33. SEVENTEEN
SEVENTEEN
ALEX
Eden wasn’t entirely convinced by my proposal, but after I pointed out that she can hardly stay with Aspen in her college dorm, she came around pretty quickly. Macon, on the other hand, was so overjoyed with the new development that I think he peed his pants a little.
Now, he wanders through the black-tiled hallway of my home with wide, sparkling eyes. He takes in the knick-knacks on the console table with a small gasp, running his fingers across the silver wolf’s head my interior designer thought would be a cool nod to my last name.
He handled the paparazzi surprisingly well when we left their place.
We’d attempted to wait them out, staying at Eden’s until long past five pm.
But since they apparently have nothing better to do with their lives, Doug carried Macon out to my car cradle-style, with his enormous hand covering the little dude’s face.
Followed by Eden and me, who disguised ourselves with paper bags pulled over our heads. Not my best look, but a necessary one.
As beneficial as it is to our cause to have photos of us blasted across every media channel in the country, involving Macon is a line I refuse to cross.
But they’re safe now, at least. My apartment building has 24/7 security, only those closest to me know which unit I live in, and the underground parking garage means that we can leave without being confronted by the snapping of camera lenses.
Besides, being the glass-half-full man that I am, I’m choosing to view what happened this morning as a blessing in disguise.
I mean, in the eyes of those watching, we’ve just fast-tracked our relationship to the next level.
Moving in together is pretty damn serious.
That can only mean good things for our goal.
I just have to make a few phone calls to ensure the photos they have of Macon will never see the light of day.
“Wanna see where you’ll be sleeping?” I ask, nudging him toward a door leading off the hall.
He nods emphatically, bouncing on his feet. In his fedora and corduroys, the dude looks like a cross between Bugsy Malone and a member of the Peaky Blinders.
I open the door to the guest bedroom, and he doesn’t miss a beat before shooting straight inside.
Following close behind, I switch on the light and drop his bag onto an armchair by the wall.
Eden leans against the doorframe, and we both watch as he stares agape at the black padded headboard and the California king bed.
“This is so cool!” he gushes, spinning in a circle before launching himself onto the mattress. White linen balloons around him, but all I can hear is the effervescent bubbling of his giggles as he fights to get free.
Eden, on the other hand, smirks at the room like it’s told her a joke. “So, you just have no color in your home at all?”
“I have a titanium-blue Playstation remote around here somewhere,” I offer.
She snorts.
It’s sophisticated and timeless.” I appreciate that our tastes in interiors are wildly different, but I paid a lot of money to have my apartment designed like this. “What’s wrong with black and white?
“It’s depressing.”
“Is it?” I’m home so little that the color scheme and decor choices have no bearing on my life whatsoever. If I’m not at practice or Brynn’s place, then I’m waking up most mornings in unfamiliar bedrooms next to unfamiliar bodies.
“It just doesn’t feel very you,” she notes. “This is an apartment for the kind of guy who wants to show off how much money he has.” She considers herself for a moment. “Actually, you wear a Rolex and drive a Bugatti, so I guess it makes sense.”
I don’t know what to make of that. Is it so bad that I like nice things?
I enjoy the buzz they give me when I buy them, which admittedly never lasts all that long before the novelty wears off.
Much like the feeling I get when I sleep with women.
A momentary glimpse of relief that fades as quickly as it came, before I’m back to chasing the high again.
Dr. Sharma would probably say that I’m trying to compensate for something. Love, or companionship, or some other kind of bullshit.
“I asked for a bachelor pad, and this is what I got.”
“Well, it’s certainly on brief.”
Rolling my eyes, I drop Macon’s bag on the end of the bed. Oblivious to his mother’s and my conversation, he’s managed to roll himself in the sheets like a burrito and is currently singing what sounds like “24K Magic” by Bruno Mars at the very top of his lungs.
I let the door close to give him privacy. “Care to continue this delightful conversation while I show you to your room?”
Eden cocks her hip. “It depends. Is the room black?”
“No. It’s a particularly sickening shade of mustard. I had my doubts when I first saw it, but I think my designer made the right choice.”
Her lips twitch. “Sounds calming.”
“It is. There’s nothing quite as peaceful as the color of bile.” I lead her out of the room and across the hallway. “See for yourself.”
She pushes open the door and gasps. My bedroom, contrary to the rest of the apartment, is the one room where I actually cared about the design.
Sure, the black-and-white theme of the rest of the place doesn’t bother me, and until Eden’s obvious distaste of it, I’d thought it looked pretty cool.
But I will concede that it is a little…impersonal. My bedroom, however, is the opposite.
Dark-wood panels span the wall behind my bed, lit at the top by a hidden string of warm LED lights that change color with an app on my phone.
My sheets are off-white and covered in forest-green cushions that mirror the shade of the Olympic mountains, where I used to hike with Brynn.
And hanging on the wall opposite the window are several grayscale photographs of my sister and me as children.
I know there isn’t a ton of color in here, but by Eden’s standards, it must be better than the rest of my place.
“Wait.” She freezes, mouth hanging open at the wall of photos. “This is your room.”
“Is it?” I look around as if I’ve never stepped foot in here before. “I thought my room was yellow.”
“Alex, I can’t take your room.”
“You’re not taking it. I’ll be in here too.”
Her eyes widen to a comical degree. “Wh-what?”
“We can cuddle and shit.”
Her mouth opens, closes, opens again.
God, she’s so easy to wind up. Every time I make even the slightest inuendo, she blushes the shade of a fire truck.
“I’m kidding.”
I’m not trying to make her uncomfortable, but she looks so pretty when she’s flustered.
All rosy cheeks and wide eyes. There’s no real intention behind my flirting.
Not that I wouldn’t go for it if I thought she was interested in me that way.
My blood runs hot, and I wasn’t lying when I told her weeks ago that she’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
“I’m gonna sleep on the couch,” I tell her to put her at ease. “The room is all yours.”
“You can’t do that. You’re already helping us out by having us stay here. I can’t kick you out of your own bedroom too.”
“Sure, you can.”
“But—”
“But nothing. When was the last time you slept in a proper bed?”
Gone is the playfulness in her expression, replaced by a look of longing. And as much as I’d love to say that it’s directed at me, unfortunately it’s my mattress that has pulled her focus.
Her lip gets lost between her teeth as she wars with herself.
“Do you want to try it?” I ask. “It’s a bit different from a pull-out couch. You might hate it, and then we won’t have a problem.”
“You’re right.” She smiles. “I’ll definitely miss the back pain. And the broken springs that try to puncture holes in me every night.”
“You might have better luck sleeping on the floor.”
She stares unblinking at the bed, her nose wrinkled, her son continuing to belt show tunes in the other room. “I should lie on it now, though, right? Just to be sure.”
“Absolutely. This isn’t a decision to take lightly.”
But she still doesn’t move, just continues to stare at the bed like it’ll disappear if she dares look away.
“Eden?”
“Mmm?”
“Do you need a hand getting in there?”
“Wha—” The word gets lodged on her tongue as I scoop her up by her thighs and toss her backward into the sheets. She squeals, flailing in the air before landing in a cloud of Egyptian cotton, arms splayed out on either side of her.
Silence.
Then the most erotic moan of pleasure I’ve ever heard in my life.
“Shit, make that sound again.”
Her eyes narrow into slits. “You’re a pervert.”
“Can’t help it.” I hold my hands up. “There’s a gorgeous woman in my bed. You can’t be making noises like that.”
She really, really can’t.
Just the sight of her lying there with her hair fanned out around her and her cheeks flushed pink from the fall is presenting me with an issue. A hard, eight-and-a-half inch issue.
Not that I’ve ever thought of my dick as a problem before, but there’s a first time for everything. And right now, I highly doubt Eden would be all that grateful for my issue poking a hole through my sweatpants and saluting her.
She rolls onto her side and props her head in her hand. “I’m sure you’re quite used to having women in your bed.”
Jesus Christ. She’s eye-level with my crotch now, and that is not helping matters. Discreetly as I can manage, I edge my hand down to adjust myself.
Her gaze zeroes in on the movement. “Are you serious?”
“What?” I look down at the incredibly obvious bulge in my pants and scratch the back of my head. “That’s what it looks like normally. I can’t help that I’m well-endowed.”
She collapses onto her back with a sigh. “It might have been a long time since I last saw one, Alex, but I know what a dick looks like when it’s hard.”
How long is a long time? With the way she blushes every time I make even the slightest sexually charged remark, I’d wager a guess that it’s been months, at least. Was it her asshole ex-husband’s dick she saw last?
If so, then it’s been years. And I can’t imagine a man as uptight and insufferable as Sebastian ever put in the effort to make it enjoyable for her anyway.
Which means she might have gone all her life having never had good sex.
Is it too personal to ask?
And how can I make her say “dick” again?
“Men get spontaneous boners all the time.” I stop looking at her and think of Coach Carter’s hairy ass to make it go away. “As it happens, I need to pee. And that can stimulate nerve endings and shit. So, it’s very innocent and not at all perverted. It’s just a case of unfortunate timing.”
I can’t see her, since I’m staring at the wall, but I can tell she’s rolling her eyes.
“If I wasn’t so comfortable right now, I’d throw something at it to make it go away.”
“He is extremely grateful that you’ve decided against it.”
“Of course you call it a he.”
“Would you prefer if I called it a she?”
“I’d prefer that we stop talking about it altogether."
“Very well.” I nod earnestly. “I’m gonna go pee, then, because evidently, I’m rather desperate. And I need to take a shower. I’m still sweaty from practice.”
“Is that what that smell is?”
“Always a pleasure, Eden.” I tip her a two-fingered salute then grab a towel and some clothes from my closet on the way to the attached bathroom.
My dick is in my hand before the latch has even clicked shut behind me.