Page 9 of Before They Were Lovers

Day nodded, feeling almost afraid of the fierce way God spoke, the intensity when he was giving Day all his attention.

“If you would’ve been paying attention these last few months, you would’ve noticed thatIdon’t like talking…but I never said I minded listening whenyoudo.”

Day just barely withheld his gasp.

“I go home. I go to sleep, Day, so that when I open my eyes again, it’s time to go back to work…back to work withyou. The sooner I go to sleep, the sooner I can go back to listening toyou.” God signaled for two more shots, and after their waitress set them down, God immediately tossed his back. “Now. I came out tonight—sacrificing sleep—because I thought you’d be doing the talking…so talk.”

If God liked to hear him talk, Day would talk until his throat got sore.

Day drank his whisky, grimacing at the heat settling in his stomach, then gave God what he wanted.

“I have a meddling mother. My father passed a while ago—that’s where I got my love for jazz. He left me his entire collection and sound system. I have an older brother named Jaxson…we all call him Jax. He’s a doctor. A real ass-kissing, overachiever…”

The night stretched out, and he and God were now on their third game of pool. Day was still talking when he noticed God sitting on the stool, glaring at someone over Day’s shoulder.

Day didn’t look right away, but when it was time for God to take his shot, Day scanned the bar to see if he noticed anything strange. Nothing criminal was going on, but a guy sitting at the bar was a bit too obvious with his staring, not subtle at all.

He was a little older but distinguished and handsome. He wore a maroon button-up shirt and gray slacks. Day noticed his great smile and light eyes fixed squarely on him as if he were a painting he couldn’t stop admiring.

He wondered why God would be so fixated on that.

His partner knew he was gay, and it wouldn’t be the first time he’d been hit on while God was around.

Day gave a courtesy nod as the guy’s leer continued, his interest turning almost predatory.

“Keep talking,” God ordered sternly, not looking in his direction as he continued lining up shots and clearing balls off the table.

Day hurriedly yanked his eyes away from his admirer and cleared his throat as if he’d been caught doing something wrong.

God

Day returned his attention to their game, stuttering, “Yeah, uh…where was I?”

“Old lady and the shopping cart,” God said without missing a beat.

He stood and chalked his cue, his mind half on the game, part on the humming at the back of his skull from the whisky shots, and the other on the creep at the end of the bar eyeing his partner.

The guy was probably listening to Day’s wild stories that a few people at nearby tables were also enjoying.

What was most likable about Day was he was confident, strong, and intelligent. He had the trifecta. A way of keeping things fun as he effortlessly cracked one joke after another.

Even the bartender—who’d seemed annoyed when they’d come in two hours ago—was fawning over Day and calling him hilarious. And his partner was eating it up.

“No shit, just when I was about to tackle her, she turned and yanked the hem of her little pastel cardigan up to her neck! I thought she was smuggling chicken cutlets because they sure as fuck weren’t titties!” Day laughed.

God snorted, missing his last shot as he fought the urge to smile while everyone else roared.

Day’s laugh was comforting and deep, like slow-rolling thunder.

He handed Day the pool stick—having no clue why they were sharing one—and whispered near his ear.

“You’re not as funny as you think, y’know.”

Day winked at him. “I think I’m fuckin’ hilarious. You just gotta loosen up.”

God snorted despite trying to remain unfazed, but the bastard sure could weave an entertaining story.

Figured he’d end up with a partner who liked to poke and prod at things until he cracked them open, hoping to find something buried that he wasn’t entitled to know.

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