But either way, it was far removed from the elegant and faint scent of cologne in her memory.
This man was not Trenton Smith.
How could Trenton Smith ever allow himself to become so disheveled?
She felt a bit bewildered and still somewhat hopeful, unable to resist the urge to touch his nose. But before she could, the back of her hand was slapped hard. Before she could cry out in pain, she found herself dumped onto the toilet, followed by the sound of receding footsteps and a door closing.
Norris Moore touched her sore hand, feeling a bit petulant. She kicked the toilet angrily, only to find that now her foot hurt even more than her hand.
After using the bathroom, Norris Moore groped her way along the wall out of the restroom.
He was sitting on the only sofa in the room, smoking a cigarette and watching her grope her way to the other side of the room with no sense of direction.
He leaned on his hand, observing Norris Moore as she bit her lip and looked thoroughly displeased.
