Page 63 of Scoring Eden

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.”