Page 18 of Before They Were Lovers

God gestured to the bartender to give him another shot. He was slouched in the same booth at the same bar as last Valentine’s Day, drowning his frustrations in shots of scotch and mugs of Anheuser-Busch.

The door to the bar opened, and a frigid gust of wind preceded his good friend.

He came.

God thought he had what it took to make Day stay with him, but then he saw Prescott Vaughan with his fancy clothes, smooth voice, and charismatic moves that had his partner blushing and eating out of the palm of his hand. God knew he was out of his league.

As Day made his way to the booth with no anger or judgment in his light hazel eyes, God couldn’t help but stare. Had his partner always looked like that? Had it taken seeing him interact with another man to notice? God had known Day hooked up the same as he did, but he’d never come face to face with it.

He didn’t like it…and couldn’t figure out why. He’d been hoping Johnnie Walker would help him make sense of it, but seven shots in, he was still clueless.

Day wore dark jeans and an ivory sweater under a chocolate-brown suede blazer. He cleaned up nicely. It was a drastic change from the blue polyester uniform.

What God really liked was that it looked as if Day’s clothes hadn’t been taken off.

His partner sat and threw up two fingers at the bartender. Neither spoke as Day stared hard into God’s eyes, the weight of the heavy tension pressing down on them. Once they had their fresh drinks, Day was the first to break the silence.

“Why don’t we just make Valentine’s Day our thing, hmm?”

“I didn’t like him,” God blurted.

He was already good and drunk, the ample amount of liquor he’d consumed loosening his tongue.

“No, you didn’t likemewith him,” Day countered.

“And he had no right saying your name like that,” God slurred.

Day shook his head as if he was a lost cause and downed his shot.

“Damn, you’re so full of shit…and a cock-blocker.”

God shrugged. “My bad.”

“Yeah, you look real broken up about it.”

“He wasn’t your type.”

“And you know my type, huh?”

“I do, and it’s not some stuck-up rich guy with a fancy yacht, serving you tiny foods that’s finished in two bites.”

Day blinked, watching, listening.

“You want someone on your level.” God thought about his and Day’s friendship. “Someone laid-back. Content to watchSportsCenteror a good crime series, eat suicide wings, and drink an imported brew with you. Or a guy who’s okay with just looking at you while you listen to your jazz albums and do your crossword puzzles.”

God gazed right at his partner, seeing agreement reflected back at him.

“A man that’ll give you a foot rub after a long day of work and tell you how fuckin’ fearlessly amazing you are.”

Day squeezed his eyelids shut. “Stop, God. You’re drunk.”

He didn’t say anything else before he foolishly did all the things he’d just mentioned. But if they went there, they’d no longer be partners on the force. Hell, they wouldn’t even be allowed to work in the same precinct.

God couldn’t have his cake and eat it too.

So he’d take Day the only way he could have him.

Brothers in arms. Best friends.

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