Chapter One
The house was litup like a Christmas tree, shining like Sirius in the cold, dark night, and from every door and window came the teeth-rattling bass of some truly tragic early-2000spop.
"This was such a bad idea," Peter muttered to himself as he passed his childhood home and eased his Jetta into the one remaining space on the entire cul-de-sac. "Epically bad." He shoved the gearshift into park. "Really,criminallybad."
If Drew were here, he'd wonder what demon had possessed his quiet, responsible executiveassistant.
If Peter's mother were here, she'd probably faint on thespot.
But since Drew McMann was likely off doing Valentine's Daythingswith his boyfriend, Sebastian Seaver, and Peter's motherandfather were down at their brand new residence just outside of Tampa, there wasn't a single sane individual around to bear witness as intelligent, responsible Peter Kelley did the stupidest, most foolish thing he'd done inyears.
Just a few friends,Jared had promised.Come on, Petey! One last party with the football squad for old times' sake. Mom and Dad are selling the house, bud! It's the end of an era,here.
For any other twenty-eight-year-old, the era of high school football and throwing parties without parental supervision would have been long past, but not for Peter's bigbrother.
Peter heaved himself out of the car, bleeped the locks because he wasn't taking any chances withthiscrowd, and marched back up the sidewalk like a man nearing the gallows. He barely recognized his old neighborhood tonight, and he was pretty sure Kingsman Court hadn't seen a ruckus like this since... well. Since the last party Jared had thrown, seven or eight yearsago.
Normally, Kingsman was the deadest of dead-end streets, located in the quietest neighborhood in Brookville. Peter remembered watching (avidly) out the window as Jared and his buddies played hardcore shirts-and-skins basketball right in the middle of the road, and the greatest safety risk had been for Peter himself since he'd nearly died of a heart attack every time Logan Oliviera's shorts had dipped toolow.
When the Kelleys had put the house on the market just after Thanksgiving, their realtor had nearly wet himself with delight. "Such a lovely street!" he'd cried. "Such well-kept homes! Such beautiful trees!Such. Incredible.Schools!"
Peter wondered idly what he would make of the scene before himnow.
The Kelleys' stately Colonial was festooned with tiny purple and red Valentine's Day lights, which had clearly been hung by someone drunk and/or in a hurry, given how they were dipping and sagging crazily. The driveway was piled with cars that had been parked in the same inebriated, half-assed manner. The front door was thrown wide open to the freezing February night, and the snow-covered lawn seemed to be littered with the detritus of some odd Valentine's Day orgy Peter had been lucky enough to miss. Cardboard Cupids and soggy pink streamers were melting into the snowbanks next to a large, human-shaped depression in the snow. A single, white athletic sock lay stranded on the brickwalkway.
Charming.He could only imagine how a person could lose a single sock. In the night. In thesnow. Every possible scenario included some kind of recklessbehavior.
"Behold the product of Brookville'sincrediblepublic schools," he sighed under his breath as he bent to retrieveit.
"This is why you're here," he reminded himself firmly as he stared through the open door. "Because Jared is a man-child who can't be trusted, and his friends are even worse. Because you owe it to Mom and Dad to make sure the house is still standing when they come home for the closing onFriday."
He grabbed the damp sock firmly in his fist, walked into the house, and closed the door behindhim.
Predictably, the scene inside was even worse. Like some 80s frat movie, but with 100% more Nickelback. People - actual chronological adults who presumably had jobs and maybe even children - were dancing on thefurniture. One guy Peter didn't recognize was standing on the coffee table with his shirt pulled up, demonstrating how he could make his belly fat undulate in time toRockstar.
It was... strangelymesmerizing.
While Peter stood there staring, a nearly-naked man appeared just inches in front of him, smiling toothily and positively reeking ofalcohol.
"JesusFuckingChrist!" Peter said, stumblingback.
"No! Haha! Butclose! I amCupid,god of love," the glassy-eyed dude said, pressing a hand to his own heart. Then his eyes narrowed, and he thumped Peter's chest with his open palm so hard that Peter ended up plastered to the living room wall. "And you have just beenwhackedwith Cupid'sarrow!"
"What the fuck?" Peter braced himself against the wall, eyes wide, as the electric zing of pain stole hisbreath.
"Cupid's gonnamessssss you uppppp!" the man cackled. He pulled Peter off the wall by his coat, then used his free hand to rub his knuckles into Peter'sscalp.
Nightmare.
It was everything thin, scrawny, teenaged Peter had hated about high school all over again, and it paralyzed him for a second. But he wasn't that helpless nerdanymore.
He took a giant step to the side and brought his other arm up and over, just as he'd learned in self-defense class. Peter drove his fist into Cupid's stomach, and the guy releasedhim.
Then, giggling like a fucking lunatic, the guy took off down the hall, wearing nothing but a pair of tighty-whities and one athleticsock.
"Hey! Get back here!" Peter called angrily. "I haveyour..."
But the guy wasgone.
