|| Reverse Harem || 18+ || MMFM ||
Valarie's life revolves around two things: work and sleep. As a dedicated nurse at Silvercrest Medical Center, her world is a relentless cycle of double shifts, quick naps, and more double shifts.
But when her lov...
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The smell of fresh donuts fills my car, tempting me to sneak another one before I even make it to the station. But I resist. Barely. Instead, I drum my fingers on the steering wheel as I pull into the lot, watching as the early morning light spills across the asphalt. The night shift is wrapping up, and the day shift is rolling in, a steady flow of uniforms passing through the station doors. Another day, another dollar, right?
I park and grab the box of donuts from the passenger seat, holding it like a prized possession. There's nothing more predictable than a cop with donuts, but damn if these aren't worth every cliché. The minute I step inside the station, the noise and energy hit me.
"Morning, Hale!" someone calls out as I make my way down the hall, and I nod back, offering a quick smile.
Before I even make it halfway to the breakroom, two of the guys—Jackson and Ryder—materialize out of nowhere, grinning like a couple of kids at Christmas.
"Are those what I think they are?" Jackson asks, already reaching for the box.
"Hands off," I warn, but it's too late. Jackson's fingers dive into the box, pulling out a glazed donut and shoving half of it into his mouth before I can even blink.
Ryder's no better, snatching one for himself with a wink. "You know, you're making it way too easy for us, Declan. We can smell these things a mile away."
I roll my eyes but can't help the grin that tugs at my lips. "You two are like vultures. I should start charging you for these."
Jackson finishes his bite and grins. "You keep bringing these in, and we might just start paying."
Ryder nods, wiping his fingers on a napkin. "Consider it a tax for walking through the front doors."
"More like a bribe to keep you out of trouble," I shoot back, but I let it slide, knowing damn well these donuts won't last five minutes once they hit the breakroom table.
They peel off toward their desks, still chewing, and I finally make it to the breakroom. As expected, the place is a mess—empty coffee cups, half-eaten bagels, and a stack of paperwork that looks like it's been sitting there for days. I set the box on the table and take one last donut for myself, leaning against the counter as I take a bite.
The sugar hits my system like a jolt, the sweet taste familiar and comforting. I take a moment to enjoy it, savoring the brief reprieve before the day officially begins. I know it won't be long before the room fills up with hungry cops, eager to grab whatever's left.
My partner, Greg Russo, strolls in a few minutes later, his usual smirk in place. Russo's been my partner for three years now, and we've got a rhythm that works—he's the loudmouth with a penchant for stirring the pot, and I'm the one who reels him back in before he takes it too far.
"Hey, man," he greets me, eyeing the donut in my hand. "Don't tell me you let those hyenas out there get to the donuts before I did."
I hold up the box, showing him the few that are left. "Help yourself. But you might have to fight Ryder for the last jelly-filled."
