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As if he understands the questions in my eyes, Jigsaw smirks. “He’s a stubborn one.” He rests his hand on my elbow and steers me toward the passenger side door. “Let me grab my phone.”
Phone. Right. I’m supposed to give Jigsaw my number and then get lost.
Jigsaw turns toward me, standing in the open door of the truck. Faint light from the interior glows over Jigsaw’s tall, imposing frame, making him look both sinister and sexy. “Got your phone?” he asks.
“What?” I shove my hand in my front pocket. “Yes, but?—”
“I want you to take my number.” He meets my eyes and one corner of his mouth curves. “In case you ever need anything.”
Ever?
“Okay.” I step closer until we’re almost touching.
He leans in, his arm pressing against my shoulder, his heat folding over my skin. The scent of woods and earth surrounds me, and I fight the urge to lean my head on his chest.
“Here.” He tugs my phone out of my hands and works his thumbs over the screen. His phone buzzes a second later, the screen lighting up with the words Last Responder.
I break into wild laughter. It’s a common joke in the mortuary business and I’m impressed he came up with it. “I have a T-shirt of the grim reaper driving a hearse with Last Responder on it.” I nod at the phone.
He chuckles and hands me back my phone. “I need to see you in that.”
Pleasure rolls through my body, perking up parts I thought were dormant. Are we flirting? Or is he pretending to be interested in order to distract me, so I don’t ask questions about what his brothers are doing here tonight?
The thought steals any joy that’d been bubbling inside me.
“Everyone gets a nickname,” he says, throwing another breath-stealing grin at me.
“Huh?” I blink at him.
He holds out his phone and shimmies it from side to side in his hand. “Well, everyone important to the club gets a nickname.”
Important to the club.
Wait a minute. I’m important to his club?
Duh, of course I am. His club wants after-hours access to my family’s crematorium.
I need sleep.
“Is it okay if I save your number under Jigsaw?” I peer up at him and hold out my phone.
“Sure. It sounds better than ‘random dipshit.’”
I explode with laughter. Twice in five minutes, he’s made me laugh. This must be a record.
“Do you want something to drink?” I gesture toward the house. “For you and the guys?” I hurry to add so I don’t sound desperate.
He lifts his head, staring over me in the direction of the crematorium. “Yeah. Appreciate it.”
“Follow me.” I hurry toward the house.
Behind me, there’s murmuring and a harsh laugh. I stop and glance over my shoulder. Rooster and Jigsaw are scowling at each other. “Rooster, do you want to come in for a minute?” I ask.
“Nah, I’m all right. Thanks.”
Jigsaw slaps his friend’s shoulder and strides toward me, his long legs covering the pavement faster than mine.
At the back steps, he stops and waits for me to go first, then hurries to open the screen door for me.
