Page 32 of There Are No Saints

His hand hangs against my bare arm, his fingertips making erratic contact with the skin. Every time they do, I flinch like an insect has landed on me.

“Then he shouldn’t have gotten a big dog,” I say irritably.

“He already did, though. So . . .” Josh shrugs, as if that’s all there is to say about that.

“Then maybe he should give Bruno to somebody who actually gives a fuck about him,” I say through gritted teeth.

“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?”

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