Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

Margot

Silence rules the rest of the ride to my house.

Why did I say that about Griff? To make Jigsaw jealous so that he'd say yes to my proposal?

It's like I've been on a downward doom spiral ever since I saw Daniel. You're like a corpse in bed just keeps replaying in my head on an endless loop. If I could just find someone to learn or practice with, so that when I meet the right guy, I won't be a disappointment to him maybe I wouldn't feel so damn awful.

"You know there are dating apps," Jigsaw says.

Spoken like someone who hasn't been on a dating app recently. "I don't want to date ."

"There are escorts. Male escorts."

"I couldn't be so…intimate with a stranger. I'd be too self-conscious to actually learn anything."

He lets out a strangled groan. "What makes you think I'd be a good teacher?"

Now he's just irritating me. "Well, you're a good-looking man in a motorcycle club that surrounds itself with beautiful women. I assume you're experienced. But if you're not, just say that."

"Oh, I'm experienced, baby." He casts a dark look my way that sends a thrill to each of my erogenous zones. "How many men have you slept with?"

"That seems personal."

"You wanna use me as your sex coach. That's kinda personal."

"I don't want to use you." Okay, maybe I do. "It's not like you get nothing out of it."

"As you so sweetly pointed out, I can go bust a nut in any random woman hanging around my club."

"Gross," I mutter.

We're finally cruising down my street, and I sit up. The house is dark. Dad isn't back yet. Jigsaw pulls into the parking lot and stops the car right in front of the porch stairs.

"Will you come in and let me make you coffee?" I offer. "It's a long drive back."

His lips twist into a wry grin. "Is that your way of saying you don't want me to stay over?"

My hand's on the door latch but I turn and stare at him. "You…you want to start tonight?"

He stares at me for a few beats. "No, probably not. We should discuss a few things, first."

"Uh, that doesn't sound pleasant."

The solemn look on his face sends my stomach into my shoes. He's not having sex with me. I made an ass out of myself at the wedding. Blubbering that I'm bad in bed and need tutoring. What grown man wants to deal with that? He probably only humored me because I was high.

High or not, we had a bit of a connection, right? I didn't hallucinate the interest sparking in his eyes.

I'm keenly aware of him at my back as we approach the porch steps.

Bright, golden light floods the immediate area around the porch.

"Christ, those are blinding." Jigsaw throws his arm up to cover his eyes. "Glad you have them, though."

"Sometimes we get people creeping around, thinking we have drugs or valuables they can steal," I explain.

I grip the handrail and carefully pull myself up the steps, still feeling a bit unsteady in my heels.

"Seriously?" he asks. "Trying to rob a funeral home? Feels like bad karma."

"You'd think." I sigh. "I hate to sound like my father, but people don't have a lot of respect for the dead or those who tend to them anymore."

"People don't fear being punched in the face as much as they should anymore, either."

I chuckle at his blunt, violent observation. "That's a colorful way to put it."

I slip my key into the lock and push the door open. Inside, I hurry to the alarm panel and punch in the code.

The door closes behind Jigsaw with a heavy thunk .

I toe off my heels and stack them neatly on the first step of the staircase leading upstairs.

"What's up there?" Jigsaw asks.

"Well, the second floor used to be the family living quarters when I was a kid. Now, there's a parlor we use sometimes for overflow guests and a room for kiddos who are having a hard time with the solemn nature of events down here. My cousin's suite is at the end of the hall. My apartment is on the third floor."

"Where does your dad live?"

"Next door."

"Ahhh." He nods slowly. "So you're in this big house all by yourself most of the time?"

He seems to be asking out of concern for my safety, not because he wants to stay the night without my family knowing. Maybe I should be insulted, but for some reason that makes me like him even more.

And makes me feel worse that I tried to treat him like my own personal sex worker.

"Paul lives here. He's on call too. But we both kind of do our own thing in our down-time."

"When will your dad be back from the call?" he asks.

I shrug. "It's hard to say. Depends on where it was and the paperwork involved. It could be hours before he returns here with the body, or any minute."

He throws a glance at the back door. "You ever have a problem with someone trying to break in, you know you can call us, right?" He tilts his head toward the parking lot. "Protection is part of the arrangement with my club."

"But you all live so far away." My lips curve into a small smile. "Although the Slater County sheriff would probably take just as long to get here."

He frowns slightly. "I have a couple friends over in Johnsonville who'd get here quicker if you need help."

"Griff? Remy?" I ask. Obviously, they're close enough to the club that they were invited to Teller's wedding.

"Yeah," he growls. "And another couple of guys."

I wish I'd never admitted that I thought about asking Griff to help me with my problem. It was only a fleeting thought, and I only said it because Jigsaw's inevitable rejection hurt my feelings.

"Let me make that coffee," I say, hurrying into the kitchen. The old, white linoleum under my feet, though spotless, squeaks in familiar spots—an audible reminder of how long it's been since we've updated this part of the house.

He follows behind me, seeming to take up an unusual amount of space even in the large kitchen. He hovers close while I measure the coffee and hit Brew.

"How do you like it?" I face the dark wood cabinet, my hand lingering near the handle.

"Black with sugar."

I turn, glancing at him over my shoulder. "No cream?"

"Nah." He swivels his head around, checking out the kitchen in a more leisurely manner than the last time he was here.

A wave of self-consciousness follows me to the refrigerator. I pull out a carton of half-and-half, check that it's still in date, and set it on the counter, then find some stray sugar packets in a drawer.

Once we have our coffee, I cup my steaming mug in my chilled hands. "Let's move into the parlor, it's more comfortable."

"Lead the way." He grabs his mug and waves his hand in a flourish that's almost mocking.

Instead of returning to the main hallway, I push through a swinging door into a long, rectangular room that looks more like a museum than a living room. I perch at the edge of a bouncy cushion on the long gold velvet settee with wood-carved armrests and legs.

"Comfortable or time capsule?" Jigsaw quips, a half smirk playing over his lips as he examines the faded marigold wallpaper.

I bristle, not appreciating the critique of my family's home. But even I have to admit the heavy drapes, floral patterns, and ornate velvet furniture make it look like the set of a seventies murder-mystery show that takes place in a, well, funeral home.

"The death business is rather…conservative." I hate the note of apology in my voice. If I had my way, I'd redecorate the whole house. My own space upstairs is much more modern.

"It's charming." The couch dips as Jigsaw sits on the cushion next to me. Closer than polite company. So close, his thigh brushes mine and our elbows touch.

Oh, boy. An elbow touch. How racy!

"Well." I clear my throat and lean forward to set my mug on a coaster on the coffee table. "My dad could have sold out to one of the big national death services companies a few years ago when they were buying up family funeral homes like ours. But he's stubborn."

"Sounds complicated." Jigsaw sips his coffee. "But you're a necessary business, right? Death is inevitable."

"Sure. But more people are using cremation now. Or choosing to have smaller, more personal services." I huff a quick laugh. "The death business is dying ."

His lips twitch.

"It's one job market where there is little to no growth." Why am I babbling about death when I'd rather talk about something extremely life -affirming?

"What would you do if you weren't doing this?" he asks.

"Makeup." There's something I haven't admitted to anyone in a long time. "I went to cosmetology school before I obtained my Mortuary Science degree."

He nods slowly and a flush of embarrassment licks at my cheeks. He probably thinks that's a low-effort, girly career.

"Strange I ended up here instead, right?"

"Not really." He tilts his head, pinning me with a playful stare. "The woman you thought was my wife, Serena, is a makeup artist. Well, she was a physical therapist, but she makes more with her YouTube channel now and it's more flexible with the baby coming and all."

"Really?" I squeal. "Which channel?"

His eyes widen, like he's surprised I'm so interested. Or maybe he's embarrassed he brought it up. What kind of biker wants to admit he knows anything about makeup?

"Tranquil Sparkle."

"I know that one! Oh my God, I'm surprised I didn't recognize her."

A wary look creeps over his expression. Almost…protective? "She's been posting older videos as she gets closer to her due date."

"Wow, you seem to know an awful lot about it."

He glances at his cup and shakes his head. "I do some of the admin for her channel and monitor her socials and stuff."

"No way, really?"

"Yeah, Rooster does a lot of the tech stuff for some of the club's other…businesses." He pauses and clears his throat. "So, I got into helping him with that."

"Is that what you do for work?"

He stops as if he really needs to think about the answer. "I do whatever the club needs me to do."

"So you have a bunch of bosses, not just one?"

"Not at all." He leans forward and pulls a coaster off the top of a stack in the center of the coffee table. "I'm a biker. We make our own rules. Follow our own laws."

I lift a brow at the coaster under his coffee cup. "And yet you just used a coaster."

His lips twitch with amusement. "I'm a biker. Not a heathen." He twists his body so he's facing me. "And I'm a guest in the space of someone I like."

He means me. "Oh," I whisper.

"So, I don't punch a time card or work a normal nine-to-five. But yes, I do answer to my club."

"And don't do relationships." I remind him of his earlier statement.

"Right. I'm free to do what I want?—"

"Do who you want?" I arch a brow.

His lips curl into a knowing smirk. "That too."

Perfect segue to return to why he's really here. "Well, if it eases your concerns, I like you too. But I don't want to date you, Jigsaw."

His face pinches into a warning scowl but I continue anyway.

"I want you to teach me how to… fuck ." My voice falters on the curse. Damn. Lost my grip on my big girl panties there.

Ignoring my embarrassment, I lift my chin and stare him in the eyes.

His trying to scare me away face softens. "Little lady death," he murmurs. Reaching out, he traces one finger against the curve of my cheek. "So brave and fierce."

"Me?" My voice rises to a squeak.

"This could be dangerous. You have no idea what you're asking." That sly smile curls his lips again. "What if I'm into some sick, kinky shit?"

Why hadn't that occurred to me? Everything about him screams unconventional. What if that also applies to the bedroom? My friend April has told me more than a few horror stories about some of the guys she's gone out with and the weird things they wanted to do to her.

"I…uh…I just want to learn the basics." I flick my gaze to the ceiling. "I mean, I know what to do. Just help me improve my…skills. Teach me about what men like." I narrow my eyes. "And who are you calling little lady death?"

"I don't want to mess up our arrangement." He gestures to our surroundings. "This is a business deal for my club."

"So?"

"You need me to spell it out for you?" He blows out an annoyed breath and shifts to the other side of the cushion. His hard gaze continues to drill into my face. "If you catch…feelings, it's gonna make things awkward."

"Catch feelings?" I cross my arms over my chest and shoot him my sharpest glare. As if he's so irresistible. "What if you're the one who catches feelings ?"

He snorts. "Not possible."

"I'm that repulsive?"

His cocky expression fades. "Not at all." He rakes his gaze over my body and lowers his voice to an obscene lion-like purr. "Not. At. All."

Jigsaw

Flustered Margot is even more fun than high-as-fuck Margot. But not quite as hot as teach-me-to-fuck Margot. This woman's ten different personalities inside one small package and I'm loving each one.

Liking . Not loving.

Never that.

"How much education do you think you need?" I ask just to see her scandalized eyes widen. "Hand jobs 101? Advanced blow job technique? A seminar on reverse cowgirl? A master class on anal? What skills are you looking to improve?"

Her eyes bug and she dry heaves at anal . Guess that's not a skill she wants to learn. I take a sip of my coffee to hide my laughter while I wait for her answer.

"The basics. I want to start from the ground up. Give me an idea of what men today expect." She frowns. "No master classes. Nothing in my butt."

I choke on my laughter. "You realize, what men expect and what I expect might be different. I'm not really in the habit of running around asking every man I meet how he likes to fuck."

"But you…your club brothers, you never talk about sex?"

"Uh, if you didn't notice, the brothers with ol' ladies are hyper-protective of them. No, they don't give details. Ever. I had to share living quarters with Rooster and Shelby when she was on tour and all I can tell you is that they're a loud and often kind of couple. I covered my head with my pillow and prayed for Rooster to be cursed with erectile dysfunction. I didn't stand by and take notes."

"I just want to learn to be good at it."

Something vulnerable in her voice tugs at my conscience. Forgot I had one for a decade.

I grab my coffee and take a quick sip. It's cool now. Bitter. I set the mug on its coaster again. "What are you doing Friday?"

She blinks a few times, then frowns. "Uh, I'm going to this car show thing in downtown Johnsonville. Why?"

"Car show? Really?" Interest colors my question. The way she shifts her gaze away, I think she assumes I'm making fun of her.

An awful idea forces me to ask something I shouldn't. "Are you going to the car show to troll for a sex coach?"

"What?" Her brow wrinkles with an indignant frown. "No! It's the first show this season. I go to them all the time."

"By yourself?"

"Well, sometimes my friend April comes with me. Or my cousin Paul goes but it's rare we both have a night off."

"What do you do?"

Her eyes light up, then her mouth turns down, wiping the joy off her face. "Nothing exciting. I'm usually the youngest person there. They close off a section of Main Street. Everyone parks facing the street instead of parallel to the curb." She makes a series of hand gestures to demonstrate. "It's rather informal. You just walk up and down, checking out everyone's classic. If you go often enough, you get to see the different stages of restoration for some of the vehicles. A lot of people work on their own cars. I take mine to?—"

"Griff?"

"Well, Jerry's Garage, but yes, Griff's done a lot of the work on it. But Jerry knows my dad from the Chamber of Commerce, so he always helps me out."

Chamber of Commerce. What the fuck am I thinking? I can't get involved with this woman. Even if it's only for a few fuck lessons.

Demons help me . Forbidden fruit really is the sweetest.

"Are you allowed to bring a guest?"

"Y-yes," she stammers. "Of course. You drive up, pay five bucks, park and put a card with some info about your car on the dash, then walk around if you want to. Some people stay with their cars because they don't trust people. But I like to walk around."

"You're not worried about someone damaging your car?"

"Not really. The people who go to this are mostly local and pretty respectful. The diner stays open late and some of the businesses have sales and stuff. It's a nice way to support the community."

"You don't support Pine Hollow?" I tease. "The actual community where you live and have your business?

"Business comes to us from Johnsonville too." She lifts her chin. "Pine Hollow only does one car show a year and I go to that one too, smarty pants."

A rough chuckle rumbles out of me. Can't remember the last time someone as cute as Margot called me that .

"Can we go together?" I ask.

She throws me a surprised side-eye. "Like a date ?"

"I don't do that," I remind her, shuddering at the thought.

No matter how much she says she likes me or trusts me, I don't peg Margot for a woman who's comfortable jumping into bed with someone she barely knows. What's the point of giving her "lessons" if we start off on a rocky foundation? All my hands-on training will be wasted.

"Let's hang out one on one," I suggest. "When you're not under the influence of pot brownies. And we'll see how things go."

Pink spreads over her cheeks and she ducks her head. "Sure. I'd like that."

"Good. What time do you want me here?"

"Um, six. Is that okay?"

"I'll be here." I slap my hands on my thighs and stand. "I better get going."

She stands, an uncertain expression playing over her face. I sure as fuck want to stay. Take her to her room, strip her down, and teach her all the ways our bodies can work together.

"Sure." She nods quickly. "It's a long drive."

Maybe she doesn't want me to stay. A few charming words and I could easily convince her.

But that's not what I want.

"I'm sorry, I never asked," she says in an apologetic tone. "Where do you live? Near Teller's place?"

"No, between our downstate charter near Union and the upstate charter."

"Oh. That is a long drive then. I'm sorry I kept you."

"It's fine. I'll crash at Upstate's clubhouse tonight. Z and Rock will probably call us to a joint church since everyone was here for the wedding."

"Church?" she asks over her shoulder as she returns to the kitchen.

Why didn't I just use an easier to understand civilian word? "Not what you're thinking." I follow her into the kitchen and set my mug on the counter. "It's our mandatory meeting where we all sit down and touch base about club business, discuss problems, see if anyone needs anything, plan future road trips, stuff like that."

A slight smirk plays at the corners of her kissable lips. "How very corporate of you."

She pushes through the door that leads to the hallway. My gaze strays to her pink shoes neatly lined up on the bottom step, then higher.

No. I'm not walking her upstairs or asking to see her place. No matter how sober she seems now, it's not the right time. I've never slept with a woman who wasn't one hundred percent with it and I'm not starting now. No matter how much I want her.

Nothing I "teach" her would probably stick, anyway.

Keep telling yourself it's all about the lessons, buddy.

The hint of amusement on her face fades. She puts her back to the door leading outside and stares up at me. "You won't discuss… this …you know, what I asked you to teach me with your club, right?"

"What? No. What kind of guy do you think I am?"

"Well, you pointed out that your deal with my father is a business relationship and you said church is for discussing business…" She shrugs.

"Gotcha." I nod quickly. "No, I won't say anything." Unless it becomes a problem. Z doesn't tell anyone else where to stick their dicks. In fact, he was fuckin' Stella, our most valuable porn star, before he married Lilly. So it'd be real hypocritical of him to say something about me "educating" Margot. Hell, even Rooster has only suggested I not fuck his mother-in-law to be.

No, wait. Those threats probably weren't suggestions.

This deal is Upstate's action. But there's no fuckin' way I'm asking Teller for his, what, permission? Fuck that. Besides, Rock told me to keep Margot occupied, so I'm following orders. The daughter of our business partner has a problem and I'm going to help her solve it. Simple as that.

That's the excuse I'll use if the club finds out and questions me. I can say it with a straight face—probably.

"I won't say anything about us unless I have to," I promise.

"Why would you have to?"

I open my mouth but the answer I'm about to give negates everything else I told her tonight.

If our relationship becomes more than a few fuck lessons.

If it turns into something real.

If I want to introduce you to the club as my ol' lady and give you my patch.

Which absolutely isn't going to happen.