Twist the Knife - Page 146

“Thanks.”

I sit back down and stare at the cards. Death. Change. Passion. It’s all there. I want to believe in the cards and how Shelby interpreted them.

But the old me doesn’t want to let go, yet.

Something whispers it’s too good to be true.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Margot

Is he fucking kidding? Had a good time? A letter grade hastily scribbled in the corner?

I’m numb from the day, and coming home to the pathetic Post-it Note on my kitchen counter is like finding a spider floating in my coffee cup. I crumple it in my fist and throw it in the trash.

My happy oasis, my bright cheery apartment, feels tainted with memories of Jigsaw now. I don’t bother to change out of my black pantsuit and emerald blouse. I grab my purse and head downstairs.

Outside, the cool evening air slides over my skin, refreshing me, encouraging me to go somewhere. Do something besides sit home and think about Jigsaw.

I drive around aimlessly for a while. Well, maybe not that aimless. I’m heading toward Johnsonville.

Faint lights glow from a side road. That’s Remy’s place, right? Maybe I’ll stop there. Lynette was nice. And I’d love to get my hands on more of those dark chocolate chip cookies she gave me the last time.

The parking lot’s more crowded this time. A few classic cars like mine, an SUV, and two motorcycles. My heart stops. I’d never looked at Jigsaw’s close enough to know if one of these belongs to him.

The green flames on one catch my eye as I pass it. Pretty. Still looks like a death rocket, though.

“Hey, Margot, what’re you doing here?” Remy grins at me from behind the bar and sets down whatever he was working on back there.

The tavern’s kinda dark but clean and sort of vintage looking. The booth in the back Jigsaw and I had sat in is occupied with three larger guys in flannels or hoodies. No black leather vests with back patches.

I quicken my steps and sit on the stool in front of Remy.

“Hi. I was passing by, and I thought I’d stop in for something to eat.”

He flashes a devastatingly handsome smile. “Welcome.”

“Jigsaw said the buffalo chicken sandwich is good here.” Mentioning his name sends a shooting stab of pain through my chest.

His smile fades and he lifts his eyebrows. “He did, huh? Here I thought he only liked stopping by to glower and threaten to stab me.”

My jaw drops. “He does what?”

“I think it’s because he likes me so much. Violence is his love language.” The corners of his mouth curl. “You can tell him I said that, too.”

“Sure.” I’ll make that my priority. “Are you working by yourself?”

“No.” He sets a glass of ice water in front of me. “Lynette’s here. Buffalo chicken, right?”

I nod quickly. “And extra blue cheese.”

“You got it.”

He slips out from behind the counter and strides down the short corridor. Such broad shoulders and good posture. Jigsaw says Remy’s some kind of MMA fighter. He must be quite lethal. Too young for me, though.

And I don’t want anyone else. Obviously, I can’t tell Mr. Had a Nice Time that, though. Why did I have to ask him to teach me about sex? And why do I wish it could turn into something more?

He was honest that it wouldn’t ever be a real relationship. At first, that was fine. But staying at my house for the last few days sure made it seem like it was heading in that direction.