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I guess all he wanted was someone to treathimlike a person too.
It’s not at all late by the time we leave and head back to the hotel, the pizza box carefully cradled under Aiden’s arm, but I’m exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster of the day and the fact that I’ve been up for more than twelve hours by this point. I’m glad that he’s agreed it’s time to go back to the room.
I only hope we can avoid June. I can’t take any more of that today.
With a deep breath and a vague sense that I’m going to regret it, I slide closer to Aiden and thread my fingers through his. He freezes for a second before squeezing my hand tight, not saying a word as our hands swing between us. That’s another thing I like about him; although he sometimes makes annoying and unnecessary comments, when it matters, he knows how to let the moment hang.
And the moment holds us all the way back to the hotel, our hands clasped and a bubble of warm affection wrapped around us. I get it now, why people say love makes you feel like you’re the only people in the entire world.
It’s not love, but it is nice. Nothing could burst our good mood right now.
The atrium of the hotel is abandoned when we get there, but we still scurry through to the maze of corridors in case someone does wander past. Yet again, it feels like being in a cheap spy thriller, but this time with the added excitement of being hand in hand. It makes our connection more dramatic than it really is.
Finally, we hit our room. Aiden fumbles in his pocket for his keycard, but then he’s taking too long and all I want to do is lie down, so I grab mine from my pocket and slide it through the lock. This dress is great for its functional pockets. It’s made my life easier today, anyway.
We slip inside and immediately I fling myself down on the bed, my aching feet glad of the reprieve from standing. It would be so easy to let my eyes close and have a nap right now. One hour…
Aiden takes off his shoes and comes to sit beside me. “I hate to break it to you, but it’s barely five p.m., and if you sleep now, you’ll be up all night.”
“Go away,” I groan, rolling onto my stomach to bury my face in a pillow.
“At least put your pajamas on if you’re going to lie on the bed.”
I twist my head to glare at him, my eyes bleary with tiredness. “What, are you saying I stink?”
“No,” he says, rolling his eyes. “But you should be comfortable.”
With a resigned sigh, I force myself up and wiggle off the bed. I’d discarded my pajamas on the floor this morning, left hastily in a pile, so I snatch them up and head for the bathroom to change. Annoying as it is that he’s right, it is good to be comfortable.
When I wander back out, he’s got into bed himself, the sheets tucked carefully around his waist, the TV remote in hand. He flicks through the channels, stopping only long enough on each one to let characters say half a sentence.
Normally, I’d be prickly about getting into bed with him, but I’m too tired to put up that front right now. And it is a front. Today has been really nice, actually.
Not at all how I’d expect a day with Aiden Fletcher to go.
He looks at me as I tuck myself in, and for a heartbeat I get the sense that he’s about to shuffle over and try and hold me. I honestly don’t know how I’d feel about that. This whole weekend has been such a whirlwind of memory and rage that whatever ground I think I’m standing on is crumbling beneath me. The more time I spend with him, the harder it is to keep hating him.
Finally, he stops on a gameshow, some old reruns ofMinute Dollars, which stopped airing three or four years ago. It was a shame; it was a great concept for a trivia show.
Aiden grins. “Remember that night we stayed in the office till the sun came up, watching this?”
“I remember being the only one trying to get our code done while you and Blair lounged around getting all the questions wrong.”
He brings his hand to his heart, gasping in mock offense. “I got most of them right.”
“You gotsomeof them right.” I raise my eyebrow, smirking. I do remember that night very well, between the coding and the caffeine and the feeling of superiority at finishing the project single-handed. And neither of them were that great at getting the answers.
What’s the capital of Albania?asks the host, a gray-haired man with a sharp sense of humor and dazzling smile.
“Tirana,” says Aiden without hesitation.
“How do you know that?” I ask, impressed.
“Got weirdly obsessed with learning flags and capitals when I was twelve.” He grins slyly. “See? I know plenty. Bet I could beat you at this.”
“Bet you could not.”
“Okay then, you’re on.”
