Page 27 of Scoring Eden

He has his mother’s dark eyes, and his aunt’s mismatched, extravagant sense of style, donning a baby-pink ball cap and a royal-blue blazer thrown over a t-shirt that reads Levi’s Tacos since 1873.

“Macon!” Eden admonishes from somewhere inside the apartment. “Language.”

He doesn’t even flinch, just gives me a one-shouldered shrug. “Sorry, Mom,” he tosses over his shoulder. “But, err, I don’t think it’s Amazon.”

“Who is it, then? Aspen, who did you buzz up?”

Her slender fingers appear around the door before she pulls it wider to reveal herself, gasping at the sight of me before trying to disguise it with a cough. “What are you doing here?”

Dressed in pink-and-cream-striped pajamas with bed hair and what looks to be dried drool on her cheek, she slices me with a withering glare. Adorable. I want to carry her back to bed.

“I assume from the cold welcome that you didn’t know I was coming?”

“For once, you assume correctly.”

“Mom.” Macon tugs on her shirt. “Do you know who that is? He’s Alex Wolfe. He plays for the—”

“The Strikers, honey. Yes, I know who he is.” She gives him a tight smile and ruffles his hair. “I just don’t know why he’s here.”

Parking her confusion to the side for her to deal with in her own time, I bow to Macon. “I’m Alex. Pleased to make your acquaintance, fine gentleman.”

He laughs at my silliness and follows my lead, folding himself at the waist before offering a handshake. Huh. He’s a proper little dude.

“I’m Macon.”

“Macon, you say?”

“Yep.” He rolls his shoulders back. “Macon, like bacon.”

“I happen to love bacon, so I think we should be friends.”

He beams in what I assume is agreement, and I can’t help but smile too. I like this kid. He’s cool, and he looks at me like I hung the fucking moon, which makes him great for my ego. Too bad the same can’t be said for his mother.

“Outta the way, guys. I have an important delivery.” Aspen bounds up behind them, shoving her sister to the side before grabbing my hand and jerking me into the apartment, not at all deterred by the horrified expression on Eden’s face.

I shoot her an apologetic smile as we pass. Shit, I never would have come here if I knew she wasn’t expecting me, especially when her son’s at home. It feels like a gross crossing of boundaries, something that Aspen is clearly aware of, yet couldn’t care less about.

Shaking her off, I linger by the fridge that’s scattered with multicolor magnets and scribbled to-do lists. It’s the closest spot to the front door, tucked behind a corner in the tiny square of kitchen space.

“Tell me you didn’t know he was coming,” Eden demands, still white-knuckling the front door with a thunderous expression that would wither me like dying flora if she directed it at me.

Aspen has the good grace to feign sheepishness, hugging her arms around herself and looking at the floor. “Would you love me less if I said I did?” Unlike her sister, she’s dressed for the day. She wears brown gingham flares, a houndstooth beret, and a sage-green knit cardigan hanging around her shoulders. She looks bizarre, but it somehow works on her, and menace though she may be, she’s clearly comfortable in her own skin.

“Wait.” I frown at her. “Eden didn’t know I was coming?”

“Um, hello?” Eden waves her hands over her head. “Is anyone gonna tell me what’s going on?”

This is where Aspen should step the fuck up and admit to stealing her phone last night. I wait for her to do just that.

And then I wait some more.

Macon, oblivious to the tension, skips to my side. “This is so cool. Wanna see my room?”

“Sure, buddy.” I nod. “But I’ve just gotta talk to your mom about something first, okay?”

“Okay.” He shrugs. “I’ll wait in there, then. Grown-up chats are boring.”

The pregnant pause that follows his departure gives me a moment to study the tiny place that Eden calls home.