Paul Auster doesn't. Paul doesn't believe in much at all. He’s thirty, slightly overweight, and his best features are his acerbic wit and the color commentary he provides as life passes him by. He works a dead-end job in a soul-sucking cubicle, and his closest friends are a quasibipolar drag queen named Helena Handbasket and a two-legged dog named Wheels.

Enter Vince Taylor.

Vince is everything Paul isn’t: hot, sexy, and confident. And for some reason, Vince pursues Paul relentlessly. Vince must be messing with him, because there is no way Vince could want someone like Paul.

But when Paul hits Vince with his car―in a completely unintentional if-he-died-it'd-only-be-manslaughter kind of way―he's forced to see Vince in a whole new light. The only thing stopping Paul from believing in Vince is himself―and that is one obstacle Paul can’t quite seem to overcome. But when tragedy strikes Vince's family, Paul must put aside any notions he has about himself and stand next to the man who thinks he's perfect the way he is.

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