Page 22 of The Sharpest Edges

Dean used to have nightmares all the time until he’d taken to downing sleeping pills somewhere around age seventeen. He never dreamed after that. His brain couldn’t be trusted not to turn on him, so he preferred the bliss of a drug-induced black hole. He kept taking those for years until one day he’d forgotten and maybe enough time had passed, or he trained his brain by then, he’s not sure, but even without the pills, he slept just fine.

Until now. Until the monster guarding the key to all those dreams got kicked in the balls.

He hadn’t fallen back asleep last night, only laid there watching the view until the stars faded and sunrise lit up signs of life below. People coming and going from the office building across the street. Cars on the freeway making their daily commute half a mile to the left. The bus station spitting out bold green and white buses to pick up their morning passengers. The hustle and bustle had been soothing in a way. It pulled him back to reality until the previous night’s dreams felt distant and unreal.

Ava comes in sometime after eight am to offer his usual dose of pain medication and a cup of water, a bright smile on her face even though she can’t stay. She has a full schedule, and she’s gone again almost as quickly as she entered, but not before telling him she’s looking forward to their lunch.

He has plenty of time until she comes back to ponder that lunch and what the fuck he let slip out of his mouth the other day. How he almost flirted with her as if that’s a normalthing between them when it isn’t. He’s embarrassed and self-conscious, but the fact remains that she went with it and that has to mean something. So he goes over what he might say to her when she comes back because, for him, this stuff is easier when he rehearses it in his head first. He can’t go into it blind. It’s ten kinds of fucked up that he needs to rehearse a simple conversation to avoid saying something stupid or chasing her away, but here he is.

He lets his head flop back onto the pillow with a sigh, wishing he was better at what Boone used to call ‘wooing’ a woman, even if Dean doesn’t think anything Boone did could be called wooing.

Not that he plans to woo Ava. They are only friends. Friends who flirt just a little bit…

She is patient and encouraging and every time he moves further forward, she moves right along with him. That makes it simple to consider that he could have been wrong all those times he assumed no one could tolerate him, let alone feel something more.

When Ava shows up again, he has no time to worry about what to say or how to act because she breezes in with their food and settles into the chair by his bed like she belongs there.

“We really need some air. It’s such a lovely day.” She grabs a set of keys from her bag and gets up to unlock the bars on the window. She pulls them away to get at the glass behind them and pushes that open to welcome in a strong breeze.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he replies, convinced Nick is hiding on the other side of the closed door, with his ear pressed to the wood, ready to pounce.

She stares at the chain securing him to the bed. “I don’t think you’re going anywhere unless you can fit the whole bed through that window. It’s stuffy in here. I’m putting themback.”

She’s right. He couldn’t reach the window if he tried, and she locks the bars in place again a moment later.

“Oh, he’s back.” Ava points to the sidewalk below. “What did you say last time? Coffee? I think I said folders, right?”

Sure enough, the man from the other day has returned with even more junk.

“Ah, coffee I think.” Dean watches with rapt attention as the folders fall from under his arm, papers flying out from their outer shells and fluttering up into the wind.

“I won!” She smiles wide, all big eyes and spread hands and he snorts to himself at how fucking cute she is right now.

“Yeah, you did. Wanna go again?” That sounds vaguely dirty now that it’s come out of his mouth, but she lets it slide and so does he.

“Sure. I’m saying coffee next time.”

“Damn, you took my choice. I say he’ll trip. Just face plant and drop everything.”

“What? That was an option? I didn’t know that was an option.” She plants her hands on her hips in fake outrage. “There are rules to this game.”

“We’re makin’ up the rules as we go.”

She eyes him a second too long, shaking her head softly, her hair fluttering in the breeze. “Yeah, we are, aren’t we? Okay then, guess I should claim my prize.”

He ducks his head at her comment, watching her take up her spot again in the chair and start in on her food. Something she brought from home, a sandwich or a wrap. They’re being ridiculous with this dumb game, but nothing silly ever happens here, so they let it happen.

The air from the open window is fresh and cleanas it wafts by his face, highlighting their time together with the smell of rainwater and tree blossoms instead of bleach and antiseptic.

When she offers him dessert, another Hershey bar appearing out of thin air, he doesn’t hesitate to slide the chocolate pieces from her waiting palm. He is slow about it though, wanting to touch her, even as innocently as this, more than he wants the food. It could be too forward to let his fingertips graze her palm at such a deliberate pace, but she doesn’t pull away.

He gets a boost of confidence every time she allows his small efforts, and so when she eats her part of the candy bar, getting a spot of chocolate on the corner of her mouth, it shouldn’t be a shock that he feels emboldened.

“You’ve got some…” He mimics touching the area on his own face.

“Hmm?” She tries and fails at removing it herself, missing the spot.

“Here lemme—” He reaches out without putting much thought to the action, brushing his thumb over the chocolate on her soft skin and bringing the digit back to his mouth, sucking it clean.

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