Page 51 of Becoming Selfish

“Eli...” she pleads.

“Logan...” I don’t want to give in to her, but it’s not like I can force her to look at me as more than a friend if she doesn’t want to. My stomach drops at the thought. I wait for her to take her words back, but she doesn’t.

“Fine.” I pause, looking down to the ground, defeated.

“Fine,” I repeat. “But will you at least just sleep up here? I don’t feel like a very good friend having you sleep on the floor,” I add, hoping to change the tone of this shitty conversation.

She chuckles before giving in. “Fine. Scoot over.”

She grabs her pillow and blanket from the floor as I move back onto the side I was initially sleeping on. She takes her spot back and lies down with her eyes on the ceiling and her arms at her sides. Even though her rejection hurts, I still feel better having her close.

If she feels for me even a fraction of what I do for her, how could she suggest that we be just friends? From the moment I laid my eyes on Logan, friendship has been the furthest thing from my mind. Between the longing looks and that passionate kiss last night, I can’t believe this is what she really wants, and I don’t want the night end like this.

Deciding to test her resolve, I start moving my body closer to hers. Her breathing begins to quicken the closer I get. I place my head on her shoulder and drape my tattooed arm across her waist as her body completely stiffens under my touch. One of her arms is pinned underneath my weight, but the other is lying limp next to her body, unsure of what to do.

“Eli...” she tries to warn me, but the word comes out ragged, giving away her real emotion.

“What? Friends cuddle,” I state confidently, not moving from my spot.

After a moment, her chest heaves in a silent laugh then relaxes into the mattress, but she doesn’t move away from me. I reach for her hand and place it on my arm that’s across her waist, silently asking her to hold me. She stills for a moment, but then her fingers begin to lightly trace the tattoos on my arm. My eyes flutter closed from her touch as her vanilla scent fills my nostrils. My senses are in overload, and god, does it feel good. I need this. I need her. If I could sleep like this every night, I would be the happiest man in the world.

Minutes of silence pass between us, and I’m almost asleep again from Logan’s gentle stroke when she softly asks, “Who is Elizabeth?”

My eyes shoot open at the sound of the name before I look down at my arm. She’s delicately tracing her finger over the tattooed word, repeatedly. In the past, I’ve been able to avoid answering this question. Typically, when women see it, they either don’t want to know why another woman’s name is tattooed on my arm or, if they do ask, I ignore the question until they let it go. With Logan, I feel the need to share. Maybe it’s because she already knows about my family, but I want her to learn whatever she wants to know about me.

“Elizabeth is my mom,” I tell her. “I’m named after her. Eli is for her.”

She remains silent but continues to trace her finger over my tattoo, and I’m glad she can’t see my face right now. I’m not used to being this open with someone, and it makes me feel a little uneasy. Instead of asking more questions, she pulls out her arm that is sandwiched under my body, wraps it around my shoulder, and begins to gently stroke my shaggy hair. She softly kisses my forehead, resting her lips there, and putting me at ease. My eyes close at her soft touch, and I decide to continue on with my admission.

“That’s why I like that you call me, Eli. You’re the only one who does.”

She stops her movements as she asks, “Why don’t you just ask people to call you by your real name?” Her lips still graze my forehead, and the warmth of her breath tickles my skin as she speaks.

“I don’t know. So many people call me ‘Maddison’ that at this point, it’d be hard to change. And I kind of like that you’re the only one who calls me by my real name. I like to hear you say it.”

I feel a smile form on her lips against my skin. I consider asking her about the tattoo she has on her collarbone, but I don’t want to ruin the moment. I also keep myself from informing her that friends don’t hold each other like this and that friends don’t give sweet lingering forehead kisses, but I’m not dumb enough to think that my smart remarks won’t ruin this. Logan doesn’t ask any more questions. Instead, she continues to stroke her fingertips against my arm and keeps her other hand burrowed in my hair as we lie in her bed, holding each other until we both fall asleep.

Chapter 38

Eli

Waking up to the vibration of my phone ringing in my pocket, I pull it out, with my eyes still shut, hoping that I can go right back to sleep if I don’t open them too much. I squint one eye open to look at the bright screen and find Marc’s name flashing across the top. I decline his call and toss my phone back on the bed. I’m not going to let his call ruin the best night of sleep I’ve had all week.

Closing my eyes, I reach my arm out to pull Logan to my chest, but when I feel for her, she’s not there. Opening my eyes, I quickly realize that she’s not in bed at all. I glance around the room and back to the floor where I found her hours ago, but she’s nowhere to be found. This is now the third time that Logan has left me in the morning, and waking up to her being gone is almost as bad as not getting to sleep with her at all.

My eyes adjust to the sun peeking through the window as I roll out of bed and put my shoes on. If she left before I was awake, I doubt she would want me to still be here when she returned. I don’t know what happened; I thought everything was okay. I know she said she just wanted to be friends, but after sleeping the way we did, I hoped that Logan had changed her mind. But now, I think she may be regretting our sleepover.

Realizing this is the first time I’ve been alone in her room, I take a moment to glance around quickly. Her closet is open, packed full of clothes, which doesn’t surprise me. Even when she’s dressed casually, Logan always looks stylish and put together. Her desk is clear besides a few papers on top of her closed laptop, and above her bed is a map, the kind where you scratch off the states you’ve visited, but she only has six scratched off. Two of them are California and Minnesota, and I remember when she told me that going to Spain was the first time she had left her home state.

Her small bookshelf is jam-packed with the most random collection of books. They include everything from Little Women by Louisa May Alcott, to The Book of Basketball by Bill Simmons. This girl is truly an anomaly, and those two books remind me of precisely who Logan is. A feminine beauty with a tomboy attitude.

There’s a single framed photo on one of the shelves. It’s the only photo in her room, which I find strange since most girls’ rooms are plastered with pictures. This photo is simple and worn. It’s a picture of a couple, who I assume are her parents. It occurs to me that she has never mentioned her mom before, and I wonder if they’re close. Her mom is beautiful, just like Logan, but I see more of her in her dad’s features. He has the same striking green eyes.

I’ve been snooping for a little too long, but I’m just trying to get a glimpse into this girl’s life. Logan could be back anytime; I have no idea when she left, so I grab my phone and shove it back in my pants’ pocket before quickly straightening up her bed. After one last glance around her space, I leave her room, hoping it won’t be the last time I’m here.

On my way to the elevator, I knock on Marc’s door, hoping he might want to grab breakfast, but he doesn’t answer. He’s probably with Logan, wherever she may be.

The walk back to my house isn’t too bad. The air is getting colder by the day, so I move quickly to warm my body. As I walk by the campus gym, I have an instinct to glance inside, remembering I got to see Logan in there yesterday. I slyly peek into the large window, and sure enough, there she is, inside by the free weights section. Once again, she’s the only female in that corner of the gym and is surrounded by meatheads throwing heavy weights around. She looks completely unfazed by anyone around her and seems fully confident in her movements. A slight smile forms on my lips as I find myself being proud of her for being such a badass and not letting any of these dudes intimidate her. Her hidden confidence intrigues me that much more, but I continue on my way, not wanting her to catch me lurking or in awe.

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