Eddie leans against the doorway, arms crossed, watching her for what must be the fiftieth time tonight. The damn mirror hasn’t moved, and neither has she. Just standing there, tugging at the hem of that black dress he bought her—the one she didn’t think she could pull off, the one he thought was made for her.

“You know,” He finally says, voice low but laced with that sharp edge of irritation. “For someone so smart, you say some really dumb things.”

She doesn’t look at him, fingers grazing the curve of her lower stomach, lips pressed together like she’s trying not to frown. It’s that same spot she’s been poking at for the last ten minutes. That tiny little dip of softness she keeps calling fat like it’s a crime.

He pushes off the wall, walking over with slow, deliberate steps. She opens her mouth to say something—maybe to argue, maybe to self-deprecate again—but she doesn’t get the chance.

Because Eddie Munson has had enough.

He scoops her up without warning, arms around her thighs, lifting her off the ground like she weighs absolutely nothing. She yelps, hands flying to his shoulders, startled. He looks up at her, eyes blazing, jaw tight.

“You don’t get to talk about my girl like that,” He growls, voice all rough affection and exasperated love. “Not even if you are her.” He spins them around and drops her gently onto his bed, hovering over her with that crooked smile that drives her insane.

“You’re fucking gorgeous. Got it? That little bit of softness you’re obsessing over? Drives me nuts. I’d write a damn song about it if I wasn’t too busy trying to kiss every inch of it.”