Before They Were Lovers (Nothing Special Valentine’s Origin Story)

Chapter Four

Day

It was almost ten when he and God stepped out of the precinct, showered and back in civilian clothes after a long shift. His body was worn and running on fumes, desperately needing the day off tomorrow.

They walked in silence, God wearing his usual closed-off expression that was a regular companion between them.

Day waited until they’d crossed the cracked pavement in the parking lot and were almost to their vehicles before he spoke.

“Man,” he started, stretching his arms high over his head. “I’m not getting out of bed tomorrow until my stomach is growling too loud for me to stay asleep.”

God hummed as if he felt the same.

Day tossed his car keys up and down with one hand, trying to appear casual.

“You got plans…a date…or are you just heading home to crash into bed?”

God didn’t answer right away, allowing the question to hang suspended in the humid air.

Finally, God spoke, his voice rough, low, and sluggish. “No plans. No one waiting for me.”

That almost sounded sad. However, just because God didn’t have anyone waiting tonight didn’t mean he wouldn’t tomorrow. Day didn’t think his partner had a hard time finding company. He was densely packed with muscles, tall, and sexy as hell.

“I’ll just crash.”

God’s answers were always short and to the point, and Day had learned to just roll with it. The guy was an enigma wrapped in solid, silent armor that Day couldn’t fucking figure out.

He needed to change that.

“Well…” Day grinned despite the exhaustion surrounding every muscle. “I’m not doing anything either. You wanna go shoot the shit over some beers and wings at the Ben Bar?”

God’s light green eyes flicked toward him, his lids narrowing a bit, but Day didn’t see rejection. For a moment, he thought God would turn him down. It was rare that God wanted to do anything after work except go home, sleep, and then get back to work.

Day caught himself holding his breath.

“Sure, why the hell not?” God muttered, his tone dull and dismissive.

“Yeah?” Day hadn’t meant to sound so surprised, and he tried to cover his enthusiasm with a light joke. “I thought I was going to have to bribe you with something stronger than beer…maybe a couple of hookers.”

God didn’t laugh—of course. But there was a shimmer in his gaze as if he were amused in his own silent way. Day had first thought God had zero sense of humor, but over the last few months, he’d discovered that while God didn’t laugh and barely smiled, every now and then, his expressive eyes would reflect a wry amusement.

Day found himself searching for those moments. Making God smile had become his own secret challenge.

“I don’t need you to bribe me.” God’s voice was even grittier than before. “I just…don’t have shit else to do.”

“Fair enough,” Day said with a shrug. “Wings and beer it is. I know a place up the road. It’s a cool hole-in-the-wall dive.”

God nodded and climbed into his massive truck after Day got into his car.

As they turned into the nearly empty lot in front of the bar, Day felt a hint of excitement. They hadn’t had much time to hang out and get to know each other. So far, God hadn’t shared anything personal about himself, and Day wanted them to be more than just work partners. He wanted a friend he could trust.

The bar wasn’t anything to recommend on Yelp. The outside needed a lot of repairs, and the neon sign was missing six letters, making the Broken Barrel sign read Ben Bar for the last two years.

But it was perfect for them. Cheap, previously frozen wings, greasy pizzas, twelve different taps, no vegetables, no customer service, and no pretensions.

Day waited for God to get out of his truck, watching him carefully while his partner scanned the lot as if mentally noting potential dangers and all exits.

Day smirked, pulled open the bar’s door, and nodded for God to go first.

Inside, the bar was dim but warm and welcoming. The scent of well-used frying oil and searing meat made his stomach growl. There were low murmurs of conversation, sports games blaring on four different televisions, the hard clacking of pool balls, and classic rock playing from the speakers mounted in the corners.

It was his kind of environment.

He and God settled in one of the booths around the bar and in front of the television playing the University of Georgia game.

One of the bartenders quickly approached them with a frown and slouched posture.

“Y’all ordering food tonight? We’re outta mozzarella sticks and onion rings.”

She didn’t greet them or provide a smile that said she was glad they’d graced the establishment. Her annoyed demeanor seemed to shout, I’m not happy to have to work here this late at night, so don’t expect a cheery attitude .

“Yeah,” Day muttered.

She slid two single-page menus to the center of the table and removed her small pad and pen from her apron.

“I can get y’all started with some drinks,” she said around popping her gum.

“I’ll have the Belgian White.”

God glanced around her at the various taps and rumbled, “Let me get that Deschutes Black…a pint.”

Day waited until she hurried away before pushing a menu toward God and taking the other for himself.

He’d just narrowed his decision to the nachos and the parmesan garlic wings when God set his menu back down.

“Guess I’ll have the usual.”

Day smiled. “And what’s the usual for you, God?”

His partner stared for a second, then answered, “Fire hot wings, fries, and jalapeno poppers. Any place that has poppers, I get ’em.”

Interesting .

The waitress returned with their drinks, and the sight of the sudsy brew in the frozen mug made his mouth water. There was nothing like a good tap beer after a long week.

“What’ll it be, fellas?”

After they ordered, God kept his eyes on the televisions, and Day sat back and enjoyed the unrefined energy of the bar.

He and God didn’t talk about anything personal. The conversation was limited to sports stats and shit-talking about guys at the station they didn’t like. And it stayed that way as they ate their dinner.

It wasn’t until they were on their second shot of whisky and third beer that Day confessed, “If I’d gone home right after the shift, I’d probably have made some quick pasta meal. I’m not big on fast food or paying for overpriced takeout that usually ends up tasting like shit.” Day tossed some french fries in his mouth. “I always have a six-pack of imported in the fridge, and I have a pretty good jazz collection—Miles, Armstrong, Coltrane, I got some rare editions too. That’s usually how I end my nights.”

God hummed in acknowledgment but didn’t ask any follow-up questions as Day had hoped.

“You like jazz?”

“Nope.” God kept his eyes on the game.

“Rock?”

“Nope.”

“Country?”

“Nope.”

Day shook his head. “Bluegrass?”

God scowled. “No, Day.”

“What the fuck, God? Do you drive down the street pumping folktronica, electropop, avant-garde? I mean, what…?”

God lowered his gaze and stared.

“If you weren’t here, what would you be doing?”

“Sleeping,” God said, and that’s all he said.

Day rolled his eyes. “So that’s all you do…eat, sleep, shit, and fight crime?”

God shrugged. “Nailed it.”

Day was getting pissed. He didn’t want to trust his life to a complete stranger.

God cocked his head, those green eyes penetrating and judging.

“You know me, Day. I got no secrets. I have no life outside the one you’re already in.”

Day blinked. That almost sounded as if God was saying Day was his world.

I can’t be.

“What you’d do in the military?”

God’s expression hardened, giving him a glare that yelled off-limits .

“Shit, man,” Day snarled. He might as well pay his tab and leave. He was butting his head against a brick-fucking-wall anyway. “If you didn’t wanna go out, then you should’ve just fuckin’ said so.”

God aggressively downed the last of his beer, then sat up higher in the booth and leaned toward Day as if he was about to tell him a huge secret, and Day was all ears.

“I don’t like small talk or bullshitting, Day. If you really wanna know what I do…nothing. I don’t do anything when I go home. I grab whatever takeout I feel like eating that night—whoever doesn’t have a long wait time—I eat, might do some push-ups, sit-ups, or free weights, shower, and then I go the fuck to sleep. I don’t cook, I don’t jam out, I don’t have hobbies. And I sure as fuck don’t hang out with people. If you want me to be clearer…I have no friends.” God glared hard. “ None .”

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 that I don’t like talking…but I never said I minded listening when you do.”

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 with you . The sooner I go to sleep, the sooner I can go back to listening to you .” 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.