Page 49 of Sweet Like Whiskey

Ash’s expression softens. “Okay, Jack. Walk with me?”

I nod, and Ash grabs his jacket. The two of us take off.

Most of the weekend employees are gone at this time of day. The dairy cows are outside again, having already been milked for the evening. Their diet is different from that of the beef lot, but they still spend plenty of their time grazing. In the other direction, Remi is closing up the petting farm, Snickerdoodle trailing after him.

“It’s so peaceful here,” Ash says.

I hum.

“Not quiet, exactly,” he adds. “Just…nice.”

“Yeah.”

Ash huffs a laugh. “Like someone else I know.”

It takes me a second to connect the dots. “I’m not nice.”

He straight up barks a laugh. “Sure, Jack.”

“Christ,” I grumble, ignoring his audible amusement.

By the time we reach the ranch house, my palms are sweating and my nerves are jumbled. I feel like a teenager after a first date, not knowing what to say or do. My eyes keep falling to Ash’s lips, no matter how hard I try to stop it.

“I had a good time today,” Ash says. “Thanks for taking me out.”

I nod a bit jerkily.

“And tell your mom thanks, too,” he adds, mouth twisting into a smile. “You know, for that food you just couldn’t refuse. Because it’s so incredibly hard to say ‘no thank you.’”

I rub the back of my neck, and Ash huffs a laugh.

“Night, Jack,” he says softly.

Ash heads up the porch stairs, and I hold my hand up in a goodbye. After sending me one last smile, he disappears inside.

The entire time I walk to my house, my thoughts war. As I shower, I can’t stop thinking about Ash’s mouth and his laugh and the feel of him pressed against me as we kissed. Once I’mdry and dressed, I pace, thinking about the ginger tea he made my brother and the way he looked up at the mountains as if awed.

I think of his golden hair and stormy eyes and that goddamn dimple in his chin.

I think of the way he told me, “I’m right here.”

I think of every possible outcome, the good and the bad, and how, in the end, there’s only one way to find out for certain what we could be. If, like Ash said, we could be something good. Somethingreal.

My pulse is racing as I walk the quarter mile back to the ranch house. The sun is set now, having sunk down beyond the mountains. I don’t falter as I head through the front door, kicking my boots off inside. I don’t stop as I walk down the hall and take the stairs up to the second floor. I don’t think or hesitate. I knock on Ash’s door, and I wait.

He opens it after only a few seconds, his eyes widening in surprise. His hair is wet, and there’s a towel draped over the edge of the bed. “Jackson?”

I step in, taking Ash’s face in my hands. There’s a question stuck in the back of my throat that I can’t get out, but Ash must read it on my face because he nods in my grip.

“Yeah,” he breathes, permission freely given.

I move forward, and the pair of us turn in tandem, rounding the door as my mouth comes down on his. Our momentum pushes Ash into the wood, the door thudding shut in the process. He moans against me, a noise I hastily swallow down before tugging him in the opposite direction, all too aware of those in this house who could hear us. Ash’s hands grapple with my shirt as we move, his fingers finding skin, our lips never parting.

When I bump against the dresser at the far wall, I spin him into the furniture. He grunts, legs spreading wider to make room for me to crowd in close. I can’t stop kissing him. Can’t stoptouching. His abdominals tense as my hand drags down the front of his shirt, a groan leaving his mouth, his hunger just as evident as my own.

Ash’s breaths are loud when I drop my lips to his neck, tasting clean man on my tongue. His groan this time is louder—tooloud—so I cover his mouth with my palm. He makes an affronted sound, tugging my hand away, even as he arches into my touch.

“You can’t just—”

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