Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 132321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
“With the occasional civilian MILF thrown in for variety.”
“Great.” He shakes his head and bites down his laughter. “Older women usually already know what they like.”
“Yesss, they do.” I let out a dirty laugh.
He rolls his eyes. “Right. And muffler bunnies will tell you whatever they think you want to hear—” His eyes widen as if he stumbled upon the answer to a great mystery. “You care about whoever this is. A lot.”
“Care is a bit strong.” Lie. “I like her and want to teach her some skills for her future.” I wave my hand in the air like it’s nothing.
“Is she running away from a convent or something?”
I snort-laugh. “No.”
“I don’t know what else to tell you.” He sighs. “Make her comfortable. Go slow. Pretend you know what foreplay is.”
“Oh, I know all about foreplay, brother.”
He rolls his eyes again. “Don’t assume she’s into everything you’re doing to her. Realize she might be too nervous to tell you no. Pay attention to her body’s signals.” He lifts his shoulders, scrunches his face into an unpleasant cringe, and holds his hands out like he’s pushing someone away. “This isn’t a sign to fuck her harder.”
When I nod but don’t offer my usual snarky comment, he drops his hands and continues, “Don’t jam your dick down her throat. Be patient with her. Show her what you like. Communicate. That’s the biggest thing. Make her put into words what she actually likes and wants you to do.”
I absorb each suggestion, especially that last one. All things that should’ve been obvious. Did I really need Dex’s advice?
Or was I just hoping he’d try harder to talk me out of it?
“Thanks, brother.” I slap his shoulder.
“Does this mean you’re not going to help me out at CB anymore?” he asks.
I curl my lip. Why the fuck would he assume that? “No, why?”
“Figured someone that innocent might not like her man working in a strip club.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I’m not her man. I’m no one’s man.”
He narrows his eyes, then shakes his head. “You know what? It’s not my business. Just be nice and be clear with her that it’s not a relationship.”
“Already covered that part.”
“Well, give her a refresher course before you get down to business. Don’t be a dick. But be clear.”
“I will.”
He stares at me a few seconds longer. “Wow, I really woke up in the Twilight Zone this morning.”
I slap his shoulder. “Buckle up, cupcake, shit’s only going to get stranger.”
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.