Page 130 of Collect the Pieces

Margot

The morningafter dinner out with Jigsaw and Rooster, I’m barely awake when I sense someone staring at me. By the feel of his body and the sound of his breathing, I know it’s Jigsaw.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper.

“Nothing.” The weight in his voice strips away the last bit of sleep clinging to me. I roll to my side to face him.

His gaze is heavy, his features carved from stone—no teasing smirk, no playful glint in his eyes. Just quiet intensity that tightens the space between us.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” I ask.

He reaches over and brushes hair off my forehead. “You’re my very own Sleeping Beauty.”

“So, why didn’t you kiss me awake?”

“You seemed peaceful.”

I shift closer to him, my leg brushing against his. “That’s because you’re here. Why can’t you sleep?”

A flash of pain creases his forehead but he doesn’t answer. Just keeps his steady gaze on me.

I brush my fingers over the sheet draped over his hip. “Is there somethingIcan do to help you sleep?”

Instead of answering, he captures my hand and presses it to his chest, halting my exploration.

Okay, so he’s not up for early morning sex. What has him so tense?

“What is it?”

“Can I ask you something?”

His tone instantly sets me on edge. It’s too calm. Too curious.

I push back, creating a little distance between us. “Not when you say it like that.”

“Is Dan the Douchewaffle?—”

I let out a giggle, even though Jigsaw mentioning my ex is already tensing my body with anxiety.

Jigsaw remains stone-cold serious. “Is he the one who—” He frowns and swallows hard, as if he can’t put his thoughts into the right combination of words. “Is he the one who made you think you needed sex lessons.” The corner of his mouth turns up in a weak attempt to add a little light teasing to the heavy question.

“I told you, none of my previous experiences weregood,” I hedge, sensing he won’t stop this time. Not until he has answers, and I want to delay as long as possible.

“Yeah, I could tell.”

My heart thuds. Is that his way of saying Iwasterrible when we first started? “You could tell?”

“Just…from some of the questions you asked.” He frowns. “We’ve talked about this—you thought you couldn’t come, didn’t want me to go down on you, expected sex to hurt…”

Shame heats my skin as he lists all the little signs he picked up on that loudly announced how awful my prior experiences had been.

“Hey.” He slides his arms under my body, pulling me closer. “Stop. None of that made me think badly ofyou.”

“Just sorry for me?”

“No. Your…inexperience is one thing, but you were convinced you were broken. And then yesterday, I overheard how that guy spoke to you. Is he the one who made you feel that way?”

“Yes.” I squeeze my eyes shut, scared that once I open the door to my past, I won’t be able to close it.

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