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 shove the book back on the shelf and jam my phone in my pocket.
Margot steps inside. The fiery edge she had earlier seems to have disappeared, replaced with something more vulnerable and tired. Tired of the world and tired of bullshit. Probably my bullshit in particular.
“Hey, that was quicker than I expected,” I greet her. “The food isn’t here yet.”
She closes her door and rubs her temples. “They finally settled on the casket you guys brought upstairs for us,” she rasps. “So, thank you again for doing that.”
I want to go to her and wrap her up in my arms, but I also want her to come to me to look for comfort. “Not a problem.”
Gretel runs to Margot and twirls around her legs for a few seconds, then runs away again.
My phone buzzes and I pull it out. “Food’s on its way. I’m going to run downstairs.” I pause. “That okay or am I going to run into your dad?”
“No, he went home. Paul’s around though, but he won’t mind if you’re here.” She tugs her cardigan off. “I’m going to change.”
“Okay.” I meet her by the door. She stares up at me, expecting what?
Fuck it. I need her body against mine. I pull her into my arms. At first, she’s stiff and resistant. But then she softens and slides her arms around my waist.
The hard knot of tension in my chest finally loosens. I’ve missed having her in my arms.
“I’m sorry I called you a fuckboy,” she murmurs against my chest.
Deep, rumbling laughter eases out of me. I kiss the top of her head. “I’m sorry I’ve been acting like one.”
Margot
Danger. I shouldn’t trust Jigsaw again. But he’s here now. He came back. That’s enough. I’m a big girl. It’s not his responsibility to protect my heart.
Hugging him, being held against his body feels too good. Familiar, comfortable, exciting. A spark I haven’t felt since the last time I saw him lights me up inside.
His phone dings.
I pull away as he grabs it and checks the screen. “Food’s here.” He squeezes my shoulder. “I’ll be right back.”
“Okay.” I hurry into my bedroom and strip off my dress, hanging it on a hook by my closet. I slip into a loose pair of soft, stretchy pants and a T-shirt.
For several stomach-churning moments, I stand frozen in my bedroom. Should I have put on something nicer? Sexier?
What are we going to talk about?
I’m in the kitchen gathering dishes and silverware when Jigsaw returns, holding a stack of white cardboard boxes and a grease-stained white paper bag. “How much did you order?”
He sets the pile on my counter and rubs his fingers over his chest. “A little bit of everything.”
I pull down my prettiest plates. Cream stoneware with black leaves and acorns around the edges. I’ve only had a chance to use them once since I bought them. Did he get drinks too? I pluck my tall black beaded glass tumblers down, setting them on the counter with a thud.
Jigsaw comes up behind me and slides his hands over my hips, pressing himself against my back. Warmth pulses against my exposed shoulder and neck as he leans over and drags his lips against my sensitive skin. Sensation shoots straight to my nipples and I sigh, leaning against him.
“Is this lesson number three?” I ask between shaky breaths.
He withdraws his hands and cold air rushes in to replace his warmth. “Dinnertime.” He pats my behind and reaches past me to grab the plates.
What just happened?
I take the glasses and follow him to the other side of the counter. “I’m sorry I don’t have a proper dining table. I never bothered—”
“It’s fine.” He eases onto one of the high stools and pats his hand on the other one. “Come sit next to me.”
“Of course.” I hop up, twisting the swiveling seat so our knees touch. “Show me what you got.”
He flicks open one of the smaller boxes. “Calzone. You didn’t specify what fillings you like, so I just got plain cheese and ricotta.”
My mouth waters. “That’s my favorite. I usually only eat half, though.”
“Good to know.” He sets the calzone on my plate, then locates a small container of sauce and sets it in front of me.
“I feel like nothing else will be as exciting now,” he teases, opening up a white plastic container. “Hot wings. Pepperoni pizza. I’m a pretty basic fella.”
“I like basic.” I tap the perfectly golden crust of my calzone. “This is really just a big pizza pocket.”
I cut the calzone in half and twirl my fork in the gooey cheese that oozes out. “Do you want half?”
“I’ll try a piece.”
I cut one piece into half and use my fork to set it on his plate.
“Thanks.”
I thought I’d be nervous sharing a meal with him in my house but it’s easy and cozy. From going out before, I already know he never comments or criticizes what or how much I eat.