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)
No. I can’t do that. What if that gets Jigsaw in trouble with his boss or president or whatever. It’s not fair to get him in trouble because I embarrassed myself.
“Why me?” he finally asks.
I risk meeting his eyes. They’re round with curiosity and…interest? “I, uh, like you.”
“You don’t even know me.”
I know him well enough. I shrug. “I feel safe around you.”
“You shouldn’t,” he mutters.
“I felt safe enough to sleep on you.” All my pride travels south. This isn’t going well. “You don’t seem to judge me. Well, at least up until now.”
“Judge you how?”
I shrug. “You know, for ‘playing with dead people’.”
He winces. Maybe I’m wrong. Does he think I’m a weirdo? And he’s only being nice to me because he has to?
“You make an honest living and you help people through a rough time,” he finally says. “Why would I judge you for that?”
“You’d be surprised the things people say.”
“People are assholes.”
I huff a sad laugh. “No arguments there.”
Jigsaw
Why does considering Margot’s proposal rocket my heart rate into the red zone? She’s an absolutely fascinating puzzle. Shy but brave. Smart and compassionate, but somehow sheltered too. So innocent she’s never been high in her life but bold enough to ask me to teach her about sex.
I want to collect and study every piece of this woman.
She slides her tongue against her bottom lip and my cock reacts as if the gesture was an invitation, hardening behind my zipper. I shift on the slippery blanket and force the images of all the places I’d like her pretty pink tongue to visit aside.
“You’re a good guy,” she whispers. “I knew it the second we met. I guess that’s why.”
Good guy my ass. If she knew all the wicked things I’m picturing doing to her, she wouldn’t think there’s an ounce of goodness in me. And if she knew all the horrors that lurk in my mind, or all the violent deeds I’ve been part of—and enjoyed—she’d probably run screaming all the way back to Pine Hollow.
“If you say so.” Man, I was not expecting this today. First, having her fall asleep on my leg. Now asking me to teach her to fuck.
She always looks so prim and proper, comes from a prominent family, yet she had no problem being around the club today. She likes Sparky, even though he accidentally got her high.
High…fuck! That’s why she made that ridiculous request. It’s Sparky’s latest strain talking.
“You were nice enough to sit here with me while I slept. You must’ve been so bored. You missed the party because of me.”
I’ve been to enough parties in my life. And once Z heard what happened to Margot, he was more than fine with me sitting this one out.
More importantly, I’m almost never able to settle down and be still. Even when I sleep, it’s violent and fitful. But with Margot, sitting here and watching her, it was so easy.
“That’s not a reason to have sex with someone,” I point out.
She shrugs. “Why not?”
This is insane. She can’t possibly be serious. “It doesn’t bother you that I’m a biker?”
“Why does that matter?” Her gaze shifts toward a row of bikes backed up against the side of Teller’s house. “As long as I don’t have to ride, it’s fine.”
“You’ve never been on a motorcycle?”
Her steady, sincere gaze drills into me. In the low afternoon sunlight, it’s hard to make out the color of her eyes. An interesting blend of blue and green with gold flecks.
What the fuck. I’ve never studied the color of a woman’s eyes with this much curiosity before.
“No. Unfortunately, I’ve seen one too many results of motorcycle accidents.” Her tone’s so solemn. So serious. Almost like she’s about to cry.
Normally, if some citizen pointed out the dangers of motorcycles, I might look them dead in the eye and say something like, “Yeah and if I stab you in the face with a pencil right now, for the rest of your life you can tell people how dangerous pencils are.” Or if I’m not feeling stabby, something trite like, “I’m not here for a long time, I’m here for a good time.” A good, hard fuck-off stare and, “Not as dangerous as not minding your own business” always works too.
But Margot? Damn, I bet she’s seen some gnarly shit. I don’t want to make light of that. Besides, she’s not trying to convince me that I shouldn’t ride. Just telling me that she doesn’t want to. I can respect that.
“What, you’re not going to try and convince me that it’s perfectly safe?” she asks.
“No, I know it’s dangerous,” I answer. “But I’m not distracted by my phone or fucking with the radio when I ride. I keep my eyes peeled for hazards, like other drivers, which is usually the biggest threat to bikers. I wear a helmet and I never ride impaired.”