Page 24 of Before They Were Lovers

God licked his lips, his ire seeming to settle at Day’s admission. He’d never lie to God, and God knew it.

“Keep it that way,” God ordered with bass and authority.

They were so close he could practically taste the strong black coffee on God’s lips.

“And you keep those women you hook up with to the back seat of your truck,” Day countered. “Got it?”

“Yeah,” God murmured after a long, tense moment. “I got it.”

Day

Day finished cleaning the kitchen and then went about his Sunday routine.

God dressed only in his jeans and made himself comfortable on Day’s couch with the newspaper in one hand and the remote in the other.

After he’d folded and put away his laundry, Day went to his turntable and put on his favorite Dizzy Gillespie album. The slow, winding notes filled the room, the soft sounds grounding him, enabling him tonotthink while moving from one task to the next.

Before he knew it, it was after three.

And God was still there. Relaxed and comfortable. He had his muscular arms stretched over his head, his body sprawled across the couch as if he were exactly where he was supposed to be. Oblivious to the way he’d turned Day’s world upside down.

His striking eyes shifted from him to the television, half focused on whatever news station was updating on all the bad shit that’d happened in the city last week.

Day watched him back, admiring how the fading sunlight caught the hard planes of his face.

They went about their day off as if nothing had changed. But everything had.

He wasn’t sure what he had expected last night—sure as hell not what he’d gotten—nor what he had expected today.

Was this it? Were things going to stay this way forever? Were they just going to act like everything was fine, never falling in love with anyone else since they couldn’t fall for each other?

Too late.

He tried to concentrate on dusting his vintage albums and sound system, but his mind continued to drift to the way God’s smile had softened when he’d gazed into his eyes, the way he’d instinctually reached for him in the middle of the night.

That look would be engrained in Day’s mind—and his heart—for a very long time.

“Hey,” God said in a lazy drawl. “There’s a Hawks game coming on at eight. “

“I know,” he answered. “You wanna order a pizza or something?”

“You mean no filet mignon.”

Day huffed a short laugh and flipped his middle finger up.

“Run to the corner store with me. I want you to make those nachos.”

God was already heading to the back, probably to cover his sexy chest with a shirt and finally stop torturing Day.

Day rolled his eyes. “Yeah, all right.”

He grabbed his jacket off the coatrack, a twenty-dollar bill, his service weapon and badge, and left out the front door.

Day hated convenience stores. He thought they were a rip-off. A bag of chips and dip cost twice as much as they did at his grocery market. But God loved to pack his big arms with junk without having to walk down a two-hundred-foot aisle and scour through ten different brands.

Day figured life was easier if he just gave God what he wanted.

He made his way to the coolers for a six-pack and a five-dollar pack of shredded cheese while God went straight to the pre-packaged pastry cart toward the back.

---