Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Griff’s whole face lights up. “Sittin’ on top of the world, honestly.”
“Yeah, you are,” Rooster adds, tugging him in for a quick bro-hug.
Then Griff’s gaze lands on me and drops to where Jigsaw’s hand is firmly wrapped around mine. He blinks, mouth parting like he’s trying to recalibrate what he’s seeing. His expression flickers—shock, disbelief, maybe a trace of awkward amusement.
Jigsaw notices the hesitation. His friendly smile flattens fast.
Griff seems to shake it off. “Margot Cedarwood. Yellow Thunderbird.”
“That’s me.” I tip my head in acknowledgment.
His eyes dart back to Jigsaw. “How the hell did you two get together?”
Jigsaw growls low in his throat, the sound warning and dangerous. “What’s that tone implying, son?”
“I’m not implying anything,” Griff says, all swagger and sunshine. “I’m outright asking,” he says with all the confidence of a man who just won his first pro fight after everyone said he didn’t stand a chance.
Jigsaw works his jaw from side to side, probably deciding where to punch Griff first.
I jump in before testosterone starts flying. “We met at a wedding,” I offer, keeping it simple. “I accidentally ate a pot brownie. It knocked me on my butt and Jigsaw was kind enough to watch over me.”
Griff shakes with laughter. “Had to be Teller’s wedding and Sparky’s brownies, right?”
“That’s the one.”
Griff glances at Jigsaw again. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you.”
“You’re about two seconds from getting the last surprise of your young life,” Jigsaw mutters, voice low and flat.
Griff rolls his eyes. “I came over to thank you for having my back in Vegas, but I’m starting to rethink my gratitude.”
Jigsaw’s shoulders lose a fraction of their tension. “You’re welcome.”
Griff reaches out and clasps Jigsaw’s shoulder. “Seriously.” He flicks his gaze to Rooster. “Both of you. Thanks for sticking with Molly while I was busy training. Appreciate it.”
Jigsaw nods. “Not a problem.”
“Griff!” someone shouts.
“Come on. Join the party.” Griff waves and jogs toward the picnic benches.
“Why are you so hostile to him?” I ask after Griff’s out of hearing range.
“Who?” Jigsaw lifts both eyebrows, the picture of mock innocence. “Me?”
“Yes, you.”
He shrugs. “Told you—I’m not a nice guy. Only one I’m nice to is you.”
Rooster bobs his head in agreement. “And Shelby. You’re definitely nicer to her than you are to me.”
“Shut your bearded piehole.” Jigsaw clamps a clawed hand over Rooster’s face.
“Proving my point.” Rooster flings his arm out, knocking Jigsaw’s hand away.
Shaking my head, I slip my hand from Jigsaw’s and march ahead, lifting a hand to wave at Shelby.
Heavy footsteps slap over the asphalt behind me.
Two seconds later, thick arms lock around my waist, hauling me off the ground. I squeal as he spins me in the air.
“Where do you think you’re going, little lady death?” he growls against my ear, voice rough with laughter.
I kick and squirm, laughing too hard to put up much of a fight, even as his iron grip keeps me caged against his chest.
He sets me down and pats my ass, taking my hand again.
Still laughing and only a tiny bit embarrassed everyone saw me shrieking like a nutjob, I follow him into the closed-off patio area.
The table Shelby’s sitting at is full, so I say hi to everyone, then join Jigsaw at the next table. Shelby extracts herself from the picnic bench and slides into the space next to me, slinging her arm around my shoulders. “How are you?”
“Good.”
“Jezzie introduced me to Cain,” Shelby says to Jigsaw in a low voice. “He seems real nice. Kinda shy.”
“I think that’s because you’re famous,” Jigsaw whispers.
“Oh. No.” She frowns as if she’s having trouble making sense of her fame.
“I have officially listened to my first country album,” I say to her. “And loved it.”
She blushes a fierce shade of pink. “Ya don’t like any country music?”
I don’t want to hurt her feelings and tell her what I always thought about country music. “No, but you changed my mind.”
Across from me, Rooster huffs a laugh. “Same. I hated it until I heard her sing.”
“You like Dawson’s music now,” Shelby says.
“Ehhh.” Rooster lifts one hand in the air, wobbling it from side to side. “It’s tolerable if there’s no other options.”
“Logan!” She slaps the table, laughing too hard to sound genuinely offended.
“I won’t say that to him,” Rooster promises.
“I will,” Jigsaw deadpans.
“The heck you will,” Shelby mutters. “I still owe his record label a bunch of songs.”
Remy stops at our table, gives Shelby and me a quick hello, then leans down to murmur something into Jigsaw’s ear.
“Yeah.” Jigsaw nods. “Where?”
“Behind the last food shack.”
Jigsaw jerks his head toward Rooster.
“We’ll be right back,” he promises.
Shelby and I watch them swagger off toward the edge of the track, disappearing behind a row of squat white buildings.
“What do you think they’re up to?” I ask.
“Lord only knows.” She exhales slowly and shrugs. “Probably better not to ask.”