"Anne," he said her name with a note of concern. "You can stop by anytime." Trenton's penthouse wasn't exactly the kind of place that somebody had to make an appointment or announcement in order to come by. In fact, it was very frequently the exact opposite.
Taking a seat on his couch, the blanket slumped useless around his waist. The dark script of his tattoos stark against the hedonist's skin. He gestured for her to take a seat if she liked. There were a couple of chairs positioned in the living room, and the couch was a wide stretch of leather.
"What's this?" A tick of his chin toward the wrapped parcel she'd obviously made an effort to get it up here.