Aiden snorted, his eyes drifting to my crotch. “So you’re not horny now?”
“I mean, a little.” I grinned. “Want to help me out?”
“No,” Aiden said firmly as he tried to repress a laugh. “Get dressed, you fucking menace. Then get your arse in the kitchen. I made you smoothies.”
“Smoothies?”
“Yes, smoothies. In case you ran late and didn’t manage to get breakfast.”
“I wondered why you were running the cursed blender,” I said, hauling myself to my feet and wandering over to the bag of clean washing in the corner to fish out some pants and socks. It was getting empty, which meant we really needed to put some washing on before we went to training. Otherwise, we’d be back to re-wearing underwear, and at our age, that looked bad.
Or we could simply buy some more. That would give us a few extra days to get our butts in gear.
“I didn’t realise it was going to be so loud,” Aiden said with an apologetic look.
“It’s fine. We don’t use it that much.”
“I figured, considering it was covered in dust. Don’t worry, I washed it.”
“I wouldn’t have noticed either way,” I said as I kicked my boxers off and pulled on a skintight pair of trunks patterned with sharks. I didn’t care what anyone said—shark pants were cool. “I didn’t even realise we had shit for smoothies.”
Aiden shrugged casually. “I raided your freezer. They’re not fancy, just frozen fruit with some yoghurt and juice. I stuck some peanut butter and protein powder in them as well to give you a boost. They’re a bit of a hodgepodge of shit, but they taste alright.” He glanced down the corridor towards the bathroom. “Think Hunter will be okay with them? I don’t really know what his triggers are in terms of food—you’ll have to give me a list, both of food and situations. And if he doesn’t want one, I’ll have it instead. Doesn’t bother me.”
A torrent of emotion welled up inside my chest, hot and tight and almost overwhelming. Did Aiden have any idea what his words meant to me? What they’d mean to Hunter? The casual, gentle acceptance of Hunter’s history, his desire to understand what Hunter needed, and the way none of it seemed like it was too much for him to deal with. I didn’t know how to tell him all that, not without choking up.
“Thank you,” I said with a nod, well aware my voice sounded strangled. “I, er, yeah, I think he’ll be okay. Sometimes it depends on his mood, what else is going on, shit like that. But I’ll get you a list. He can do you one too. He’ll be… yeah, that’s… thanks.”
“No worries,” he said, like it wasn’t a fucking big deal that he cared this much. “We’ve all got our shit. No point being a dick about it.”
“Some people are. Or would be, if they knew.”
“Those people are cunts.” He smiled wickedly, eyes dancing. “And in the words of my good friend Bacon, if people are going to be wankers about shit that’s none of their fucking business, then it’s perfectly acceptable to punch their fucking lights out. At least, it is in our neck of the woods. Then again, Bacon runs a dodgy-as-fuck pub with a golf club he nicked from the place up the road behind the bar. His life advice is best taken with a pinch of salt.”
I burst out laughing, a pair of socks dangling out of my hand.
I couldn’t say I disagreed with Bacon, though.
