Page 8 of The Shake Off

Payton

Payton! Yes! That’s what her name was. Payton.

Payton.

I peeled the note off the wall and read it again. And again. Then just about stopped myself from frowning. Something wasn’t right.

Where was the‘thanks for rocking my world’, or ‘you’re the best I’ve ever had’?

Where was the kiss or her phone number with the instruction to call?

Weird.

And it dawned on me I was in a girl’s apartment,alone.

I should probably get dressed and get out, but my rumbling stomach had me heading into the kitchen instead, and shehadtold me to help myself. I flicked on the coffee machine and went in search of food. By the time I’d opened nearly all the cabinet doors, I’d discovered that Payton wasn’t a chef, or showed any evidence of being able to cook.

What I did find was a bag of protein powder, a couple of jars containing random herbs, a pile of envelopes addressed to Payton Lopez, several bags of coffee beans and one of granola, plates and bowls, and in the last door I opened was a pair of shoes.

The type of shoes I’d like her to see wearing with nothing else.

The fridge was no better, bare except for a quart of two percent milk, but at least it would go fine with the granola.

I stood in front of the fridge and ate, taking in the sight before me. It was like standing in a stall of a dive bar bathroom in Atlantic City etched in phone numbers, or graffitied with shitty illustrations of a dick, and messages about Stacey’s tits or who Bryony was screwing, and who fucked whose mom.

Except Payton’s fridge was heaving with wedding invitations, takeout menus, postcards, notelets from friends saying they loved her, photos of her with babies, and friends, and… I leaned in closer… was that Penn Shepherd?

I put my bowl down on the counter, removed the magnet holding the photo in place while also making sure the other five items underneath it didn’t fall, and looked closer.

Yes. That was definitely Penn Shepherd.

ThePenn Shepherd, owner of The New York Lions. My boss.

It wasn’t an official photo either, like one taken at a fundraiser where she’d met him and asked for a selfie. No, this picture had been taken on a boat, clearly on vacation. Payton was looking sexy A.F. in a black bikini, grinning straight down the lens of the camera while holding a huge Marlin, a blonde girl was standing at the other end, while in the middle were the unmistakable faces of Lowe Slater and Beulah Holmes, and all four of them looked like they were buckling under the weight of the fish.

And there, in the background, was Penn Shepherd, again grinning as wide as he had the night we’d celebrated the end of the season.

I put the photo back on the fridge and moved to the next one. Lowe, Beulah, Payton, and the blonde girl again, plus a baby and a dog. Another one clearly taken at the last game of the season; she was wearing theI Caught a Lionshirt, that had been all over social media. And there was one from Opening Day against the Yankees last year.

I’d never seen her at Lions Stadium; there’s no way I’d have forgotten her face.

No way.

I stepped away from the fridge and picked up my coffee, sipping it in rare silence.

Who was this Payton chick? Why did it look like she was best friends with my boss?

And, most importantly, why had she snuck out of her own place and left me in bed, without wanting to go for a second round?

* * *

The elevator doors opened for me to find Lux wrapped around a blonde like he was trying to resuscitate her. Or maybe she was trying to resuscitate him.

“Oh, hey, Ace,” she crowed, unsticking herself from Lux’s mouth as I stepped out.

“Hey.”

Lux grinned as I walked past and headed down the hallway into the main room of our apartment, from where yelling was getting louder.

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