Page 59 of Whiskey Neat

“Hey,” he says.

“Hmm?”

“Look at me.”

“No, thank you.”

Indy shifts, forcing my face away from his body. “I’m not proposing. It’s late and you’re warm. Is this some kind of rule you have?”

“Kind of.”

His face falls but he nods. “Okay. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. Ever.” He kisses my nose. “Do you want to borrow a pair of my briefs?”

“That’s okay.” I force myself up, mentally kicking myself for being such an idiot.

I wish I could let myself indulge in the fantasy of an actual relationship with Indy, but my track record has shown me there’s just no fucking way, and I have too much on the line to get my heart destroyed by him when he’s had his fill.

“Tonight was really cool. Thanks.”

Indy nods, but his jaw is tense. “We left your car at the bar. Do you need a ride?”

I shake my head. “I’m good.” I let my eyes roam over his body, all thick and manly, and all I want to do is lick him from head to toe. “I’m sorry.”

“For?”

“Being weird.”

“You’re not weird. We both agreed this was casual, and I respect your boundaries. Don’t feel bad because I was being greedy.”

“You’re kind of unreal sometimes, you know?”

Indy smiles. “So are you.” He sits up, leaning in to press a kiss to my lips. “I’ll walk you out.”

“I can manage. See you tomorrow?”

“You bet, sweet thing.”

After slipping out of the house without interacting with the guys again, I walk back to the bar to retrieve my car, my thoughts heavy with past pain and regret. An idea I’ve had more than once in the past three years pops up again, but this time the urge is strong enough to make me follow through.

Back in my apartment, I sit on my couch and unlock my phone, scrolling through my contacts. My hands shake and a wave of nausea seizes me, but I think if I want to navigate whatever is happening with Indy, I have to do this.

I press the button next to my ex-boyfriend’s name. While it rings, I replay the hurt and shame the end of our relationship caused.

“Salem,” he answers. “Oh my god.”

“Hi, Blaine. Can we talk?”

NINETEEN

INDIANA

After watching Salem leave, I lie on my bed for a few minutes, mentally replaying what happened between us tonight and arriving at a conclusion. I have a serious fucking problem.

Launching myself up, I grab my sweats and head downstairs to the guys. They’re all in the living room still, talking shit over video games and drinking a few beers. Lowen glances up from his phone, tilting his head as his brow creases.

“What’s wrong, Indy?”

His question makes everyone else stop what they’re doing like a record scratching. I flop down in an armchair and drag my hand through my hair as my heart races and I feel a little sick to my stomach. I want to talk, but my voice feels caught in my throat. Am I dying?

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