Page 21 of The Sharpest Edges

There’s a hint of tease at the end of his words that tries to mask how wary he is of offering, but even so, she finds it hard to accept. Once he’s out, this car situation stops being something she can provide him as a distraction and starts becoming a burden, a favor, something she should keep to herself and not bother him with.

She’s going to say no. Tell him he doesn’t have to do that and thanks, but no thanks. She’ll figure something out.

“Okay.” The one-word reply rolls off her tongue and her lips curl into a soft smile that prompts the same from him.

They now have two reasons to see each other on the outside. A date that’s not a date at the cafe and the car in her driveway.

Her driveway in front of her house.

Her stomach flutters at the realization that he’ll have a reason to come to her house. It should give her pause, maybe even worry her, but she is only curious about how that might play out. Would she be lucky enough that he’d come inside? Or would he keep things strictly professional?

“Alright then. I’ll get ya up and running in no time. Oh shit, look at that guy.”

He’s shifted from shy and tentative to amused in a split second, pointing out the window toward a man across the street who’s overloaded with his possessions. He has a briefcase, a Starbucks coffee, one closed umbrella, a laptop case slung over his shoulder, and a stack of folders under one arm.

“He’ll drop something. Just wait.” Dean muses.

She watches the mystery man traipse across a courtyard toward the entry of his office building and for a moment she thinks he’ll make it, he’s almost there, but then the umbrella slips and clatters to the ground, and she can hear the loud ‘fuuuuck’ he grumbles out in response.

She locks eyes with Dean, her tone sassy. “Got a mouth on him, too.”

“Dunno what he does, but I bet he’s way up the ladder to be able to drop those f-bombs right outside the office. Ain’t got no balance for shit.”

“Well, he’s little. And the little ones are always the angriest.”

“You’re not wrong. Wondering how long it’ll take him to geta minion to carry his shit. Bet he drops the coffee tomorrow.”

She ponders this a moment, tapping her chin with her index finger. “I bet it’s the folders.”

“You’re on. What are we bettin’ for?”

Oh. She walked right into that. A dozen different dirty thoughts and even dirtier comments filter through her mind, begging to be set free, but she shoves them back. They aren’t there yet. They may never be there. “I don’t know. What do you want?”

That reply still comes out throatier than it should, deeper and with more of a tease to it and that’s not lost on him at all, judging by the way his brows shoot up.

He thinks it over, replying with a soft tone, ready to be told he’s gone too far and get his wrist slapped for the effort. “If I win, you’ll have lunch with me again?”

“Seems fair. What if I win?” she says quickly, not wanting him to overthink his request.

He takes even longer to reply this time. He didn’t think through this bet idea and is lost for prize options, but then he shrugs, some of those drugs kicking in again and allowing him to grin at her. “Um….you’ll have lunch with me again?”

He face palms and she laughs, pursing her lips and shaking her head. She’d come back tomorrow and eat with him either way, bet or no bet, but the fact that he asked, not once but twice, makes her feel something she hasn’t felt in a very long time. Desirable.

“Something seems suspicious about that bet but, okay. You have yourself a deal,” she says, finishing off the last of her candy bar and taking this as a natural end to their time together.

She has patients to see and supplies to stock, but when she leaves him alone again she spends the rest of her day thinking about tomorrow’s lunch.

10

Chapter 10

The extra drugs they gave him were enough to take the edge off in every way that counts. Made it easier to let everything awful fade into the background and focus on all the shiny new distractions in this clean, comfortable infirmary.

Easy to avoid dwelling on what was done to him, and drink in the way Ava smiled at him instead. Make bets with her about stupid people carrying too much shit and flirt like someone who does that. It wasn’t even a heavy dose, but he must have a low tolerance.

Those effects are gone now, though. He’s not allowed that much passed the first twenty-four hours of a new injury and they’ve dropped him back down again. His toe has been a dull throb for weeks, anyway. The fresh stitches in his side pull at the edges, but he can ignore that too. What he can’t ignore anymore is the memory of those two days in that shower stall and how every time he closes his eyes, he can smell the dirty water burning his nose hairs.

He slept like shit last night. The last of the meds wore off halfway, and he lapsed into a nightmare that woke him pantingand shivering. Counting the ceiling tiles two by two until he wasn’t stuck in some weird, nightmare-induced combination of the prison pod and his childhood home.

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