Page 22 of Soulless Saint

I laughed as the song changed to one by Halsey, and Toby started drumming the wheel and wiggling his ass in the seat. How he was this happy all the time without drugs was beyond me.

Shaking my head at him, I tugged a joint from my purse. One of the last ones I’d rolled from my remaining stash last week. I put it to my lips, lifting a brow in question at Toby. “You mind?”

“Please,” he urged. “As long as you’re sharing.”

I grinned.

We were going to be friends, I decided. He didn’t have a choice.

I took a long inhale, trying to ignore the slight staleness of the pot from sitting in my purse for so long in an unsealed container, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and this was my second to last one.

Toby took it from between my fingers only a second after I pulled it from my lips. He put it to his own and sucked, filling his lungs before coughing harshly, cutting me a pained look between spurts. He handed it back. “Fuck, babe,” he wheezed. “You call that pot?”

“It’s been sitting in my purse for a minute, sorry.”

I took another drag, deciding he was right. It really did taste like shit. I put it out in the ashtray below the sound system dials in his old Toyota, waving the smoke out the window.

Toby drank greedily from a bottle of sprite in the cupholder, making a face before he set it back down and patted my thigh. “Don’t worry, babe, I’ve got you. We’ll get you some proper green.”

I sagged with relief in my seat, putting my hand to my chest as I batted my lashes at him. “My hero. Saving my ass twice in one day… how could I ever repay you?”

He lifted his brows, jerking his chin to the street ahead.

I followed his gaze, finding an American Craftsman style house at the end of a cul de sac. But the large hunter green and deep mahogany home wasn’t what drew my attention. It was the people scattered over the front lawn, filling the porch where the large carved door stood ajar.

The thrum of good bass and the smell of good booze beckoned us in a warm welcoming wave.

“You can repay me by helping me catch a Saint.”

“A what?”

A flash of unease flicked up my spine, pushing me forward in my seat as Toby parked the car down the street from the house and checked his hair in the rearview.

He winked at me instead of answering, oblivious to my sudden apprehension.

I misheard him.

I must’ve misheard him.

He probably just meant that the guy was a saint, not a Saint. I shook my head, but still my throat was dry.

“Toby?” I prodded again, wanting to be certain, but he was already stepping out of the car, the body of the vehicle rocking as he shut the door behind him.

He tapped twice on the window, making me jump before I heard his voice call, “You coming, babe?”

I followed Toby up the street, jogging to catch up with him. He held his arm out, looping it through mine. “So, do you prefer tacos or hotdogs? Or are you more of a food is food type of lady?”

It took me half a second, but once I understood what he was asking, I laughed. “I’m fasting at the moment,” I replied. “But when I’m not, I’m a hotdog girl. Though I’ve sampled some pretty good tacos, too, so…”

I shrugged.

He nodded appreciatively.

“Yeah, hotdogs can be vicious. I totally get the fasting.”

“Don’t underestimate tacos. They can be just as vicious.”

“Speaking from experience?”

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