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

Chapter Eighteen

Day

February …

Day sat at his desk, buried in mounds of incident reports. He had such laser focus he could’ve burned holes through the pages. God was across from him, silent as always. It was a welcome quiet. However, the sound of polished shoes clicking across the floor echoed the threat of unwanted disturbance. It grew louder every second.

Day ground his teeth.

“God. Can you send me the link to a YouTube tutorial on what to do when you have a stalker?”

Johnson’s cologne reached him before he did. He stared down at him with that insufferable grin, leaning heavily against Day’s desk.

“Good evening, Day.” Johnson’s voice dripped down on him like battery acid. “I was hoping I could steal a minute of your time.” Johnson shot a quick glance at God. “Alone.”

“I’m real busy, Johnson,” Day said. “Besides, save your breath. I’m not interested in a ride in your sixty-thousand-dollar car.”

“Seventy-five. It’s fully loaded.” Johnson smiled. “Then how about riding something else?”

Day glared. “Fuck, man, you’re a cop. You don’t recognize sexual harassment even when it’s coming out of your own mouth?”

“It’s only harassment if you don’t like it.”

Day rolled his eyes. “Like I said the last twenty times, I’m not interested. You and me together would just end badly.”

“How you figure that?”

“Because I’d fuckin’ kill you, and you’d end up dead, that’s why,” Day gritted. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m swamped in paperwork.”

“Ah, come on, Day.” Johnson leaned closer. “You’ve been turning me down for weeks, and it’s only making me more intrigued.”

Day shot a quick glance at his partner. God’s shoulders were tense, and his brow furrowed as he seemed to shoot daggers at the file he was holding.

“Johnson.” Day sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m not playing at anything. Damn, man, you’re like fuckin’ genital herpes. No matter how much ointment you use, it just keeps fuckin’ coming back.”

God had just taken a drink of his water that was now sprayed all over his computer screen as he struggled through a hacking fit.

Day smiled, only because there was nothing like getting a reaction from God.

Johnson’s smoothness faltered, but not for long. “Ouch, that burned.”

“Not as bad as herpes do.”

“Hi, God, I’m on my way to the sandwich shop around the corner with the great cold cuts… Do you want anything? My treat.” Officer Vicki Seasel leaned over God from behind, her big breasts almost resting on his shoulders. “Or you can join me.”

Seasel was almost as relentless in her pursuit as Johnson. While she didn’t boldly harass God like Day was getting, her intentions were well known. If God wanted to ravage her, he’d only need to nod his head toward his truck.

“Nah, I’m good,” God grunted.

“You sure?” She turned her gaze on Day but didn’t give him the pleasure of batting her long lashes. “Anything for you, Day?”

Day glanced up at Johnson, who was still hovering like a vulture. “Nope. I’ve had my share of bologna today.”

“You can hide behind your humor and sarcasm all you want, Day, but I don’t take no for an answer.” Johnson stood and straightened his suit jacket. “I won’t stop until I have you laid out on my mulberry silk sheets.”

“Bound and gagged,” Day said dryly.

Seasel continued to lean over God. “You’re studying the detective’s manual, huh?”

God nodded, not taking his eyes off his papers.

“I think it’s amazing you’re making detective after three years. That’s insane.”

“Well, he’s nothing without me,” Day deadpanned. “You know what they say, behind every good man is an even better man.”

Seasel laughed, swatting her hand in his direction. “Day, you’re a trip.”

“He thinks he’s funny, but I see behind the act,” Johnson said.

Day slouched down in his chair. This morning was already sucking ass. All he wanted was some peace and quiet.

Seasel propped her hip on God’s desk, her sickly sweet perfume almost as annoying as Johnson’s cologne.

“Hey, God.” Seasel’s voice lowered to a soft whisper. “I was wondering if you’ve got any plans for the fourteenth.”

God cut his eyes to Day before he mumbled.

“No plans. I’m too busy.”

“All work and no play, God,” she said smoothly. “It isn’t healthy.”

He looks pretty damn healthy to me.

“Delivery for Officer Day,” one of the administrative assistants singsonged as she bounced in with her arms loaded with at least three dozen of the weirdest, prettiest flowers Day had ever seen.

He gaped at the huge bush. “What in the hell? Are you sure those are for me, Gina?”

“The delivery guy said, ‘Officer L. Day.’” She beamed, leaning in and smelling the flowers. “These are gorgeous. I’ve never seen flowers like these before.”

“Yeah, me either.” Day located the card. He read the scribbled note and glared at Johnson, who was grinning like the cat that got the canary.

“What cemetery did you rob?” Day frowned at Johnson, then at the massive vase that was taking up half of his desk.

“These are Juliet roses, very expensive.” Johnson bit his bottom lip, gazing at Day’s mouth. “And they’re just as rare as you are, handsome.”

Day’s stomach churned.

“Aww, that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.” Seasel poked her glossy bottom lip out. “If only someone would buy me flowers.”

God didn’t look up, and Seasel didn’t give up.

“I’d show my appreciation in the most unique ways,” she crooned. “Over and over and over.”

Day cringed. Yikes .

“Johnson, you have great taste. These are so pretty.” Seasel fawned over the bouquet, and Day had a mind to tell her to feel free to take them and put them on her desk.

His face was growing warm as several of the officers in the precinct began to whisper and chuckle with each other. Johnson’s advances had spread like wildfire over the last few weeks, and Day had become the butt of many jokes since.

If Johnson didn’t make such a spectacle of himself with his flashy clothes and car, he’d be a decent catch.

He was strikingly handsome, smart, and had a good job. He was confident and not afraid of his sexuality. He damn near bragged about it. He bragged about everything.

Day hated how much Johnson gloated about his powerful father, not to mention the constant name-dropping—he golfed with the mayor and had cigars and brandy with the chief every month.

All those things were a huge turnoff. Day liked the quiet, indifferent type. A man who oozed confidence and bravado without trying.

“You sure you don’t want anything from the deli, God?” Seasel persisted.

God shook his head.

“You gotta eat, honey. I barely see you leave this desk, and if you do, you eat junk.” Seasel took God’s chin and forced him to look at her. “I’m gonna make you a home-cooked meal. Do you like pasta?”

God gently eased Seasel’s hand from his face.

“I do eat, just not here,” God answered.

Day met God’s eyes. His partner ate at his place at least five days a week. He cooked for God, and he didn’t need anyone else’s help.

“Fast food doesn’t count.” She sashayed away, throwing God a sexy look over her shoulder before she turned the corner.

Over the next couple of weeks, the gifts kept coming from Johnson and Seasel, everything from rare orchids to expensive chocolates to home-cooked dishes.

Day hated it.

The gifts were an insistent reminder of the faux holiday his partner hated.

The last two years, he and God had drowned themselves in liquor and bitterness, mocking the whole ludicrous idea of a “designated day for love.”

He kind of wanted to do that again. But Johnson kept rearing his braggart head, and God had a hot woman flirting a bit harder each day in hopes of getting more than a few grunts out of him.

It was after 9:00 p.m., Day was exhausted, and he still had two more hours to go.

He went to the break lounge to make his sixth cup of coffee when Johnson came up behind him, trapping him against the counter.

“Hey, handsome.”

“Johnson, not now, okay?” Day groaned. “It’s been a long shift, and it looks like I’ll be studying all night. I don’t have—”

“You need a man to take care of you,” Johnson whispered, massaging Day’s shoulder and neck. “You’re too tense.”

Fuck .

Before Day knew it, his eyelids fluttered closed as he rolled his head to the side. Johnson had targeted the exact spot that’d been knotted with stress for days.

How the hell did the guy learn to massage like that?

“You can’t tell me you don’t want this.”

Johnson’s voice was soothing, his breath warm on his neck. “I’m offering more than just flowers and candy, Day. Come to my condo on Valentine’s Day. I can have my private chef make us a gourmet meal. Wine, soft jazz, and candlelight.”

Day groaned low in his throat as Johnson dug deeper, loosening a particularly tender muscle at the top of his spine.

A shiver ran down Day’s back that had nothing to do with the hands on him.

God was close. He could feel his palpable presence. The air seemed to shift whenever he was around.

One of the cabinet doors slammed, jerking Day out of his haze and making Johnson jump and lurch away.

He turned to see God holding a mug. He was a perfect statue except for the fierce scowl marring his face, making his features appear harder and more chiseled than they already were.

“You mind putting off your orgasm until I get a cup of coffee?” God growled.

Johnson gave God a smug smile before he turned and walked out of the room, leaving Day standing there feeling busted.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt before you finished.” His partner side-eyed him while he poured his coffee. “I guess he got his date.”

Day rolled his eyes. He wasn’t going to feel bad for getting his neck rubbed by a colleague.

At least, that’s how he was justifying that interaction.

“How was Seasel’s pot roast that you scarfed down like it was made by Gordon Ramsey?” Day snapped.

“I was starving, and I hadn’t eaten all day,” God bit back. “It wasn’t like I let her mount me in the break room.”

“Oh fuck off, God. I’m tired, all right.”

“Yeah, whatever.” God stared him down while he added a couple of spoons of sugar to his black coffee. “No wonder he keeps asking you out. You’re sending mixed messages.”

Day wasn’t in the mood for this shit.

“If you were more direct with Seasel, she’d stop feeding you.” Day shoulder-checked God on his way past. “Since she said the way to your heart is through your stomach.”

His partner grumbled something under his breath that Day ignored. At the end of the shift, they grabbed their bags and left the precinct together. They hadn’t said anything to each other for the last couple of hours, and Day didn’t like the sting of the unresolved tension lingering between them.

God was halfway to his car, walking with determined strides, his shoulders almost up to his ears.

“Hey,” Day called out.

God paused but didn’t turn around.

“Look, I don’t wanna go home like this.” Day walked toward God’s back. “We’ve been together long enough that sometimes we’re gonna get on each other’s nerves. More so you on mine.”

God snorted.

“But you’re my guy, you know that, right?”

Day thought all he’d get was a nod and a grunt, but God turned and faced him.

He gave him his patented, charming smile, loving when God’s lips twitched as if he were fighting his own.

“Come on, it’s late, but let’s get a brew.”

“Yeah, all right, but since you’re the bigger asshole, you’re buying.”

Day chuckled, his chest already loosening.

He and God were on their second beer, and the quiet between them was comfortable and just what he needed. Now was the perfect time to ask God what he’d been putting off for the last two days.

“So, I, um, I got two tickets to the Hawks vs. Nicks game if you’re interested. Lower level, behind the basket,” Day said casually, as if those tickets weren’t gold.

God’s green eyes lit up. “No shit.”

“Jax’s patient is one of the coaches, and he gave him the tickets. But you know how much my brother hates basketball.” Day pulled the two tickets out of his inside coat pocket.

“I’m there, man. Hell yeah,” God rumbled. “When is it?”

“February fourteenth.” Day winked.

Valentine’s Day.

God stared at the tickets, then up at him…and he fucking smiled.