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“Thanks, Lorenzo,” I tell him, and I mean it.
Even though he’s talking about torturing a man (and killing him, most likely), this is for Payton, and I owe him.
“It’s the least I can do. You did make me a shit ton of money last year.”
“And it was clean,” I add.
“True.”
Chapter
Thirty-Nine
PAYTON
The loft seems colder without Trent here.
The room is empty.
My pen hovers over my journal, my mind consumed with thoughts of earlier this morning. I truly thought he would kiss me, but then his phone rang, and the moment vanished.
The good thing about being alone—despite the nurse situated in this house to watch me—is that I have time to think about this morning. She set me up with a tray desk so I can do schoolwork without leaving my bed.
Instead, I have my list out. The one full of anti-Trent scribbles. It seems absurd now that I look at it, and I struggle to add to the tally, my mind straying elsewhere.
Do I want him to kiss me?
I skim over the list, reliving the past few months. The scenes run through my mind in slow motion. His strong arms around me. The feel of his hands on my skin. The way he looks at me. When he laughs . . . the sound makes my heart beat a little faster.
Every second leads to the ultimate realization.
Yes, I do.
I want him to kiss me.
I want him to do more.
On this emotional roller coaster, I’ve gone from hating him, to tolerating him, to understanding him . . .
And right back to hating him again, only to realize that despite everything, he has a good heart . . .
Mostly for others. He did try to ruin your life, remember?
But his mom’s words stick with me. Trent is misunderstood. Designed by Ronnie to be as cruel as possible. And dammit, I see him.
I see the good.
I want to unwrap him like he’s a gift and keep what’s inside for myself. I want to act on my attraction. On every base, animal-level instinct I have had toward him since the moment I thought he was Mr. Baker.
You can’t fake chemistry like ours.
His personality, his confidence, even his arrogance—none of those put me off.
Granted, him being a complete douche canoe doesn’t help. It’s funny how you can hate someone and want them at the same time. Well, maybe not; love and hate are two sides of the same coin.
But . . . truth be told, I don’t hate him anymore. Not now that I’ve seen the other side. The one that took care of me, looks out for me, and seeks to protect me. The other shit doesn’t matter anymore.
Trent’s mom is right. I need to peel back the layers and understand the gray area. Our awful beginnings and the way he treated me are byproducts of his pain. Transferring it to me wouldn’t help him, but it was what he knew from Ronnie.
