Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 132321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
I’m staring off into the woods, wondering if I can hide until it’s time to go home when a shadow falls over me.
“Look who it is, our little last responder.” Jigsaw’s rich, low voice slides over my skin like velvet. “What are you doing over here?”
I glance up into his amused eyes, my breath stuttering in my lungs. My heart pitter-patters faster and heat races over my skin. This is ridiculous. I’ve never responded to any man this way before.
“Thirsty.” I hold up the half-empty can.
His lips quirk. “Sprite?” He chuckles. “You want wine or something? There’s a table over there.” He lifts his chin toward one of the barns.
Is he making fun of me? “I don’t drink.”
“Ever?”
“Not when you’ve had as many results of DWI on your table as I have.”
“Shit.” He runs his hand through his hair. “Yeah. Makes sense.”
“Where’s your wife?” I sip my soda casually while watching his face.
“My what?” His eyebrows draw down and he rears back. “Why would you think I’m married?”
“Or girlfriend.”
“You’re misinformed.” He snorts. “I don’t do relationships, sweetheart.”
I turn, scanning the backyard, but it’s so crowded now, it’s hard to search. “The pretty blonde.” I curve my hand in front of my stomach. “Who looks ready to give birth any day.”
“Serena?” He laughs, then quickly looks around. “Jesus. She’s my SAA’s ol’ lady.”
“She wasn’t old.”
He shakes his head quickly. “That’s just what we…never mind. Serena’s my friend. She’s Grinder’s fiancée. Christ.” He casts another quick glance around our immediate area. “He hears you say that, the grumpy old goat might gut me.”
I can’t tell if he’s joking or actually afraid of one of his brothers sticking him with a knife.
“Wait.” I clap my hand over my mouth and giggle. “I thought he was her dad,” I whisper.
His mouth flattens. “Whatever you do, don’t say that to him. Please.”
I nod quickly, unsure of why that seemed so funny. “Of course not.”
Jigsaw tilts his head. “Are you okay?”
Suddenly, my legs feel kinda rubbery. “I think so.” I clutch my stomach, willing the swirly sensation to go away.
“You get too much sun?” he asks.
Burning shame pulses over my cheeks. Is he making fun of me the way people have my whole life? “Just because I live in a funeral home doesn’t mean I’m a ghoul who never sees the sun.” Why did that sound sad rather than the angry I was going for?
He stares at me with comically round eyes. I’d laugh if I wasn’t so itchy with embarrassment.
“No. It’s hot.” He waves his hand toward the chairs we sat in for the ceremony. “That’s why Serena said she didn’t feel well.”
“Well, I’m not pregnant.”
He rakes his gaze over me. “No, but you are pretty.”
When he drags his eyes back to my face, they’re heartbreakingly sincere.
Heat bursts over my skin. “Thank you.” My legs wobble. I’ve been fine in my heels all day. Why are they now a problem?
Jigsaw frowns again. “Are you sure you’re okay? Have you eaten anything today?”
“Just one of the brownies the guy who helped us park handed out…Sparky?”
“Nooo.” Jigsaw squeezes his eyes shut. “Fuck.”
“What? He was very nice.”
“Come here.” He clasps my elbow and steers me toward a small, round picnic bench set up under an old maple tree, even farther away from the guests.
“Their yard is so pretty.” I carefully slip my leg over the bench and sit as ladylike as possible, tucking my full skirt around my legs. “It’s like they have their own park or something.”
“Teller’s a country boy. He’s always doing one project or another around here.” Jigsaw settles onto the bench next to me. “Sometimes he ropes us into helping.”
“That’s nice of you.”
“Not that nice. I don’t do it often.” He laughs. “Rooster keeps me busy enough at his place.”
“You live together?” I gasp and lean in, lowering my voice. “Are you a couple?”
He scowls. “Couple of what? Bikers? Friends since elementary school? Yes and yes.”
“Sorry, that was rude.” I press my hand to my forehead. “I feel so fuzzy.”
“When’d you eat that brownie?”
I shrug. “I dunno. During the ceremony. After.”
“Shit,” he mutters.
“What.”
“You said you don’t drink.” His lips quirk into a teasing grin. “I’m guessing you don’t indulge in the devil’s lettuce, either?”
I lean in closer. “You mean smoke weed?” I half whisper, half gasp. “Never.”
“Satan’s balls.” He laughs and shakes his head. “Seriously?”
The pieces of whatever puzzle he’s offering aren’t clicking into place fast enough for me.
“You ate a pot brownie, Margot.” He lifts an eyebrow. “You’re going to be flying high for a while.”
Horror and indignation battle inside me, but indignation wins. “Don’t give me the eyebrow raise of judgment.” I lift my head in a haughty manner. “I didn’t know the brownie was laced with,” I pause and cast a shifty gaze from side to side. “Laced with pot,” I finish in a hushed whisper.