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)
“These are so good, Margot,” one of the guys who’d been at dinner shouts from across the fire. “Thank you for not listening to Jigsaw!”
Laughter ripples through the group, followed by a chorus of similar thanks. It sounds more like they’re messing with Jigsaw than actual gratitude, but I lean into his side anyway, grinning.
“See?” I murmur, voice teasing. “Isn’t it nice to share?”
Jigsaw’s arm tightens around me, his lips brushing my forehead. “No,” he whispers, his tone all playful defiance.
I laugh softly, letting the warmth of the fire, the steady weight of Jigsaw beside me, and the easy camaraderie of the group sink into me, grounding me in the moment.
Trinity moves around the circle, handing out sticks and bags of marshmallows. Z’s son follows close behind, his little hands gripping a stack of graham cracker sleeves like he’s on an important mission. Right next to him, Heidi’s older daughter clutches packages of chocolate bars with the same level of seriousness.
“Whatcha got for me, Chance?” Jigsaw asks when the little boy stops in front of us.
Chance holds up a sleeve of crackers. “Uncle Jiggy, you only get one,” he insists, his little voice firm with authority.
Jigsaw raises an eyebrow. “One? But I’m a big boy.”
“One.” Chance nods, expression grave. “That’s the rules.”
Jigsaw exhales dramatically, like the restriction is just too much to bear. “Fine. But only because you said so, little man.” He takes the crackers and tucks them into my lap. “Guard these with your life, little lady. Apparently, we only get one.”
“We’ll share,” I promise Chance, earning a single approving nod before he marches on to Shelby and Rooster, his job far from done.
The little girl stops in front of us next, eying Jigsaw with suspicion. She glances over her shoulder, then back at Jigsaw. “I’ll give you two chocolate bars, Uncle Jiggy. Don’t tell, though,” she whispers loud enough for everyone around us to hear.
Jigsaw’s lips twitch, but he keeps a solemn face. “I won’t say a word, Alexa.” He holds up his hand. “Swear.” He wiggles his fingers. “Now, gimmie.”
She giggles and tosses two large Hershey bars at him, then hands me one too.
“Oh boy, we really lucked out,” I whisper, setting the bar between us on the blanket.
“It pays to stay on the kids’ good side. They always have excellent snacks.”
Something warm squeezes around my heart. He might be joking about the snacks but it’s the way he talks to the kids like they’re people instead of annoyances that has me melting inside. They obviously like and trust him too.
Kids—like cats—in my opinion are good judges of character.
We all take turns approaching the fire with caution to roast our marshmallows. Rock carefully holds his daughter, allowing her to wave a long stick with several marshmallows at the end near the flames. But as soon as they droop and catch fire, Hope’s right there to scoop the stick from her daughter’s hand and rescue the gooey mess.
Laughter ripples through the group as the little girl smooshes sticky marshmallows into her mouth. As soon as everyone has at least one s’more assembled, someone tosses another log onto the fire, sending a fresh burst of golden sparks toward the sky.
The bonfire’s roaring now, flames twisting and crackling as the logs collapse inward, embers glowing hot beneath them. A few guys shift closer to the fire, settling onto a large log that’s been pulled up as a makeshift bench.
“All right!” The guy who’d quizzed me about Jigsaw’s boyfriend qualities at dinner stands and claps his hands.
“Brace yourself,” Jigsaw whispers in my ear. “Whatever Rav’s about to say will be thoroughly obnoxious.”
“Shelby tried to warn me when she called earlier.” I tip my head and catch his lips for a quick kiss.
His eyes widen. “What’s that for?”
“I’m having fun.”
He curls his arm around my shoulders, drawing me closer.
A shrill whistle halts the remaining chatter.
“It’s time for our favorite campfire game,” Ravage announces.
A mixture of groans and chuckles ripple through our wide circle.
“It doesn’t sound like it’s everyone’s favorite game,” I whisper to Jigsaw.
He shakes his head. “That’s because we don’t have a favorite ‘campfire game.’”
“Nope! No way, Rav,” Shelby shouts. “If you’re talkin’ ‘bout us all sharing ‘first time’ stories, I’m out. I already know way too much about y’alls sex lives as it is.”
Laughter follows her declaration.
“He’s just collecting material for his wank bank anyway,” a big burly biker across the circle from us adds.
“Ewww,” Shelby moans. She leans against me, her warm tea and liquor breath spilling over my cheek. “He’s right, though,” she whispers loudly in my ear. “Don’t fall for it like I did. Keep it to yourself.”
I snort with laughter. “It’s not much of a story, anyway.”
“Girrrl,” she drawls. “Same.” She collapses into a fit of giggles, falling against Rooster’s chest.
Jigsaw turns, his body shifting slightly behind me. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you drunk, songbird.”