Page 50 of The Right Garza
What Ineedto do is get some sleep to breathe life back into my senses, then see how I feel in the morning.
“Where’s home?” I ask.
“Twelve minutes out. Santa Monica.”
“Really? I didn’t know you live this far out. Isn’t your office in downtown L.A.?”
“Yep.”
“And you don’t mind the traffic?”
He chuckles. “It’s L.A. Whether I’m here or there, the traffic is still shit. Can’t get away from it. I just don’t drive during traffic-heavy hours.”
“Oh. Well, if it means I’ll get to a bed faster, then I’m cool with staying at your place for the night.”
It isnot twelve minutes like he claimed, but thirteen minutes and forty-six seconds. Yes, I watched the clock. That’s how badly I need to collapse on a bed.
We careen up a steep lot and through the large gate of what appears to be a townhouse complex. The modern, boxy, glassy, slab-roofing kind of townhouses. The kind you just know cost an arm, a leg, a kidney, and a piece of liver.
Trent drives down to the last house at the end and swings into the covered, two-car parking space instead of the garage. Makes sense that the cul-de-sac home would be his, overlooking everyone else while being aloof.
I’m out of the jeep before the engine is even off, yanking open the back door to get my pillow. Then I look up at the house and pause. It is so confusingly modern I’m having trouble pinpointing the front entrance.
Trent laughs at my confused expression. “Come on, sleepyhead.”
I follow him up the wide concrete stairs, a quick left and…ah, here’s the door. He lets us in, and I’m engulfed by space. So much space. Modern, clean, and straightforward. Utilitarian. Nothing fancy, decorative, or sentimental. Almost minimalistic. As a result, I’m able to move around his space with ease and appreciate the architecture.
A humongous cloud couch takes up the majority of his living area. It looks so welcoming and comfortable that I sigh. Across from it, on the wall, is a massive flat screen—atleasta hundred and fifty inches—to complement it.
“I don’t need to go any further,” I say out loud. “This is where I’m sleeping tonight.” Then I pause, taking in the wall of windows. “Wait, are all these windows privacy glass?”
“Yeah. One-way. Storm-proof and bullet-proof.”
“Perfect.”
Tossing my pillow onto the couch, I bend to unzip my boots.
Trent’s presence is hot at my back. A heat so forceful it could knock me over. “Need help?”
Determined not to be affected, I hold my balance. “Help taking my shoes off? I drank less than half a beer, Trent. I’ll manage.”
“Always so crabby with me,”he mutters. “I’ll leave you alone then.” At the same time I feel his presence shift behind me, his palm flattens to the middle of my back and shoves me.
A surprised squawk flies from me right before I lose my balance and topple face forward onto the couch, eating a mouthful of cotton.
“Fuffing affshole!” I shriek into the couch, words muffled. By the time I’ve managed to right myself, he’s nowhere to be seen. “This is why I hate you!” I call loud enough for him to hear from wherever the hell he is.
Once I have my shoes off, I set them aside and go in search of a bathroom. A lot of corners to turn in this very angular place. Bet the architect had fun with this one.
I pause at the foot of a staircase. Straight ahead is a hallway that ends in three directions. I spend an indeterminable amount of time contemplating whether I should go up the stairs or down the hall. Yeah, I’m either buzzed from that half a beer or seriously freaking tired.
I’m about to take the hall when Trent descends the stairs with a folded blanket and clothes. He holds them out to me. “You need another pillow?”
“Nah.” I take the clothes and leave the blanket. “Put the blanket on the couch for me, pretty please. And, uh, where’s the bathroom?”
He cocks his head to the hall. “Keep going. Last door.”
“Thanks.”
