Stuff (The Bristol Collection) by Josephine Myles Read Free Book Online

Mr. Patel’s handwriting, to be precise.
    “Oh, for the love of cock!” Mas kicked the door shut behind him and put the security chain on for good measure. Then he shoved the kitchen chair under the door handle. It wasn’t like that wobbly piece of junkshop crap would stop Walter pushing his way in if he had a mind to, but it made him feel ever so slightly better. He carried the letter through to his living room and slumped on the threadbare futon. To open or not to open? He contemplated just shoving it under the pile of junk mail and pretending he hadn’t seen it. Nah, it would only get more threatening if he left it unopened. Better to know what he was dealing with.
    Two minutes later, Mas was wishing he could just put the letter back in the envelope, reseal it and pretend it had never happened. He read the eviction notice again. Mr. Patel was selling the whole bloody building to a property-development company. No doubt they’d renovate the place and sell the shoebox-size flats to young professionals wanting an affordable city-centre crashpad. Or to men like Grant, who wanted somewhere handy to stash their bits on the side.
    Mas didn’t want to move. It wasn’t the nicest flat, admittedly, with its landlord issue scruffy furniture, miniscule 1970s kitchenette and peculiar smell from the drains, but it had been his very first place of his own, and the idea of leaving it behind made his eyes well up. He liked the area too. Felt at home here in Stokes Croft, and it was unlikely he’d be able to afford anywhere else nearby. Not with the way prices were rising all over. And especially not without a job. Maybe he could get Grant to buy the place for him, and wait there dutifully at his beck and call, ready to bend over in lieu of having to pay any rent.
    Having a potential sugar daddy should have made him happy—wasn’t it what he’d been saying he wanted for years now?—but for some reason, the thought of living like that made his eyes prickle.
    He sniffed and rubbed his eyes furiously with his fists instead. He wasn’t going all weepy. It had just been a shitty day. Things would look better in the morning. He wouldn’t have to sell himself if he didn’t want to. There was always another way.
     
     
    Unfortunately, by morning the only other plan Mas had managed to scrape together was a very temporary, stop-gap measure and involved asking a favour of the two people in the world he least wanted to piss off. Well, the one person, at any rate. Truth be told, he didn’t mind about pissing off Lewis, but then again, he didn’t want to go making things all awkward for Jasper.
    Yet here he was, about to do exactly that.
    Mas slurped the last of his tea down before dialling Jasper’s number. As he waited for an answer, he walked around the flat. Aside from the furniture, which his contract said he had to leave behind, how much stuff did he actually have? Not all that much, really. There was a heap of clothes and a few weird bits and pieces he’d just liked the look of—but he reckoned it would only take a couple of car loads to clear out. Shame his little Mazda hadn’t made it through her MOT. Still, it would only be one load if Lewis let him borrow his van.
    “Hello?” Jasper sounded wary, but that wasn’t much different from the usual. The man did wary in the same way Mas did breezily confident.
    “Hey, Jasper. Got a teeny weeny favour to ask of you and the missus. And you can totally say no if you want to, only you’ll have to live with your conscience forever more. I’m warning you.”
    Jasper sighed. “What is it this time?”
    “This time?” Mas went for mock outrage. “When was the last time I asked you for a favour, exactly?”
    “Try last week, when you absolutely desperately needed a lift back from somewhere down in bloody Wiltshire. At eight in the morning. On a Monday.”
    “Oh yeah, thanks for that. I’d have been well late for work if you hadn’t helped out.” The guy he’d gone home