Page 22 of Before They Were Lovers

For now.

Day

Day woke to God’s loud snores and a streak of sunlight beaming across his pillow since he’d forgotten to close the shades.

His head was a throbbing reminder that he’d had a few too many bourbon shots himself. Thoughts of last night flooded to the surface, along with a host of imagery that made his dick harder than usual for a Sunday morning.

When he’d gotten into bed, God was already passed out, and as if he’d felt him in his dreams, God had damn near climbed on top of him before he fell back into a deep sleep. Day had finally shoved him over when he’d started to sweat from the insane body heat.

He glanced over and was rewarded with a full view of the roaring lion tattooed over eighty percent of God’s back. With each breath, his muscles moved, and so did the beast.

Day had to bite into his bottom lip as his cock jerked for attention. Fighting back the lingering haze, Day pushed himself out of bed and gently closed the bathroom door behind him so he could do the same thing he had six hours ago.

Once he was sated, all his body craved was food with frighteningly high levels of cholesterol and a huge cup of coffee.

Not long after he opened all the blinds in the living room, turned on the television, and threw a load of laundry in the wash, Day heard his bathroom door slam shut and the shower start.

His brain flickered back to God’s drunken declarations and the slurred whispers against his ear of how he wished they could be something more. But he pushed it aside. They’d both been wasted and wishing for the impossible.

He set his coffee machine to brew, then went in search of something to eat. He settled on scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage links, and buttered toast.

God preferred the simple things.

Day knew exactly how much milk, a pinch of salt, a light sprinkle of pepper, and how soft to cook God’s eggs. Day’s coffee was mostly a dessert—ten pumps of one of his many flavored syrups, foaming sweet cream, and brown sugar. He poured God’s—black, teaspoon of sugar, done.

He set the toast and coffee on the breakfast bar when he heard God’s bare feet on the hardwood floor. His partner turned the corner, and Day almost choked on the melon he was eating.

What the…seriously?

God was dripping wet, wearing a too-short towel clinging to his hips for dear life.

“Where are my clothes, Day?” he rumbled before he dropped down on the stool in front of the breakfast bar and took a big sip of his coffee.

“Laundry,” he muttered. “I just hope your hoodie doesn’t shrink anymore, or you’ll be wearing it as a goddamn halter top.”

“Fuck off,” God said, clutching the side of his head, looking exhausted. “What in the hell did I drink last night, Day?”

“Liquor that should’ve had an octane rating,” he mumbled.

“Last thing I remember was you forcing me out of the bar.” God squeezed his temples. “Thatwasyou, right?”

Day sighed. He’d known God wouldn’t remember a damn thing.

“Here, dumbass.” Day opened his junk drawer before slamming a bottle of Tylenol beside God’s mug.

“Man, did I sleep at all? Feels like I just pulled a forty-eight-hour shift.”

Day began to cut some more slices of fruit.

“You slept all night. It was me who was jerked awake every thirty minutes.” Day slid God some fruit. “Thanks for keeping your snoring to a dull roar.”

“I don’t snore,” God scoffed.

“Unless there was a herd of elephants sleeping outside my window…you fuckin’ snore.”

“What’s this…red oranges? You know I don’t like that weird shit you eat.”

“It’s grapefruit. Eat it. It has tons of vitamin C.”

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