“What the fuck do you want?” the man barked.
Peyton tried not to flinch as he got flashbacks of high school bullies who used to torment him. “I…I know I’m a huge asshole—actually, the note says it all.” Peyton thrust the bento box out, and the man just stared at it. “I live next door.”
“Figured that one out all on my own,” the man said, his voice a little huskier than it had been earlier when he was on the phone. “The nosy fucking baker.”
Peyton swallowed thickly. “Will you just… Look, I promise this is the last time I bring you anything, okay? But these are the best things I can do in the kitchen. They’re the most expensive item in my shop.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you giving them tome, then? If this is some kind of ploy to get me to shop at your—”
“It’s not! Sometimes people just need a fucking brownie.” Peyton all-but shouted. He felt his cheeks heat, and he glanced away, his voice dropping. “I don’t actually want anything from you. I was just trying to be nice.”
In the long silence that followed his outburst, Peyton was sure the man was going to reject him. His body tensed, preparing to power walk home to try and save some dignity, but then the bento box was snatched from his hand and before he could look up, the door slammed shut.
Letting out a hard breath, he turned on his heel and headed home, not quite sure what the hell happened. He knew there was every chance he’d wake up tomorrow with a smashed container on his front porch and the door covered in smeared barely done batter that looked like dog shit.
But there was every chance that the angry—and frankly sad—man would indulge. And Peyton damn-well knew those brownies could take the edge off everything bad, even if it was only for a moment.
CHAPTER NINE
“Dude.Share!”
“No,” Hudson said quickly, but he wasn’t fast enough or able-bodied enough to keep the last of the brownies away from Eli’s wandering hands.
From his spot on the sofa, the most he could do was throw an elbow as Eli managed to wrest the box away, and he was forced to lie there helplessly as his friend dug in. It was almost worth it to see the look of surprised ecstasy on Eli’s face though. Hudson wanted someone to understand the pleasure-pain he’d been feeling since he finally gave in and tried his neighbor’s damned bakes.
He was full of regret, and yet… he couldn’t stop eating them.
“Holy shit. Marry this man,” Eli said, his words sticky with chocolate and marshmallow. “I’m serious. Drive down to the courthouse right now. I’ll be a witness. I need these in my life every single day.”
Hudson pulled a face as he grabbed the box back and stared down forlornly at what was left. Two center pieces and some graham cracker crumbs. He licked his finger and pressed it against the graham, trying not to think about how eventhattasted homemade. “I’m not marrying someone so you can have brownies.”
“I hate you,” Eli complained.
Hudson rolled his eyes. “No, you really don’t.”
“Anyway…I saw these on his Instagram,” Eli said, leaning back as he savored the last few bites. “I had a feeling they were for you.”
“Is that why you showed up? To tell me to play nice with him?” Hudson grumbled. He stuck the lid back on and leaned over to toss the box on the table. Carefully. Mostly. It was a very nice, expensive looking container which Hudson suspected was the reason the neighbor had used it—to encourage him not to destroy anything.
And hell, it had worked. Hudson wasn’t the nicest man in the world, but he wasn’t a monster. At least, not on his better days.
Of course, this was also not one of his better days. He’d been dealing with a production issue, he was on the verge of firing his PR company because they were giving both him and the twins anxiety every time they called a phone meeting to discuss their social media, and then he had to deal with his mother. Again. Because she was haunting both his work building and his PT’s office.
Again.
After his workout and unloading all of his frustrations and depression spiral on Eli, he’d called his lawyer, who suggested it might be time for a protective order. It wasn’t something he was looking forward to, but he knew he had enough evidence to get one.
“Hudson?”
He blinked and realized he’d fallen into one of his thought spirals. Clearing his throat, he settled back and shook his head. “Sorry, what did you say?”
Eli sighed and swiped his hands on his jeans before leaning back and cuddling in close. Hudson wasn’t the kind of guy who needed or wanted physical contact very much. Since his tumor, his body was a strange mess of sensations—dull and numb in so many places, then hypersensitive in others. One time, he’d brushed the side of his hip against the spin cycle of his washing machine and he’d been seconds away from coming.
Granted, his therapist had explained to him that after his paralysis, arousal would be far more of a mental state than a physical one which meant he wasn’t going to have spontaneous orgasms when someone brushed up against him at the supermarket. But it still made him feel out of control.
However, Eli’s side-hug was a welcome one after his day, and he sighed and settled into it.
“I said,” Eli repeated after he got comfortable, “I’m here because my best friend was having a rough day. And I was kind of hoping you didn’t throw the brownies in Peyton’s face.”