Page 12 of Before They Were Lovers

Day responded with a soft shrug, a sly smirk on his smooth lips.

“Maybe. Nothing over-the-top. Dinner, a couple of drinks. No biggie.”

God’s stomach twisted.

Of course Day had someone to spend tonight with. He wasn’t sure why that bothered him, but it kind of did. They didn’t discuss their social lives much. The two of them were together ten to twelve hours out of the day, and God didn’t have the time or energy for committed relationships. He’d assumed Day didn’t either.

All he knew was Day had a liking for men…tall, muscular, alpha men.

God cringed—for not the typical reasons—at the mental image of Day dressed in nice, tight jeans and a button-up shirt. Laughing and gazing up at someone else, another man making him smile. Doing the silly couple stuff that God hated.

They downed the last of their coffee and returned to the streets to finish their shift.

God didn’t grunt or curse anymore, and Day stayed quiet as if letting God stew inside his silence. It was dark and cold by the time they changed out of their uniforms, showered, and got dressed to leave.

When he crossed the parking lot, he saw Day leaning against his truck.

“Wassup?” God mumbled, not making eye contact as he tossed his duffel in the back seat.

“You won’t believe it, but my date canceled,” Day gritted. “I didn’t like the guy anyway. He had thin eyebrows and a widow’s peak. He’ll probably be bald in five years.”

God felt one side of his mouth tilt up.

Day winked, nodding toward the small dive bar across the street. “You in? Beer, wings, basketball…silence.”

“Yeah,” God said roughly.

He knew Day hadn’t been stood up. Fucking impossible. Unless the guy was a complete dumbass.

Day went around the other side and hopped in, slamming the door hard.

“Let’s do it, then, Cupid Crusher.”

Somehow, God felt ten times better as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and texted Sherry that he was working late. Tomorrow, he’d break things off with her.

Spending this “holiday” with Day felt right. His partner didn’t try to fix him or change his mind on how he felt about shit. Day justexistedin his life, and that was all he needed for now.

Day

Eight months later…

It was a cool fall night, and he and God hadn’t had to chase or bust anyone so far today, but Day didn’t speak it aloud, not wanting to jinx it.

No sooner than he thought they’d have a good night did the radio crackle.

“Units 12, 36, 45, we’ve got a 10-57 in progress. Hit-and-run suspect fleeing southbound on Piedmont. The suspect is in a white Nissan SUV, plates unknown. Code five response. Over.”

The dispatcher’s words were sharp and quick, cutting through the monotony of their shift like an electrical current.

Day cut his eyes to God, knowing this would be a dangerous one.

God was already gunning the engine as he confirmed their response, his foot heavy on the gas pedal. The sirens wailed an insistent holler as their tires squealed on the hard right turn onto Peachtree. Day shot back in his seat as God pushed their squad car to over a hundred and twenty, causing the city to fly past.

The city’s traffic was light—thank goodness—so they didn’t have to fret over pedestrian collateral damage. God’s hands looked steady as he steered through the maze of avenues, spotting the narrowest openings as if navigating a windingracetrack. Every abrupt turn and lane change he made was precisely calculated.

“Fuckin’ hell, God,” Day ground out, gripping the edge of the dashboard.

“Hold on,” God muttered, a barely audible order.

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