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She chuckles. “You should find better hiding spots.”
“How could I have known someone was going to break into my apartment, whack you, and steal my files. Hm?”
She holds her hand up. “Woah there. Why are you so riled up? You usually don’t care what Aiden thinks.”
“I don’t care what he thinks. It’s just—it’s just embarrassing!” I sputter.
“Well, get over it. Quickly. You’ll be living with the man.”
“Because of you,” I accuse.
She grins and shrugs. “I like my alone time. While I do love being with you, I prefer not to be Malcolm in the Middle when Aiden comes around.”
“He told me to let him know when I want something bigger!” I yell.
Yirah’s mouth drops open and she fans herself. “Girl, if you don’t tell him you want a test ride now.”
I roll my eyes at her antics. “Not only do I still dislike him, but he’s my client, Yirah.”
“I don’t think you dislike him, nor do I think it's relevant that he’s your client. I think you want to take a trip to the carnival and jump on that big ride.”
I point at her. “How old are you?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I forgot my birthday and I’ve stopped counting the years.”
“So, you’re old enough to understand how childish you sound right now.”
“Wow. That hurts, Joy Joy.”
* * *
I bang my head on Aiden’s dining room table. Nothing I write sounds good enough. Opening statements are crucial for a case. They set the tone for the rest of the trial. If you have a crappy opening statement, chances are you have a crappy case.
I finished unpacking my stuff into Aiden’s place a couple of hours ago. It came as no surprise to walk-in and see no colors in the apartment. I can manage it at the office, but I absolutely cannot live here without splashes of color. We had an argument about my throw pillows. But I explained to him how I won’t be able to function, and we will lose the case. He eventually caved, although he is not happy about it at all. I didn’t do too much, I just put some throw pillows in his room and the living room, then placed some candles around the house. It feels better already.
Aiden will be sleeping on the couch. It pulls out so he will be fine. I will be sleeping in his room. He changed the covers for me already. However, they still smell like him. Despite not wanting to, I love the way he smells.
I tap my pen against my head, begging it to work so I can write this statement and go to sleep. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. When I open them again, Aiden is setting a plate of food in front of me—a square of lasagna, the cheese on top perfectly browned. I glance at the food, then to him, with wide eyes.
He raises a brow. “Despite what you think, I’m not a total dick.”
“And despite what you think, I’m not ungrateful.”
The corner of his lip lifts. “That’s still up for debate.” I laugh and throw my pen at him. He catches it deftly, placing it on the table.
“Don’t damage your favorite pen,” he jokingly warns.
I reach over to pick up my pen from the table. I cradle it gently into my arms as if it was a baby. My pen, Megan, followed me into the afterlife. When I died it was in my pocket. She’s a true ride or die.
I glance up to see Aiden looking at me. His face is gentle and relaxed. He is always so tense, it’s nice to see him relax a little. I place the pen on the table when my stomach growls, signaling that I should really take a bite of the delicious smelling lasagna. I lift my fork and place it in my mouth. I moan in pleasure and shock at the taste. This man can make a damn good lasagna. It is cooked to perfection.
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Wow, you cook very well. Who taught you?”
“No one. I grew up in the system and learned how to cook to be able to feed myself.” That is the first real piece of information I’ve learned about Aiden. I wouldn’t have guessed that he also grew up in the system. At least we have that in common.
“I grew up in the system, too,” I admit.
He nods. “I’m glad you enjoy my food. I usually cook for myself, or Joey.” I smile at him. He hides his kind side, but the more I’ve spent time with him, the more I’ve seen it come out.
