“Hey, at least my plan worked,” he muses as I use alcohol wipes to clean off the cut and then some gauze to dry it off. “What plan was that?” I ask, smoothing the Band-Aid down. “Getting hurt so a handsome man would save me.” The playful lilt in his voice tugs at everything inside me, unraveling and loosening things that shouldn’t be unraveled or loosened when I know he doesn’t really mean it. “Sorry it wasn’t the right handsome man,” I say wryly, looking up and offering him a crooked half-smile.
