Chapter One
“I look like god-awful hell,” Payton said to Bilbo Baggins, who sat on the closed toilet seat grooming his black fur, completely ignoring him. “You’re supposed to tell me I look fabulous, not sit there trying to lick your own balls.”
Bilbo meowed and then hopped down, slinking from the room.
“No, I’m not jealous that I can’t do that, so don’t even go there,” Payton hollered at his cat, who had disappeared into the hallway.
Payton ran his fingers over his healing scars, amazed he’d survived the shooting. It had been a damn miracle, and while in the hospital, still recovering, he had vowed to let Pyke go and move on with his life.
No more stalking his ex-boyfriend. Besides, Pyke was in love with his new honey, and to be honest, Payton liked Nester. But where did that leave him? Alone, as usual. And if he were totally honest with himself, he’d been a crappy boyfriend, anyway.
“That no longer matters,” he said to his reflection. “I’m turning over a new leaf. I was given a second chance, and I’m not going to blow it.”
Payton buttoned his shirt when he heard the doorbell ring. It was either the guys he’d hired to fix his back steps or his cousin. When he exited the bathroom, Bilbo ran in front of him, making Payton nearly trip over the damn cat.
“Stop trying to kill me, Bilbo. I cut you out of my will, so your attempts are futile.” Payton peeked past the curtain and saw a stranger standing there.
It had to be the guy to fix his steps. Payton might have felt a new lease on life, but he’d become cautious since the shooting. He put the chain on his door before he opened it a crack. “Can I help you?”
“I’m Russell Hughes,” the tall, lean guy with pretty gray eyes said. “We talked on the phone about your steps.”
“Can I see some ID?” Dublin McLeay, the guy who had shot him twice, was dead, but Payton was still paranoid that some of Dublin’s men might come after him to finish the job.
There was no reason behind his fear, but when you shook hands with the Grim Reaper and lived to tell about it, nothing in your head made sense.
Russell showed Payton his driver’s license and held out his business card. It looked legit. “I’ll meet you at the side door.”
Payton closed it and hurried through the house. His back steps were brick and had been crumbling for some time. It had become unsafe to walk down them, and Payton had finally broken down and hired a guy to fix them before someone was injured
Payton opened the glass exterior door. His side entrance was strangely built. Whoever had designed this house had to have been on drugs. Four steps led to a tiny brick porch where you had to step back to open the door.
A real pain in the ass when Payton was bringing in groceries or taking things outside to the grill. But he wouldn’t have to worry about that until next year. It was too damn cold to be grilling in this weather.
Thank goodness it hadn’t snowed, or he might not have gotten his steps fixed until spring.
“Wow, you weren’t kidding,” Russell said as he ran his hand over his jaw. “I can see under the steps, and that’s never good. I’ll have them fixed in no time.”
Another guy walked up the driveway. He was short, kind of stocky, and had unruly brown hair. That had to be Russell’s partner.
“Just let me know if you need anything.” Payton started to close the door to stop the cold air from getting inside, but Bilbo darted out and ran down the broken steps and into the backyard.
“Fast cat.” Russell chuckled. “I’ll grab my things from my truck. This shouldn’t take too long.”
“Thanks.” Payton looked toward the backyard and saw Bilbo sniffing around the bushes. The cat would come meowing when he was ready to be let inside.
Bilbo never stayed out for too long, especially not in this cold. With a shiver, Payton closed the door and finished dressing so he could run his errands. He hadn’t had a chance to go to the grocery store since he’d gotten home from the hospital, and there was no real food in the house.
Nothing he wanted, anyway.
Maybe he would stop at the diner for a meal before hitting the grocery store. Just thinking about Cyril’s cooking had Payton’s stomach rumbling.
Just as he was about to walk out the door, Payton’s phone rang. He wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone, but he saw it was Sherman and answered it.
“It’s about time you got those steps fixed,” his cousin said. “Though I’m not sure butt crack will get the job done.”
“What in rainbow heaven are you talking about?” Sometimes Payton swore that Sherman had been dropped on his head as a baby. Things just rattled around in there, and he’d toss out random words that made no sense.
“The guys working on your steps. I can see the short guy’s butt crack. Isn’t his asshole freezing in this weather?”
“You’re outside?” Payton went to the window and looked out. Sure enough Sherman was parked in the driveway, sitting behind the wheel of his decade-old sedan.
A lot of the blue had faded into a weird pale color that made the car look sickly. There was a large crack along the windshield, and whenever Sherman took a turn around a corner, it always sounded as though the tires would fall off at any second.
“I haven’t seen you since you got out of the hospital, and I thought I’d take you to lunch. It’s on me. Now I’m not so sure I’m hungry looking at the hairy-ass crack.”
Payton smiled. “You love bears.”
“Oh my god! Give me some credit. I do have standards, and Hairy isn’t my type.” Sherman honked his horn. “Get your gorgeous ass out here so we can get something to eat, Red.”
Why did every redhead have that nickname? Payton hated it, but he knew if he pointed that out—for the millionth time—it would only make Sherman use it more.
The guy lived to make Payton’s life miserable. Okay, so that wasn’t true, but he could be a shit sometimes.
“Let me finish putting my shoes on and grab my coat and I’ll be out. Stop honking your horn like an asshole. You’ll disturb my neighbors.”
Sherman snorted. “Trust me when I tell you that your neighbors are already disturbed.”
Payton couldn’t argue with that. Right next door to Payton’s left lived Mr. Raymond Cantinelli. The guy had to be ninety years old, and every time he saw Payton, the guy flirted his wrinkled ass off. One time Payton swore he heard a porno playing in the guy’s living room. Raymond also liked fetching his morning paper, or his mail, in his underwear.
Thank fuck it was too cold for that now. Payton had suffered enough of the view over the summer.
On Payton’s right was the Dretzin family. Jack and Jillian. Seriously. Jack and Jill. And at times they acted as if they really had fallen down a hill and whacked their heads. They were as ditzy as they came.
Across the street was a young guy who dressed Goth and glared at everyone when he came and went. Payton still didn’t know Goth’s name because the guy never spoke to anyone. He always wore chains on his jeans and black makeup.
Actually, Payton liked him because the guy wasn’t afraid to be himself, though he could do without the stink eye when he saw Goth. Goth was also cute as fuck. If Payton went for the grunge-twink type, he would have been all over the guy, going emo and sticking up his middle finger to the world.