Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 608(@200wpm)___ 486(@250wpm)___ 405(@300wpm)
“Do you mind if I unpack my bag?” My hands nervously twist together. “I think I’ll feel more…settled if I know where my stuff is.” I wince at how weird that sounds. Easy breezy isn’t my style.
“Yeah. Go ahead.” He drops onto the edge of the bed and leans back on his hands, his gaze completely focused on me. “I’ll enjoy the view.”
“I know it’s only a day and a half but…”
“Margot, it’s fine. Do whatever makes you comfortable.”
We’ve only ever spent time together in my space, where I know where everything is. He has no idea how particular I can be. But I guess if it’s a deal-breaker for him, he should find out now.
I slide one closet door open, and stare at the few neatly hung flannel shirts. “You’re sure this isn’t someone’s room?”
He crosses the room and peers over my shoulder. “I think Trinity just likes to make sure there are some extra clothes around in case anyone needs something.” He quickly flips through the shirts, which range in sizes from XL to 3XLT.
“That’s really thoughtful.” I push the shirts aside and grab a hanger. I didn’t bring much, so it doesn’t take long to hang my jeans, tops, and the one dress I brought. I move to the dresser and open the first drawer—again finding a few items of clothing already stored inside. Unopened packages of plain, utilitarian cotton underwear for women and boxers for men, socks, and a few basic black T-shirts and tank tops.
“Shelby said if I needed clothes to attend yoga class with them tomorrow, they could probably find something for me. I guess she wasn’t kidding.” I close the top drawer and open the second. This one is empty. I drop my undergarments and socks inside.
“You should. The girls usually do yoga while we’re in church.”
“I might.” I dig deep into my backpack again, my hand brushing against the velvet pouch, and finally find my pajamas. I fold them neatly and leave them on one of the pillows on the bed.
Jigsaw turns his head, watching me. His mouth curves in amusement. “I feel like a slob now. I was going to pull things out of my bag as needed.”
I flinch and open my mouth to apologize but he tugs on my hand, pulling me closer. “I’m not criticizing. I think it’s cute.” He shakes his head. “I mean, I want you to be comfortable here. Do whatever will make you feel at home.”
“Thanks. One last thing.” I return to my bag and pull out a case with my toothbrush and other toiletries. “If I’d known there would be amenities, I wouldn’t have bothered to pack this,” I tease, holding up the case.
I cross the room, nudge the bathroom door open, and flip the light on. The white tile gleams. Clean towels are folded over a bar by the shower and a smaller holder by the sink. A skinny white cabinet with glass doors holds more towels and what looks like toiletries, tissues, toilet paper, and anything else a guest might need.
I set my case on the edge of the sink, turn off the light and return to Jigsaw. “It’s well-stocked in there too.”
“I feel like you’re going to be really disappointed when we visit Downstate.” He laughs and runs his fingers through his hair. “I keep the bare minimum of everything in my room.”
“Well, if you’re the only one using it, that makes sense.” I shrug. “You already know what you need.”
The pounding of boots over hardwood floors and voices from the hallway intrude into our room.
“It’s not always quiet here.” Jigsaw glances at the door.
As if to prove his words, someone bangs on our door. “Let’s go, Jiggy!” someone shouts. “Fornicate later. Bonfire now!”
Laughing echoes in the hallway, then the sounds of footsteps running away.
Jigsaw rolls his eyes. “That had to be Stash. Surprised he even knows how to find his way upstairs.”
“Why?”
“He usually lives in the basement.” He holds up his hands. “Don’t ask me why. He and Sparky have had their living quarters down there for as long as I’ve been in New York.”
“Well, if he came all the way up here, then they must really want you at the bonfire.” I return to the closet and drape my flannel over a hanger, my heart hammering a bit faster now that I know people are waiting for us outside. I know exactly what I want to wear. My hand brushes against my thick, black hooded sweatshirt and I tug it free. In the center, a cartoon of two burning matches lean into each other over a matchbox, with “we’re a perfect match” scrawled in whimsical font above the image.
I smile at the cheesy, romantic pun, hoping Jigsaw won’t find it too silly and slip it over my head.
I turn to face him, and his gaze immediately drops to my chest. A slow grin spreads over his face as he reads the front. He stands and closes the distance between us. “That is so fucking perfect. Did you plan that for tonight?”