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As long as the floor is a multiple of three, Aiden is happy.
Neither of us speaks as he leads us to our room, but the moment he opens the door and I take a step into the living room, I realize the problem.
The room might be a suite, but it’s a one-bedroom suite.
Which means most likely there is only one bed.
I move farther into the space and poke my head through the open door.
Yep.
One bed.
I turn back to look at the living room where Aiden stands with his arms crossed at his chest.
Sure, the room is large, featuring a couch, two chairs, and a small round dining table, but it still only has one bedroom.
My heart thumps in my chest at the thought of sharing a room with him.
Aiden unfolds his arms. “The hotel is fully sold out, and this was the suite they had booked for us.”
I frown. “Shit.”
He cracks his neck. “Shit is right.”
I pace the small living room, trying to think of a solution, and then it hits me that this isn’t really a problem. I’ve slept on much worse. “It’s fine. We’ll make it work. I’ll sleep on the couch.” It’s not like I wasn’t just living on the couch before this job, but I don’t tell him that.
“Cass—” he says, but I shake my head.
“Aiden. It’s fine. Now let me unpack, and we can talk about it after.”
Walking to the closet, I’m about to ask him where his suitcase is so I can unpack it, but I see he beat me to the punch.
All his clothes are already in the closet. They are separated by color, which I already expected, but what throws me for a loop is that every hanger is perfectly spaced out.
I’ve helped with his laundry at his house. How did I not notice this?
Because you didn’t, and most likely after you put his clothes away, he spaced the hangers.
I take a deep breath and then set off to unpack my stuff without disrupting his stuff. I can’t have him off because of a dumb thing like hanger spacing.
It’s bad enough that he’s probably already stressed about the room situation.
Game one is tonight, and I need him to play his best.
When I’m finally done unpacking, I find Aiden cleaning the coffee table with a wipe.
I stand back and watch him. His brow furrows as he swipes, and when he’s done, he grabs another wipe and starts up again.
He won’t stop until it’s been wiped down a third time. Things are such a process with him, and I have to wonder if anyone ever suggested he seek help to manage this better.
I can guess he’d likely be opposed to it because of the chance the media would get ahold of it.
Growing up with the kind of mom that Aiden had, it’s no wonder he doesn’t trust easily. He might think himself weak, but I think he’s incredible. The fact he’s managed without assistance for this long is hard to bear. The toll it must take on him.
“I’m going to clean the bathroom,” he says, heading toward a door close to where the closet is.
Knew that was coming.
