Rough Around the Edges by Ranae Rose Page A

and her breath rushed against his ear.
    He was doing it again – living in the past, a few moments behind her, behind everyone.
    “You need to sit back down.”
    She gripped him by the arm, her two-handed hold firm around his bicep. She actually pulled him to his feet, more or less – he put as much effort into standing as he could, but there was no denying that she steadied him.
    He swore as she guided him toward the couch. What did it matter? The night was already shit, and if he hadn’t scared her off by yelling ‘fuck’ loud enough that it had probably been heard on all four floors, what was a little more swearing?
    When the edge of the couch bumped his knee he sank down onto it. This time, he wouldn’t drift off or become lost inside his own head. He’d stay awake for every miserable moment that passed until she left.
    “Wait right here,” she said, “I’m going to get a towel.”
    It was a surprise when she actually returned with one less than a minute later. It was one of the hand towels from the bathroom closet – it was lucky that he’d even had a clean one in there.
    “Here.” She held the towel aloft. “For your head. If you’ll just move your hand…”
    He’d been pressing his palm over the wound by his temple in an effort to keep from staining the carpet and couch with blood.
    The stuff welled out and began to stream down his face as soon as he removed his hand.
    Ally pressed the towel against his head, stanching the flow.
    He was still as she lifted and then quickly replaced it. “I’m no expert, but you might want to think about stiches.”
    “No. No, I’m not going anywhere.”
    “Are you sure? I could drive you. You have to be in so much pain.”
    “I’m sure. I’ve got butterfly bandages in the medicine cabinet.” There had to be at least a couple left.
    “If you can hold the towel against your head, I’ll go look for those butterfly bandages.”
    He raised a hand, negotiating her soft skin and the cheap towel’s rough cotton weave. When he had a good hold on it, she let go.
    “Let me see that towel.” She was back before he knew it, taking the towel and taking over, wetting it with water from the kitchen sink and pressing it to his head again, washing the blood away.
    “All done,” she said after pressing the bandage in place.
    He could feel it holding his parted skin together, and blood was no longer tricking past his hairline and down his face. “Thanks.”
    “No problem.” She pursed her lips as she looked at him, her gaze drifting back and forth between the bandage and the kitchen, as if she were wondering whether another trip there would demolish her handiwork. “Was there something you wanted from the kitchen?”
    “A glass of water.” It seemed like a stupid thing to admit now, after all the trouble it had caused.
    “I’ll get it for you.”
    She swept out of the room. The only hurry she seemed to be in was a hurry to help him. Had she called a cab? No, it would’ve arrived already, and she would’ve said something about it.
    He accepted the glass she brought him, his fingers brushing hers, and drank it all.
    “More?” she asked.
    “No.”
    She took the glass back to the kitchen.
    Just like he hadn’t been able to stop her from helping him, he couldn’t stop his eyes from closing, or exhaustion from consuming him, shielding him from whatever unbearably nice thing she’d do next.
     
* * * * *
 
     
    When he opened his eyes, it was only to find himself inside another dream. He was on the couch, not his bed, which wasn’t really that weird, but Ally was beside him, and that sure as hell was. She was slumped against the cushions and her fingers were curled inside the shelter of his. He didn’t pull his hand away, but raised his other one and raked it over his skull, through his hair. He was hot from sleeping in his jacket, his hair was damp with sweat and—
    Fuck . His fingertips hit a speed bump in the form of a bandage, right above his temple. A