Page 17 of Becoming Selfish

I’ve never let anyone sleep in my bed before, and now I’m suddenly aware that this girl is standing in the middle of my room when no one is usually allowed in here. I often feel a rush of anxiety when someone tries to intrude on this space. It’s my one place on campus where I can be myself and not deal with the outside pressure from everyone else, but with her here, I feel an overwhelming calm in my room. And I suddenly don’t want her to leave.

“I mean, only if you feel comfortable. You can have the bed, of course. I’ll sleep on the floor,” I add.

She looks around the room, confused. “But I thought no one was allowed in here?”

“Where did you hear that?”

She blushes. “I overheard a girl talking about it with her friends downstairs.” She quickly glances away, seeming to be embarrassed for eavesdropping.

Her rosy cheeks make me laugh. “Well, whoever she was, she’s right. Usually, that’s the case, but you’re Marc’s friend, and he would kill me if I let you walk back to the dorms right now.” I lie to her about my real reason for wanting her to stay.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to invade your space.”

“Yes, I’m sure. It’s no big deal,” I respond, hoping she will indeed stay and invade my space.

After taking a moment to think about her decision, she responds. “Okay... I appreciate it, Eli. Thank you.” She gives me a grateful smile.

Hearing my name coming off her lips sounds so good that at this point, I think I would do just about anything to hear her say it again.

Chapter 14

Logan

We stand in the center of his room, awkwardly glancing at each other, unsure of where to go from here. I pull my gaze away from him, noticing how clean his place is. Judging from the state of the rest of the house, I did not expect his room to be this tidy. His bed is large and pushed up against the back wall, centered under the window. There’s a bookshelf to the left filled with trophies and awards, and his desk is on the right wall with his laptop sitting open alongside a framed picture of him, Marc, and who I assume are their parents. His walls are mostly clear besides a calendar above his desk, filled with writing, and a mirror on the back of his door.

Once I’ve thoroughly analyzed his space, my eyes wander back to his body. I’m reminded that he’s shirtless as my stare lingers on his muscular chest before it makes its way down his tattooed arm. Now that he’s standing so close, I can make out more of the details. They’re all in black ink, which I find beautiful and straightforward. A large and sprawling oak tree takes up most of his upper arm. Intertwined underneath is a rose, but it’s not just any rose. It looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t place where I know it from. Next to the rose is delicate and graceful handwriting. I think it’s a name. Elizabeth, maybe. Is that a girlfriend? Or an ex? Perhaps she’s the reason he doesn’t sleep next to anyone? Regardless, I feel incredibly uncomfortable looking at it, so I peel my eyes away before I finish analyzing the rest of his tattoos.

Eli senses this and appears to feel as uncomfortable as I do at this moment. He uses his other arm to hold onto his tattooed one, covering the rose and the name with his hand. He scratches at his brow and says, “Um...so. Go ahead and take the bed,” while pointing in that direction. “Also, I have training early in the morning, so you might hear my alarm go off, but I’ll be as quiet as possible,” he explains while making himself a makeshift bed on the floor with only a single pillow and blanket.

“Let me sleep on the floor,” I offer. “Especially if you have to get up early. You shouldn’t have to sleep on the floor. This is your room.”

“I would never let you sleep on the floor,” he tells me, shaking his head and giving me a questioning glance. His eyes are flooded with sincerity.

His gaze starts to wander my body, warming me from the inside. This feels nothing like when Patrick was eyeing me earlier in the kitchen. This is welcome.

“What happened to your shirt?” Eli asks while pointing to my soaked top.

I had almost forgotten that I’m covered in beer. “Some drunk guy spilled his drink on me.” I awkwardly shrug.

“Three for three. You’re a clumsy one, Logan.” He gives me a playful smirk.

The way he says my name sounds like honey coming off his tongue. It’s slow and deep and sounds better than when anyone else has ever said it.

“This time wasn’t my fault.” I hold my hands up in defense. “And one could argue that you were to blame for the other two.”

“Oh, no, no, no! I don’t think so!” He shakes his head at me. “You just can’t seem to keep ahold of your drink when you’re around me,” he teases, both of us laughing.

A sudden rush of guilt takes over when I remember I’m flirting with Marc’s brother. I avert my eyes from his and wipe the smile off my face.

He seems to notice my regret. “Um...let me grab you something to sleep in. You can’t wear that to bed.”

“That’s okay, I’m fine.”

“Logan,” he interjects, “don’t be stubborn. No reason to be uncomfortable all night wearing jeans and a wet shirt.”

He sounds like Marc, and I begin to wonder what Marc has told him about me. Does he know about my parents? Does he know about my ex? I suddenly feel less comfortable around him, knowing that he might know more about me than I do of him.

Eli walks over to his closet, pulling out a T-shirt and handing it to me. I hold it up, noting just how large it is. It’s going to be a dress on me, which is probably why he didn’t offer me any pants. The shirt is maroon with yellow writing on the front that says, ‘The University of Minnesota Hockey.’ I flip it over to see his last name towards the top, printed in large font, and underneath is a number thirteen.

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