Page 96 of There Are No Saints

Sonia’s eyes narrow as comprehension sweeps over my face.

“Spill it,” she says.

I’m saved from further interrogation by Cole reappearing with a hard cider in each hand.

“What about me?” Sonia complains.

“You’re drunk enough already.”

I gulp my cider, wanting to calm the uncomfortable pounding of my heart.

“Take it easy,” Cole says.

Whenever he barks an order at me, it makes me want to do the exact opposite. I wasn’t going to take another gulp, but now that he said that, I take three more in quick succession.

Is it because I want to see that stiffening of his face? The way his pupils expand and his jaw flexes, creating a beautiful tension on the bow of his lip . . .

He grips my arm with iron-hard fingers.

“Don’t fucking test me,”he hisses.

Why do I like that?

Why is warmth flushing all the way down my legs?

Jesus, I’m so fucked up.

The alcohol is providing me with newfound bravery. And newfound honesty with myself.

I want Cole. I want him like money, like success, like achievement. I want him much more than I want other supposed necessities: safety, for instance. Or sanity.

“Dance with me,” I say, pulling him out in the press of people.

Sinner —DEZI

Spotify → geni.us/no-saints-spotify

Apple Music → geni.us/no-saints-apple

I’m curious to see Cole dance. While I have no doubt his taste in music is as refined as the rest of him, that’s not the same thing as having rhythm.

The question evaporates from my mind the instant his hands make contact with my skin.

Cole’s touch is electric. For all his coldness of manner, his actual body burns like a nuclear reactor—destructive heat radiating from the inside out.

I’m terrified of the energy contained inside him. I have no illusions that it’s under my control.

Cole pulls me against him. His hands slip around my waist, his thigh presses between mine, our hips align. He holds me at the base of my neck and the small of my back. I’m a rabbit in his hands: helpless, heart racing.

He lets his lips graze against the side of my neck, his hot breath singeing my skin.

“I shouldn’t give you what you want when you’re being bratty . . .” he murmurs in my ear. “I’m not going to dance with you at all unless you behave yourself.”

“I came to this party with you, didn’t I?”

“You didn’t do that for me,” he growls. “Youwantto be here with me. Youwantto be dancing with me.”

“So do you,” I retort.

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