Chapter 9
Now that Ava has unlimited access to Dean, she isn’t quite sure what to do with it.
It’s only the first day, but she’s tempted to pop in and check on him more than she needs to. It’s silly, and she’s tamped the urge back down and ignored it so far. She only shows up to give him his meds in the morning, twice the original dose.
Except now here she is, grabbing his food from the cafeteria, making certain to take an extra dinner roll and a heaping spoonful of mashed potatoes. Today’s offering doesn’t look half bad, but someone else could take this to him. One of the guards like they’re supposed to, but she already waved off the guard on duty and given herself this responsibility. Too late to turn back now.
It’s only lunch. No harm in that. She has the time off anyway and he needs that extra roll.
When she enters the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click, she’s struck by how much better he looks already. He’s on a long chain attached to one wrist, only long enough to reach the bathroom and the bed. It’s something she might see on a circus animal and she wants nothing more than to remove it. She doesn’t, of course. They’ve broken plenty of rules so far, but that one is a hard line and she needs this job, so she ignores the restraints.
He looks surprised that she’s the one bringing him food, propping himself up against the pillows stacked behind his back. “That smells great.”
He’s not wrong, it does smell good. She almost grabbed some mashed potatoes for herself. It’s a perk of the job, if it can be called that, to take whatever she wants from the meal area. She’ll make do with the chocolate bar tucked into her pocket though. Hardly has time for a full meal with the influx of patients coming in that afternoon.
“You got lucky today. Someone back there knows how to cook,” she says with a wink as he slides his food closer on the rolling table.
It’s only then that this all becomes more awkward than she anticipated. Should she stay? Leave him alone?
She lingers, uncertain, fingers tapping against the side of her legs while she thinks up some excuse to leave, something about meds or supplies or whatever else seems logical even though she doesn’t need an excuse, and leaving is the last thing she wants to do. Dean’s been cooped up in the cell block for over a month. He might want some privacy to enjoy some of this newfound freedom.
But then he proves her wrong in a single sentence. “Can you stay? Just for a while?”
He may want her to stay, but she can tell that extending that offer was difficult for him. He speaks it after swallowing a mouthful of food and making an effort to use his napkin. Trying his best to mind his manners around her.
She nods her agreement to stay a second later, finding a stiff chair to sink into like it’s common practice for her to hang out with an inmate.
“How is it back here so far?” she asks while pulling out the Hershey bar she tucked away earlier.
“It’s good, real good. Got a window, a real one. Can see people doin’ shit out there. Got pillows and it’s clean. Damn, I ain’t even been in the pod too long and that stuff already feels special. Dunno how the ones who have been here years handle it.”
She can’t imagine it either. Isn’t sure what she would do or how she’d handle it if someone threw her in a place like this and never let her leave. Prison isn’t supposed to be a vacation, but what happens here sounds like a nightmare. “I would think that eventually, it becomes a new normal, but getting to that point is the rough part. The ones in solitary have it the worst though. There was this one guy who’d been in the hole for four months and when he came out…I’ve never seen someone look like that.”
Dean nods, thoughtfully. “Glad I never ended up there. All this don’t seem so bad when I compare it to being stuck in a cell alone for months. No daylight, no nothing.”
She frowns then, feeling like he took that the wrong way and assumed she was trying to show him he didn’t have it as bad as he thought. “I didn’t mean it like that. What happened to you wasn’t okay, either.”
“I know you didn’t,” is all he says in response, watching her a moment before turning back to his food again. His eyes land on her candy bar before skipping away and she smiles as the crinkly paper comes off, echoing throughout the room.
“Want some?”
He shakes his head right away, already having finished most of his meal. The smile he gives her is a little too easy, a little too quick. It reminds her that he’s had twice the meds as usual now that he doesn’t have to wait days in between and that might have him feeling really, really good. “Nah, happy enough with that extra dinner roll.”
He noticed. Of course he did.
Her skin flushes warm and her lips quirk into a teasing half grin. “Come on, you’re gonna say no to dessert?”
She’s already broken a hundred rules already. What’s one more? A small piece of chocolate isn’t going to be their smoking gun. She holds it out to him, three full squares of sickly sweet candy, and when he reaches out to take it, his fingertips brush her palm, sparking a tingle as he drags the food from her hand.
They already touched before when she’d held him the other day, trying her best to calm someone who could hardly catch his breath, but this feels different….better….even more forbidden. It feels like flirting instead of comfort and it’s been so long since she flirted with anyone, or had anyone flirt with her, that she wonders if she even knows how to do it anymore. That sort of thing isn’t like riding a bike and she hasn’t been practicing this skill.
He pops the chocolate in his mouth and his eyes darken in her direction before he looks away again, his drug-induced bravery only going so far. “How’s it going with the car? They fix it up?”
Mention of the car puts a scowl on her face and a roll in her eyes, her tone sarcastic. “Oh, they fixed it and then broke something else. There’s an oil leak now. I took some pictures for you, only if you want to see them.”
“I always wanna see ‘em,” he says quickly before she can second guess her offer.
She can tell he means it too by the eager look on his face while she fishes out her phone and scrolls to the right section.
“What the—” He pauses to snort out a laugh. “The hell did they even do? Like someone drove a damn screwdriver into it.” That’s not a mistake, that’s on purpose. They want you to come back so they can charge you again.
Ava frowns, shaking her head with a laugh of her own because of course the shop fucked her over. She should have known from the last time, when she came back with a tiny dent in the door that they convinced her had already been there. “I’ll leave it there next time. Forever. Just park it in their lot and then it’s their problem.”
“You drive it a lot?” he asks curiously, white teeth snaking out to catch on his lower lip.
“No. It’s parked in the driveway most days.”
She thinks he wants to ask her why she keeps it if she never drives it but she’s glad he doesn’t. She isn’t ready to spill her soul to him yet, especially not about something so sad when they’re supposed to be having a nice lunch.
“If you can wait, then lemme take a look when I get out. I can fix it without breaking somethin’, I promise.”
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 get a 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.