There Are No Saints (Sinners Duet #1)(21)

“What, like you?” Josh laughs. “You can barely feed yourself.”

I scoot my chair forward so his arm falls off the back.

“I can feed myself fine,” I say. “Just not caprese salad every day.”

Josh snorts. “I’ve seen your shelf at the house. You’ve got like half a box of Captain Crunch and a can of soup.”

“I love soup,” I inform him.

“Poor people always like soup,” Josh says, grinning at me.

He reaches out to tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. His fingertips graze the rim of my ear, the middle one dipping in toward the canal. I jolt like I’ve been electrocuted.

“Jesus!” Josh says. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Don’t touch my ears, I fucking hate that,” I snarl. “I’ve told you that before.”

“I was touching your hair,” Josh rolls his eyes.

“Just stay away from them,” I snap.

I lean back in my chair, arms crossed protectively over my chest, breathing hard. My heart is racing again.

I know I’m being a spaz. I know I’m overreacting. But I can’t seem to stop.

The waitress drops off the appetizers.

Josh devours the salad.

I eat half the pork belly, which is hot, crisp, and delicious. You can’t beat the food in San Francisco. Unless you want to drive up to wine county, where the farm-to-table food is an hour out of the garden. Josh has taken me to Sonoma when he’s flush with cash from a bougie wedding.

The food calms me down a little, and it seems to improve Josh’s mood too. Or he remembered the reason I might be a little more jumpy than usual.

“Hey,” he says. “Sorry about the ear thing. You have told me that.”

“It’s fine,” I say. “Sorry for snapping at you.”

“Why’s it bug you so much?” he says, spearing another slice of tomato and popping it in his mouth.

I push my plate away, not looking at him. “No reason. They’re just sensitive.”

Josh rests his hand on my bare thigh, giving me a half-smile.

“How about there? Can I touch you there?”

Honestly, even his warm palm against my thigh makes my stomach clench. But I was kind of being a dick before, so I force myself to smile back at him.

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

He slides his hand up a little further under my skirt, smiling wider. “How about there?”

Now my own smile feels rigid on my face, hardening like plaster.

He slides his hand all the way up to my crotch, his fingers grazing my pussy lips.

“Oh, you naughty little whore . . .” he murmurs, under his breath. “You’re not wearing any underwear . . .”

He thinks I did it for him.

I’m in the ridiculous position of wanting to shove his hand away when it appears that this is exactly what I wanted.

Under the cover of the table, he rubs his fingers back and forth across my slit, his middle finger grazing my clit. It feels good like it always feels good to be touched there, even though I don’t really want this. My throat constricts and my face burns. I feel like everyone seated at the tables around us knows what he’s doing, and the waitress knows too. They can all see me blushing.

Josh leans over and murmurs, way too close to my ear, “Maybe we should skip the rest of dinner . . .”

I clamp my legs together, shoving his hand away.

“Actually,” I say, “I’ve got to get back home. I’ve got this project I’m working on. It’s, uh . . . I just have to go.”

I stand up from the table, almost knocking my chair over backward.

Josh is staring at me like I’ve lost my mind. He might be right.

“You’re gonna leave. Right now. In the middle of dinner,” he says.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry,” I say.

I snatch up my purse, throwing it over my shoulder.

“Just . . . here,” I throw down twelve dollars that I can ill afford to spare.

It’s the wrong thing to do. Josh is more offended than if I’d just stuck him with the check.

Too bad— I hurry out of the restaurant, back down Frederick Street, all the way back to my house.

I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me.

This isn’t the first time I’ve been irritated by the way a man touches me—actually, it happens a lot. I have sensory issues, sound and touch affecting me worst. Tonight I’m keyed up ten times worse than usual. I feel like Peter Parker right after he gets bitten by the radioactive spider, when the onrush of super senses almost makes his brain explode.

I can still feel the hot moisture of Josh’s breath in my ear, and the patch on my arm where his fingers tickled me.

I can hear the shrill sound of Frank’s electric toothbrush, and the irritating buzz of the ceiling fan in the living room. Even the irregular clank, clank of its little metal chain swinging against the light.

I clamp my hands over my ears, but it doesn’t block out the sounds.

Breathing hard, I grab my headphones and turn on my music full blast.

Flopping down on my mattress, I try to lay still.

Sweat begins to trickle down between my breasts. This room is fucking stifling; it must be a hundred degrees.

I’m sleeping outside tonight. I have to.