Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 27032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 135(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
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.
Day stood staring and grumbling under his breath at the only options of mozzarella or sharp cheddar.
The door chimed, a sound Day ignored as he continued to curse the ridiculousness of convenient stores when they were anything but convenient.
“Do exactly as I say, and you won’t get hurt!”
Day tensed, the air thickening like it always did when he and God were about to get into a bad situation.
“Don’t shoot me, please.”
The shaky request was made from a voice full of fear and dread. Day slowly slid the cooler door closed and eased to the edge of the aisle to see what he was dealing with.
He got a good look at the frail man in faded jeans and a threadbare black T-shirt, holding a .22 in a trembling grip.
Day wanted to laugh. There he was, thinking they were in danger. The immature robber hadn’t even bothered to check the rest of the store.
“Okay, I won’t if you just give me the money in the register and…and all of whatever is in the safe.”
Day rolled his eyes.
Waiting for a terrified store clerk to manage to get their shit together enough to accurately input a safe’s code was a classic rookie mistake.
“I’m sorry. I’m not the owner. I don’t know how to get into the safe,” the woman cried. “Please don’t shoot me. I have kids. Here. Take all of this, please. Here…”
“Um…can you like call the owner or something?”
The robber sounded almost as stressed as the clerk he held at gunpoint.
“What?” She sniffed.
“Call him!” the guy yelled.
Day walked up the aisle, and the robber didn’t register he was there until Day slammed his items on the counter.
“Don’t mean to cut in line, buddy, but you’re taking way too long.”
“Hey, hey!” The man turned the gun—Day doubted it was even loaded—on Day and shook it in his face. “Get over there. Don’t move!”
“Yeah, okay.” Day sighed. “But can you hurry up? The game comes on in an hour, and I still have to make nachos, and I’m fuckin’ pissed that I have to use sharp cheddar, so….”
The man squinted but was startled when the clerk pushed some crumpled bills and coins onto the low counter. With the gun pointed down at his own foot, the guy grabbed the money, scowling at the measly five- and one-dollar bills.
“That’s not enough!” he yelled, scrubbing his hand over the back of his head.