Page 102 of Collect the Pieces

“I’m not scared of that thing.” I grab my bag and lift her backpack onto my shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Margot’s father greets us inside the door. His gaze shifts from Margot’s backpack slung over my shoulder to the duffle bag in my hand.

Christ, it probably looks like I’m moving in. Not that he doesn’t already know I spend a lot of time here.

“Hi, Margot,” he greets her. “Did you have a good weekend?”

“I did. The property up there is really pretty.”

I bite the inside of my cheek.

“Good.” His gaze shifts to me. “Jensen…well, I’m glad you’re both back.”

You might feel differently if it turns out I knocked up your daughter.

Why can’t I stop thinking about that? Between the condom fuckup and our time in the woods, I’m thinking about fucking Margot one hundred percent of the time, instead of my usual ninety-nine percent.

I clear my throat. “Just wanted to help Margot in with her bag.” I pull my shoulder with her backpack on it forward.

He nods once, then returns his attention to Margot. “Unfortunately, we got a call?—”

“I figured, since I saw Henry’s car out back,” she says.

“Her name’s Mrs. Penny.” He waits as if Margot should recognize the name. When she doesn’t say anything, hecontinues. “She lived in the same community as Daniel’s grandmother. I think he made the referral.”

Margot’s entire body goes rigid.

Who the fuck is Daniel?

“What do you need from me?” she asks, her tone and posture stiff as a board.

If her father notices the shift in her demeanor, he doesn’t mention it. “Her granddaughter will be here in the morning. Would you take the consult?”

She blows out a breath, her entire body relaxing. “Sure. Of course.”

“Thank you. The information’s on my desk.”

“I’ll come back down and go through the file tonight.”

I trail up the stairs after her, trying to come up with a way to ask her who the fuck Daniel is that won’t sound unhinged and territorial.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Jigsaw

The perfect dayfor a long ride.

The kind where I let the machine take over and the roar of the engine drowns out every nagging question swirling in my head.

Like why the fuck Margot went stiff at the mention ofDaniel.

Or that I suspect Daniel’s her shitty ex-boyfriend.

Or why, after a weekend that was near perfect—explosive sex, Margot getting to know the club, my brothers accepting her as my ol’ lady—I’m still turning over certain things in my mind.

Like the forgotten condom.

Like the way she looks so natural holding a baby in her arms.

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