“You mean aside from the big ‘FUCK YOU’ you’ve got tattooed on your forehead?” He gestures at my face with his hand. I purse my lips. “Oh, so you can see it. Good. For a minute there, I thought it must have washed off in the shower.” “Nope. You were giving that guy all the signs to fuck right off. Not to mention you were practically falling off your stool to get away. Then I saw him touch you,” he mutters, his mood shifting from sad to mad. “I saw you flinch.” I stiffen, feeling the ghost of that unwanted touch between my shoulders. “I hate guys like that,” he says, taking another sip of his
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