Page 107 of The Toy Collector

I try to come up with a variation that sounds better than the truth, which is he moved in while I was sleeping. But I refuse to lie to my best friend, no matter how fucked up it sounds. So I end up giving her the brutally honest version, no holds barred.

“But I like having him around,” I add defensively when she scoffs at my explanation.

“Right,” she replies, sarcasm heavy in the one word. “So first he stalks you, then he hires you as his intern so he can use you, and then he just decides to move in. And you…” Holding her fingers up, she makes air quotes. “… like having him around.”

Sighing, I take a sip of the now lukewarm coffee. “I know how it sounds,” I say, fighting the need to defend myself. “But it’s the truth. I don’t like how he went about it, but I like him, and I like—”

“The orgasms,” she finishes for me, shooting me a grin that I estimate to only be half fake.

“Yeah, I definitely like those,” I mutter, feeling my cheeks heat. I reach blindly for a cupcake, peeling back the paper liner with shaking fingers. “But Lee—”

“Do you love him?”

The question hits harder than it should. My stomach knots. My chest tightens. Somewhere down the hall, the radiator coughs to life, a low, rumbling heat chasing away the first edge of evening chill.

Do I love Enzo? No… yes… maybe? I honestly don’t know. What I do know, though, is that I could. To buy myself time, I tear off a piece of cupcake and shove it into my mouth, like chocolate can fill the gaps in my courage.

“It’s not that simple,” I muse out loud. “When I’m with him, I feel like we’re the last two people on the planet. It’s like, nothing else matters apart from us—”

“Because his dick is magical?”

Shaking my head, I explain, “No. I mean, it is. But that’s not what it’s about. All the sexy stuff aside, I like being wrapped up in him. And… well… I like that he chose me. It’s flattering.”

Lena cackles at that. “So is black, that doesn’t mean you let yourself get sucked into a black hole, Pipes. I hate to say it, but it sounds like you’re letting your vagina do the talking. I mean, do you even know him?”

“Yes, I do.”

She waggles her eyebrows in that way that tells me she’s about to test me. I shove the rest of the cupcake into my mouth, waiting for her to go ahead.

“So where did he grow up? What’s his full name? What’s his last name? What does he actually do for a living?”

While she continues to hurl questions at me, I frown. She’s absolutely right; I don’t know Enzo at all.

“Well, I presume his full name is Lorenzo.” I try to sound flippant, but it falls flat.

She nods. “And how many siblings does Lorenzo have? Where did he grow up?”

Instead of answering, I set my coffee cup down, brush the crumpled cupcake wrapper onto the table, and bury my face in my hands. These are all valid questions, and I’ve pondered some of them myself. But when I’m with Enzo, those questions melt away, meaningless compared to the way he looks at me.

I run my hand down my face, once again meeting Lena’s gaze. “Look,” I start, swallowing thickly. “I don’t know the answers. You’re right, there are many things I don’t know about him. But… do you know what he did after Ben drugged me?”

The room’s dim enough now that I fumble for the lamp switch beside the couch, filling the space with a low, golden light.

Her loud inhale is all I need to carry on.

“He fucking kidnapped Ben. He’s holding him somewhere—”

“Pipes, that’s—”

“Awesome,” I state, making sure my tone’s firm. “It’s fucking awesome. How many men can you say would do that? Or how about the fact he fired everyone at Blackwood that had a hand in Ben being hired there as an intern?”

I’m not sure what I expected from my friend, but it’s definitely not the horror-stricken expression currently marring her face.

“Well, that’s…” She doesn’t bother finishing the sentence.

I lean closer, squeezing her hand like I can force her to understand through touch alone. “That’s love,” I say, tasting the word since it’s the first time I say it out loud.

Silence settles between us, heavy and expectant. Lena shifts on the couch, her thumb is absentmindedly tracing circles on my hand. Something in her posture transforms, shoulders squaring slightly, chin lifting.

---