“What are you doing?” Aiden’s low, grumbling voice asked from behind me.

I turned around to spot him leaning against the doorframe, hands in the pockets of his gray sweatpants, one ankle over the other. I blew a lock of pink hair that had fallen into my eyes away in frustration. “I’m trying to pack for my trip tomorrow.”

“What’s the problem?”

Damn it. I sighed. He really did know me, and that only made me feel sheepish. “I can’t find anything I want to wear.” That was mostly the truth. The other half of the truth was that I’d been pretty grumpy since his last game when he’d admitted he was going to Colorado after kissing me like it was no big deal. He was leaving in two weeks. For two months.

He raised his eyebrows as if telling me to continue, only egging on my nerves.

“I feel like I’m going to the first day of school tomorrow. I’m so nervous,” I admitted the other tiny part of it.

Aiden frowned as he uncrossed his legs and took a step inside my room. “About what?” he asked, bending down to pick up two of the shirts that had landed on the floor. Setting them on the bed, he took a spot right next to them on the mattress facing me.

“The convention.” This was exactly how I’d get before the first day of school. The nerves. The nausea. The dread. The worry about who I would sit with. If anyone would actually come by my table. What the hell had I been thinking registering? It wasn’t like I was starving for business. I got a steady flow of new customers, on top of my returning, loyal clientele.

“It’s a book convention. What are you worried about?” He picked up the last shirt I’d tossed on the bed and held it up, looking over the long sleeves and royal blue color. “What’s wrong with this one?”

Nerves were eating up my chest and my soul, and he had no idea or any way to comprehend what I was going through. I didn’t think Aiden knew what insecurity was. I ignored his comment about the shirt. “What if everyone hates me and no one talks to me? What if someone throws something at me?”

Aiden snorted, setting the shirt he’d been holding aside and picking up the next one on the pile. “What are they going to throw? Bookmarks?”

That had me groaning. “You don’t understand…”

Aiden peeked at me from over the collar of the blouse, and from the wrinkles around his eyes, I could tell he was smiling just a little bit before he put it on the other side from where he’d left the blue one. “No one is going to throw anything at you. Relax.”

I swallowed and went to take a seat on the bed next to him, his thigh touching mine. “Okay, probably not, but what if… no one comes by my booth? Can you imagine how awkward that would be? Me sitting there all alone?” Just thinking about it was making me anxious.

Shifting on the mattress, he reached over and touched my thigh with his fingertips. The smile on his face melted completely off and he stared at me with that hard, serious face. “If no one goes by your booth, it’s because they’re stupid—”

I couldn’t help but crack a little smile.

“—and they don’t have any taste,” he added, giving me a squeeze.

My smile might have grown a little more.

“I looked at your website. I saw the before and after images of what you’ve done. You’re good, Van.”

“I know I’m good—”

His chuckle cut me off. “And people think I’m cocky.”

I elbowed him in the arm with a laugh. “What? I am. There’s not a lot of things I’m really good at, but this is the one thing no one can take away from me. I’ve worked hard at it.”

The expression on Aiden’s face hinted at amusement as he held up the blue shirt he’d previously set aside. “Then you know you have nothing to worry about. Take this one with you.”

I grabbed the shirt he held with a huff and nodded, quietly folding it. I moved around the room and collected the other things I wanted to take with me. I was only spending two nights, I didn’t need a whole bunch, but I was still taking more than enough just in case. I’d rather have too many shirts than not enough.

I kneeled down to grab my carry-on luggage from beneath the bed, casting a glance at him as he folded the shirts I’d set aside that I wasn’t taking.

He caught me looking at him and only slightly raised his eyebrows. “Stop looking like you’re going to be sick, Van. You’ll be fine.”

“You keep saying that, but then again you’re not intimidated by anything, big guy. You run at guys the same size as you or bigger for a living.”

His eyebrows crawled up even higher on his forehead. “Fear is all in your head.”

“I hate it when people say that.”

“It’s true. What’s the worst that will happen? People won’t talk to you? They won’t like you? People who really know you like you.”

“Trevor doesn’t.”

Aiden gave me that flat, exasperated look of his. “Since when do you care what he thinks? Trevor is an idiot when it comes to anything that won’t make him money. So what if there’s a chance some people that you don’t know don’t like you? Their opinion shouldn’t matter. At the end of the day, you’re still going to be you—the you I know who would flip me off in the middle of a stadium—and no one’s opinion will change that.”

Oh brother.

This huge knot filled my throat and I couldn’t do a thing but kneel there awkwardly and look at him. To a certain extent, he was right. I didn’t usually care what other people thought. Of course, I didn’t like to be embarrassed, who did? But for Aiden “The Wall of Winnipeg” Graves, the hardest working, most dedicated person I had ever met, to think so highly of me? Well, it meant more to me than it should have.

Way more.

He finished folding the rest of my clothes and patted the stack next to him. “Am I driving you to the airport?

I really should have stayed home.

Two days later, I’d been at the convention behind my table for almost three hours. My table, which I had reserved at the last minute, was located in the furthest corner away from the entrance. My banners were set up; I had a few paperbacks propped up, and bookmarks, pins, and pens with my logo scattered across an electric pink tablecloth I had dyed over and over again in the garage until it reached the perfect shade. I’d even brought a light-up sign that Zac, who was apparently extremely handy, had helped me build over the course of the last week after we had our training runs.

I’d sent him, Aiden, and Diana all a picture text of my booth when I’d set it up that morning. Only Zac and Di had responded, which wasn’t entirely surprising I guess. But I wasn’t going to let myself worry about it too much.

I knew I wasn’t delusional thinking that my table looked pretty damn neat. Everything popped and the jewel tones of the books I’d brought and the giveaways all fit really well together. It was nice, but nice didn’t do anything when everyone seemed to smile at it and then walk right on by to get in line to get their books signed.

Even the author next to me, who had told me she only had one novel out, had people stopping by to talk to her. I thought the fact she had a semi-attractive man, who was apparently the cover model for her novel, definitely helped bring people over.

Why hadn’t I thought to ask Zac to come along?

Women loved him before he opened his mouth, but as soon as they found out he was a pro football player—well, at this point, a temporary ex-NFO player—it made them flock to him like locusts. He would have definitely pretended to be a cover model if I’d asked.

Damn it. A group of three walked by me and cast an interested glance my way before continuing onward.

I’d leave if I wouldn’t feel like such a damn wuss doing so. I’d paid a lot of money on my flight, hotel room, and all the things I’d bought for my table, on top of the fees to set up. Hell, just thinking about how much I spent made my throat dry. But you had to invest money to make money. My foster dad, who had his own successful exterminating business, used to tell me that.