Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

Margot

Jigsaw: How are you feeling today?

I whimper and drop my phone back on the nightstand. My head's full of soggy cotton. A weird, unpleasant buzz bounces around my skull.

Slowly, the events of last night return to me.

I asked Jigsaw to be my sex coach.

We're going out on Friday night.

And then probably having sex afterward?

We never actually said what we'd do after the car show. A slow tingle of anticipation throbs below. It's been a couple of years since Daniel. Am I even ready for this? What if my girly bits have sealed shut from lack of use?

That was the whole point of asking for his help.

Sighing, I throw the covers back and roll myself upright. Barely any hint of daylight peeks through my blackout curtains and shade. I stand, stretch and slide my curtains open, then pull up the blinds, letting the morning sunshine wash over me.

My gaze shifts to my phone. Jigsaw's concern cuts through my embarrassment. I send him a quick response.

Me: A bit fuzzy headed. But ok.

Maybe he'll think I forgot about our Friday night plans. That would probably be for the best. I set my phone down and run to the bathroom.

A few minutes later, with a freshly scrubbed face and empty bladder, I wander into the kitchen. My stomach recoils at the thought of food. I thought pot was supposed to give you the munchies?

I unwrap a cheese stick and chew on it while I brew a pot of coffee.

Did Jigsaw text back?

While the coffee's brewing, I hurry into my bedroom and scoop up my phone.

There's a message waiting on the screen.

Jigsaw: Can't wait to see you Friday night.

He remembered. And he wants me to remember.

I type out me too , then erase it. What if he thinks I'm too eager and breaks the date?

My phone buzzes. I'm holding it so tight, I jump.

Dad: Could use your help this morning.

Nothing like prepping a dead body to take the romance out of the air.

Me: Be down in a few minutes.

I change into long black pants and a long-sleeved black T-shirt. We might have family members stopping by later. I walk into my long closet all the way to the end where I set up a vanity station. I tap a button on the large rectangular vanity mirror taking up a good portion of the wall and sit at the glossy, white table. My eyes are a little puffy but at least I don't look like I spent most of the night high and sleeping on a stranger's lawn.

I twist my hair into a neat bun, line my lips with neutral mauve, and dab on a creamy lipstick. With my face and hair presentable, I cross the room to the ornate cherry wood jewelry chest that once belonged to my mother. From the top drawer, I choose a pair of small gold love knot earrings.

As I'm leaving, I absently reach up and flick one of the round ornaments hanging from the bar above the chest.

Who am I kidding? Even if Jigsaw can somehow manage to teach me to fuck like a goddess, the only man I'll ever attract is bound to be in the death business too. Or he'll be a freaky weirdo who wants me to give him access to bodies to play with like my first boyfriend.

My schedule isn't really family friendly, either. Do I even want to raise kids in this house? My brothers and I all grew up here. And I was exposed to some terrifying stuff at an early age.

One thing at a time.

Improve bedroom skills.

Try dating.

Then worry about the rest of it.

I finish a few other morning chores, then head downstairs.

"Morning, Dad," I say, stepping into the prep room.

He's wearing all the protective equipment today. A stench that even the state-of-the-art ventilation system and action powder can't contain assaults my nose. I find a stick of odor blocker and dab it under my nose, then slip into my own gear.

"How was the rest of the party?" Dad asks, the respirator making him sound like a sci-fi villain.

"Fun." At least the parts I remember were pleasant.

"Jensen brought you home with no issues?"

"Yes, he was very nice." He didn't even flinch when I propositioned him.

"Good."

I gesture to the table. "What do we have here?"

My father casts a sad look at the black body bag on the table. "Unattended death. He'd been there a few days. Too decomposed to embalm."

"How sad." Unattended death. No family to find him for days.

That's what's going to happen to you if you don't figure yourself out and get better at sex.

"We're going to need to use a pouch and have the service as quickly as possible," Dad continues. "Can you start on the arrangements for me? The family should be here shortly. It's a mother and her daughter. Be gentle with the mother, she's very emotionally fragile. He was her last sibling."

I haven't met them yet, but the weight of their grief is already pressing down on me. "Yes, of course." I'll have to think of a nice way to let them know we'll be placing him in a disaster pouch inside his coffin to contain all the fluids and that there is no chance of an open casket.

"The daughter identified the body, so she's aware of the condition," my father adds.

"Poor woman." How awful to have that be the last memory of her uncle. But how kind of her to spare her mother the pain.

Who will do that for me one day?

Probably no one.