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)
“Well, have at it. Lala’s looking for a three-way with her.”
His eyebrows shoot up with interest. “You’re sure?”
“I’m positive. Godspeed, brother.”
The noise around me rises to an intolerable level. I bump Eazy’s arm. “I’m gonna grab a drink.”
He follows me to the bar. A girl I don’t recognize is handing out beer and sodas. None of the fancy cocktails with cutesy names Serena used to make when she helped out here—before she met Grinder.
I flick my gaze to the rows of liquor bottles lining the back wall of the bar area and the mirror behind them. Through the sketchy lighting I catch a glimpse of a man I barely recognize. Unshaven, grim face. Eyes dark with regret I can’t shake.
Bonnie braces her hands against the bar and leans over. “What do you need, Jiggy?”
Nothing behind that bar. “A Coke is fine, hon. Thanks.”
A few seconds later, she passes me a red can. I take a sip, still rooted in place, staring at my reflection like it’ll give me answers.
All I see is a man surrounded by the life he knows who wants a woman that makes him question everything.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Margot
It’s been weeks since my last “class” with Jigsaw. Ugh. It feels stupid and desperate that I’m actually calling it that. Especially after he couldn’t get away from me fast enough. I’ve been tiptoeing around my own thoughts so I don’t dwell on why he’s been so distant. Anything to avoid triggering an avalanche of insecurities.
Why did I have to start feeling something for him—thinking it could be more than physical?
He’s sent me a few texts here and there—short, casual, meaningless. Like he’s sending them to some random woman he’s trying to let down easy. Nothing suggests he’s thinking about our lessons. It’s like he dropped me at the curb, and I’m getting more and more distant in his rearview mirror.
Am I overthinking things? Overreacting? I’m the one who asked for the lessons. Is he waiting for me to tell him I’m ready for another one?
Damn. Why is this so difficult?
Imagine how awful it’d be if this had been a genuine relationship.
I’m actually out of the house for once. On my way to meet my friend April to attend a class on The Modern Cremation Customer. Not exactly enthralling stuff, but necessary to keep my license. Except for the annual convention held at a casino a few hours west of us, my father prefers to do as many of these courses as he’s allowed online. I still prefer in-person lectures whenever I can. Who knows, maybe I’ll meet an under-thirty-five single guy while I’m there.
I spot April as soon as I pull into the parking lot. In her bright, butter-yellow dress, she’s hard to miss standing on the sidewalk in front of the entrance.
“Hi!” she shrieks and runs over the pavement to greet me as I step out of the car, holding my purse and a bag of supplies to get me through the morning. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.” Her body collides with mine in an exuberant hug, a wash of gardenia and something earthier filling my nose as I return the embrace.
She holds me at arm’s length. “You look so adorable. I love the pink dress.” She fingers the collar of my black cardigan with pink edging. “This is too cute.” A bright grin breaks out over her face as her gaze lands on my tiny black-and-gold All men are cremated equal pin. “Stop it!” she squeals. “Oh my God, that’s hilarious for this class.”
“I know, right?” I return the grin, lock my door and slam it shut. “I love the dress.” I nod at her sleeveless cotton poplin dress with thick straps and a modest, square neckline. “Aren’t you worried you’ll be cold in there, though?”
She holds up a white-and-yellow tote bag. “I have a sweater in here.”
As soon as we step into the large lecture room, we stand out. Almost all our peers are twenty or more years older and dressed in professional attire at the darker end of the spectrum. April and I circulate around the room for a few minutes, saying hello to colleagues. Most people know my father and ask how he’s doing. We run into a few of our college classmates and after they share a few horror stories about job-hunting, guilt settles over me. I never had to worry about resumes and interviews.
“You okay?” April touches my shoulder.
“Oh, yes.” I force a bright smile. “I think my dad’s tough on me until I hear what everyone else is going through.”
“Yeah, I think I got lucky too. I love my place. They’re actually open to new suggestions and moving forward.”
We find seats in the last row at the back of the room. The lights dim and I bend down to pull a small notepad and a pen out of my tote bag.