38. Eden
EDEN
“Shouldn’t I be the one getting the princess treatment?” Alana asked, her nails gently scratching my scalp again and again.
I was sprawled across her, naked, my head resting on her chest, and her fingers tangled in my hair like it was the most natural thing in the world.
The slow rise and fall of her breathing beneath me had nearly lulled me to sleep more than once in the past ten minutes, and I wasn’t even mad about it. If anything, I felt… safe. Which was ridiculous, considering how complicated everything between us was.
Still, I didn’t want to move. Not for anything. Not if I could help it.
I had two very good arguments for not moving, too.
One: Alana was so warm, soft, and impossibly beautiful. She was all the good I wasn’t sure I deserved in my life. She brought me comfort, easing my worries away like they were nothing.
Two: If I got up now, I wasn’t sure we’d ever get this moment again. I wasn’t ready to let go just yet.
I tilted my head up to look at her, catching the way the bedside lamp cast a golden halo around her face. Her eyes sparkled beneath the glow, and a soft, sleepy smile pulled at the corners of her lips. It knocked the breath right out of me.
“We can switch if you like, Ally-Bear,” I offered, though I hoped she’d say no. I liked her hands on me way too much.
She laughed quietly and shook her head. “It’s fine. I kind of like you on top of me.”
My lips curled into a smirk. She noticed and gave me a playful smack on the back.
“Alana, Alana… If you wanted a second round, you could’ve just said so,” I murmured, my voice still scratchy with exhaustion and something much deeper.
She rolled her eyes and pushed my head back down onto her chest. “You know what I’d like? To put on some clothes.”
I groaned, burying my face deeper against her skin. “Ugh, why would you say that? You’re ruining a perfect moment.”
She chuckled again, but I could tell she meant it. I slowly lifted myself off her and sat up, reluctantly. “Fine, but only if you promise to stay the night.”
“You’re too funny, Eden.”
I frowned slightly, watching her as she reached for the blanket and wrapped it around herself like she hadn’t just been completely comfortable lying beneath me. “What’s so funny about that?”
“I shouldn’t stay,” she said simply, her voice quieter now. A little guarded.
I walked over to my closet, trying not to let the sting of her rejection show. “Why not?”
Alana didn’t answer right away. I could feel the hesitation in the silence stretching. When she finally spoke, her words were careful. “You know why.”
Not really. Or maybe I did and just didn’t want to admit it.
I pulled out a pair of boxers and one of my hockey jerseys, holding them up in her direction. “Just one night.”
When I turned around, she was sitting up in bed, blanket pooled in her lap, her gaze fixed on me like she was trying to solve a puzzle she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer to.
“We agreed on the terms,” she said finally.
“We’ve bent those before,” I pointed out gently, walking back toward her.
Her eyes dropped to the floor, and for a moment, she looked so far away from me, like she was already halfway out the door. “I don’t want to blur things more than they already are, Eden.”
“You know what really blurs things?” I asked, stepping close enough to feel the heat radiating off her skin. “This. Us. Every time you touch me like I mean something and then act like I don’t.”
She flinched, barely, but I caught it. “Feelings complicate things,” she said.
Yeah. No kidding.
Her arms tightened around the blanket like it was armor. “If we make this more than it is… if we let it feel real, even just for a little while… someone’s going to get hurt.”
Too late.
I didn’t say it, but it echoed inside my head.
Instead, I gently lifted the jersey. “Here,” I said. “Something to sleep in. And don’t even argue. One more night won’t kill you. It’s not the first time you’d stay over.”
She hesitated again before slowly letting the blanket fall away. My breath caught the moment I saw her again in full view—vulnerable, unsure, beautiful in a way that made my chest ache.
“That’s not going to fit me,” she said, motioning toward the jersey without meeting my eyes.
I blinked. “Why wouldn’t it?”
Her shoulders tensed. “Because I’m not small.”
Not this again.
No, she wasn’t. And thank God for that.
She had curves that made my hands itch to explore them all over again, hips that fit perfectly beneath my palms, and a softness I could melt into. And yeah, she had more to her than the girls who usually ended up in my bed—but I’d never wanted anyone like I wanted her.
“You’ll look hot in it,” I said, shrugging like my heart wasn’t racing. “And I promise you, you’ll fit into it just fine.”
Still looking unconvinced, she let me pull the jersey over her head, arms slipping into the sleeves one at a time. The fabric fell around her like a curtain, loose and even slightly oversized, but somehow perfect.
She looked down at herself, wide-eyed. “It fits.”
Her voice was so soft, almost like she didn’t believe it. Like it was the first time something fit and didn’t make her feel small in all the wrong ways.
I laughed under my breath. “And it’s not even tight.”
Her cheeks flushed pink as her hands brushed down the hem. She didn’t look at me, but I couldn’t stop staring.
I wanted to tell her she looked beautiful. That she didn’t need to compare herself to anyone else. That I wanted her like this, always. Wearing my clothes, taking up space in my bed, and maybe even in my life.
But instead, I stepped back and let her sit with the moment.
She sat there in my jersey, flushed and unsure, her fingers tugging at the hem as if trying to make herself smaller. The way her shoulders curved inward, the way she avoided my gaze… it all felt too familiar. She looked beautiful and didn’t even know it.
I thought we were past this. I thought she finally accepted there was more to her than a stupid number on a scale. But I suppose we all circle back for a while eventually.
“Come here,” I said softly, holding out my hand.
Alana blinked. “Why?”
I didn’t answer with words. Just waited.
After a beat of hesitation, she placed her hand in mine. I laced our fingers together and led her a few steps toward the full-length mirror beside my closet. She tried to resist, stopping just short of the reflection, but I didn’t let go.
“Eden…”
“It’s okay. Just trust me.”
Her eyes flicked up to meet mine in the mirror, uncertain, guarded. I moved behind her, wrapping my arms gently around her waist and resting my chin on the top of her head. My jersey still hung loosely on her frame, just skimming the tops of her thighs.
“Look at yourself,” I said quietly.
She did, but only for a second before her gaze darted away.
I tightened my arms around her. “No. Really look.”
Her eyes flicked up again, hesitating. “What am I supposed to see?”
“Everything I see.”
Alana scoffed under her breath. “Yeah? And what do you see, Eden? A girl who takes up too much space in your clothes?”
My chest ached at the sound of her self-deprecation. I shook my head, meeting her eyes through the glass.
“No,” I said. “I see curves that make it impossible for me to look anywhere else. Hips I’ve held onto like lifelines.
Shoulders that carry more than anyone ever gives you credit for.
A belly soft enough for me to fall asleep on.
Legs that could knock me flat if you wanted to. And a face that… honestly ruins me.”
Her lips parted slightly, as if my words caught her off guard. She stared at the mirror but didn’t say anything.
I slid one hand slowly along her waist, feeling the curve of her body beneath the fabric. “You see everything your mind tells you is wrong. I see you. You see too much. I see everything that’s enough. Perfect even.”
“Eden—” she started, but I cut her off gently.
“I see a girl who walks into a room and doesn’t realize she’s the most beautiful one in it. I see someone so wrapped up in comparisons, she doesn’t even notice how she outshines every filtered photo she’s ever tried to compete with.”
Alana’s eyes shimmered, but she blinked quickly, swallowing hard.
I turned her gently, so she was facing me instead of the mirror. “I wish you could see what I see. Because if you did, you’d never doubt yourself again.”
She didn’t speak right away. Just stood there in silence, eyes locked with mine, the air between us thick with unspoken emotion.
“Why are you doing this?” she whispered eventually. “Why are you making it so hard not to… like you?”
My breath caught.
“I don’t want to just help you anymore,” I said softly. “I want to be the reason you start believing you’re enough. Because you are. You always were.”
Her lower lip trembled as she stared at me, like she didn’t know whether to pull me closer or push me away.
So I made the choice for her. I stepped in, brushed my thumb against her cheek, and kissed her. Not with hunger this time, but with something far quieter and far more dangerous.