Hazard opened a drawer in the nightstand and pulled out a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs. “Police issue,” he said as he fell back on the bed again, dangling them in front of Somers. “I just made them a little more comfortable.”
With the tiniest smirk at the corner of his mouth, Somers sat up straight and held out his hands.
Hazard snapped on the first cuff and then rolled, flipping them so that Somers was pinned. Displaying the second cuff, he raised an eyebrow and rocked his hips slowly into his boyfriend. “Pages and pages, you said?”
EMERY’S BIRTHDAY SCAVENGER HUNT
This story takes place before The Keeper of Bees.
I
APRIL 24
WEDNESDAY
7:12 AM
EMERY HAZARD WAS HAVING a very pleasant dream. In this dream, he worked in a library. And in this library, they had only non-fiction books. And the non-fiction books were organized by the Revised Hazard Decimal System, which was much more specific than other, sloppier decimal systems. In this dream, he was having a vigorous debate with a fellow librarian—a smarmy blond man who would sometimes arrange books by the color of their covers or by their height, who sometimes shuffled books and stored them completely at random—about whether the proper categorization for Dark Side of the Moon: Exploring the Hidden Sexual Politics of the Butt placed it in 611.2.61.9, anatomy of the butt, or in 528.9.14.71, human anatomy as ephemerides.
“Come on,” the blond man kept saying.
“No,” Hazard said, “you come on.”
“For the love of God, will you just wake up?”
And then Hazard was awake, being rocked back and forth while someone shouted in his ear.
“Christ, John, get off.” The hand went away; Hazard burrowed into the pillows.
“Are you awake?”
Hazard pulled a pillow over his head.
“Ree?”
Hazard dragged the comforter up over the pillow.
“You never sleep in. What’s going on?”
“Technically,” Hazard said from inside his cocoon, “I’m not sleeping in now. You’re making it very difficult.”
The comforter slid down; cold air washed across Hazard’s chest. Then Somers grabbed the pillow; Hazard was too slow, and it was yanked from his grip when he tried to drag it back. Hazard settled for putting an arm over his eyes.
“Good morning,” Somers sang.
“Go away.”
“Were you having a sexy dream? Is that why you don’t want to get up?”
As Hazard moved farther away from sleep, the dream slipped away, and he couldn’t recall every one of the hundred subdivisions for each category. But he still smiled and said, “Yes.”
“Was I in it?”
Hazard dropped his arm and stared at Somers through narrowed eyes. “Yes,” he said flatly.
“Oh. Good.”
“Pillow.”
“Nope, time to get up.” A huge grin split the blond man’s face. “Happy birthday!”
Groaning, Hazard put his arm over his eyes again.
“I’ve got a whole day planned,” Somers said. “I made you a birthday button to wear.”
“That’s an empty threat.”
“Oh really?”
Hazard slid his arm up a few inches and saw the button, which read, I’M A VERY SPECIAL BIRTHDAY BOY. PLEASE TREAT ME RIGHT TODAY.
“Sweet Jesus,” Hazard groaned again. “Why can’t you be a good, normal boyfriend and forget about my birthday?”
“No, sir. A whole day. Lots of public meals and public outings and public handholding and public singing. Lots of strangers talking to you. Lots of unfamiliar faces wishing you happy birthday.”
“I like holding hands with you in public. Do you think I don’t? Is that what this is about?”
“This is about your birthday.”
“I’ll hold your hand in public every minute we’re out of the house for the rest of the year if we don’t have to do this.”
“That’s very sweet. Now, get up so we can make it to our breakfast reservation.”
“No.”
“I’ll tickle you.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Extreme circumstances,” Somers said with a shrug.
“John,” Hazard said, fighting the whine in his voice. “It’s my birthday. Why can’t we do what I want?”
“Because you would choose sitting silently in an undecorated room for eighteen hours while you trade imaginary stocks.”
“That was one time! And it wasn’t eighteen hours.”
Somers offered a crooked grin. “Up. Shower. Dress. Fast.”
Then the blond man was gone, and Hazard put his arm over his eyes again, already running a timer. How long could he delay and still manage to get ready on time? He’d done this as a kid, Sunday mornings, when he was supposed to get ready for church. He’d lie in bed, watching the clock, ignoring his mother’s reminders, and then, at the last minute, shower and dress in a dash. Thirty-five wasn’t much different than fifteen when you were engaged to John-Henry Somerset.
The internal countdown pinged, and Hazard rolled over, planted his feet, and got out of bed.
His phone buzzed on the nightstand.
He didn’t recognize the number, and today, that was a good thing. An unrecognized number meant it was most likely a work call. A work call from someone Hazard didn’t know might mean a prospective client. A prospective client might mean an in-person meeting, might even mean starting work on a new case. Today. It might be an urgent case. There might be no time to lose.
He grabbed the phone and answered, “Emery Hazard.”
“Hi, Ree,” Somers said.
“I’m out of bed.”
“Actually, this is a work call. Do you always tell people at work your in-bed or out-of-bed status?”
“What?” Hazard wiped his face. “It’s too early for this. Are you calling me from a burner?”
“I need to hire you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“This is The Case of the Missing Birthday Brunch. I think someone stole the brunch I prepared
