Page 53 of Sweet Like Whiskey

“Do you want it to happen again?” I ask, praying like hell I haven’t read him wrong.

After a moment, he nods once, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

“Jack… Are you out at work? Because if you’re expecting this to stay a secret, I think we’ve already failed.”

He huffs. “’Causesomebodyis damn loud.”

“Excuse me,” I say, chuckling at his brusque delivery. “I’m not the only one who was loud. You’re welcome for that, by the way.”

He scrubs a hand down his face, but I swear he’s smiling. “I’m not…” He blows out a breath and tries again, his eyes aimed away. “I’m not gonna ask you to be a secret, Ash. I don’t play games, all right? That’s not what I want. Everybody here knows I’m gay. It’s not a problem.”

I let loose a breath, and Jackson looks over at me almost warily.

“What is it?” he asks.

“Nothing. It’s just… That was a damn good answer, Jack.”

He grunts, glancing away again, self-conscious or nervous, maybe. The man is like a porcupine, all squishy soft beneath his quills.

“Christ, you’re cute,” I mutter.

He looks affronted. “I’m notcute.”

“Mhm.”

“I’mnot.”

“It’s a compliment, Jack,” I assure him, standing and rolling up my yoga mat. “Want to have lunch with me today?”

If he’s surprised by the offer, he doesn’t show it.

“Are you gonna keep calling me cute?” he asks.

“Might,” I admit.

He hangs his head, grumbling in a way that has me grinning. Before he can give me an answer, my phone rings. I pull it out and check the screen.

“My mom,” I tell Jackson, accepting the call. “Hello?”

“Hey, honey,” my mom says. “How’s the ranch?”

“Great,” I tell her, glad to hear a distinct lack of judgment in her tone compared to the last time we talked. “I’m loving it here. The job is perfect for me, and everyone has been really welcoming.”

Jackson looks off toward the petting farm, giving me some semblance of privacy, but I don’t miss his pleased smile.

“That’s good,” my mom says, tone shifting. “Ashley, honey, I heard something from Linda at the country club this morning. You know Linda, Nicholas’s mom’s neighbor?”

“I believe so,” I tell her, my stomach twisting. “What’d she say?”

“Nicholas is on his way to Montana.”

For a second, her words don’t compute. “What?Why?”

“Well, apparently you haven’t been returning his calls,” she says.

“Because we broke up.”

Jackson’s gaze snaps back my way, his expression hardening into something cautious, almost wary. I give him what I hope is a reassuring smile.

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