Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 105667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
No. I didn’t kill your husband… I killed an animal.
He put two fingers up in the air to signal cornbread. When she came back he didn’t allow her to even ask the question.
“Yes, another… and keep ’em coming. When it looks like I’m about to pass out… bring two more.”
Day ate the final bite of his steak and stuffed the last few homemade steak fries into his mouth. “You missed a helluva meal, buddy,” Day said before grabbing his beer and leaning back on his couch, settling in for a satisfying evening of Thursday night baseball.
He was nodding on and off when he heard his cell phone vibrating on his coffee table. He picked it up and read the single line text.
You on your knees?
He snorted at the line. “Fucker,” he said and typed a reply.
You’re just pissed I don’t get on them for you.
Day waited for what his partner would say next.
i’m pretty drunk right now, I might let you if you beg hard enough.
Day typed back immediately.
even if your dick was rolled in powdered sugar and your come tasted like raspberry jelly… I still wouldn’t beg for it.
Day was waiting for the next reply but after five minutes, he figured his partner had given up. He turned up the volume on the post-game show to see who’d won since he’d fallen asleep and saw his phone light up and vibrate again.
figures… no one would want a useless fuck like me.
Day bolted upright on the couch and reread the text. “What the fuck?” he whispered while dialing God’s number. He cursed when it went to voice mail.
“God, where the fuck are you? Call me right now,” he barked into the phone.
He knew his partner. He didn’t talk like that. If anything, the guy was annoyingly arrogant, constantly reminded Day how much he needed him, and how worthless Day would be without his guidance.
Day bounced his knee nervously. He wanted to know who and how the fuck someone had gotten into his partner’s head. He called God back again… no answer, and figured it useless to leave another voice mail, so he texted.
wtf? where are you? answer me now.
Day waited fifteen minutes, but it felt like hours. Fuck. Damn you, Cash. You better not be screwing up. Day got up and started pacing back and forth in his spacious living room. He stopped and ran his hands through his blond hair thinking about where God could be… then an idea hit him like a ton of bricks. Our tracking apps.
He and God had been toying with each other’s phones one night while at his house. Day was teasing him about all the bitches’ numbers in his phone, some of them actually had stars by their names, and God joked with him about the text messages from some of the twinks Day dated. One guy actually sent Day a picture of his asshole spread open. God still made fun of him for that one. Day had to admit, that did embarrass the shit out of him, because that guy was a pure slut.
After the teasing, they began downloading apps and games into each other’s phone. When they saw a track your lover app, they both thought it’d be funny to put it on their phones to see if it worked… and it did.
Day picked up his phone and opened the app, praying that his friend hadn’t uninstalled it from his own phone by now. When it opened fully, he clicked on God’s pic—an image of a lion—and sure enough, a red dot was blinking on a miniature map of the city and an address came up. Rugley’s Bar, Piedmont Road off I-85.
“Yes!” He quickly rejoiced before frowning again at the location.
What the hell are you doing in Buckhead?
Day figured he’d let God answer that question right after he punched the man in his throat for scaring him. Day called a cab all while taking his stairs two at a time to throw on some jeans and a T-shirt. He was waiting at the door with his badge in his back pocket, his 9mm tucked snugly behind his back and a two sets of handcuffs in the inside pocket of his leather coat, when the cab pulled up. He slid in the backseat and told the driver, “Buckhead.” Day settled in for the nearly thirty-minute ride, all the while keeping his eye on the stable red dot. If God moved, he’d know.
You Can’t Fool Me
God really didn’t know what round he was on. All he knew was he was completely smashed and no longer thinking about his brother having spit in his face four hours ago. He’d put his phone in his back pocket after sending Day that stupid “woe is me” text. A momentary slip in judgment. He knew it would raise Day’s hackles, but he’d have more time to explain later… after he’d sobered up. He’d moved from his booth to the far end of the bar after a saucy redhead in a low-lying blouse sent him a shot of Jack.