Page 85 of Sweet Like Whiskey

“Pretty much,” I mutter, enjoying the roast beef sandwiches Ash made. “This horseradish from scratch?”

He gives me a quick grin. “Yep.”

“’S’good.”

He bumps my knee again. “Thanks, Jack.”

We fall silent as we finish our meal, the evening sun keeping us company as it races toward the mountains. I take a sip of my beer, content to soak up the peaceful air.

“Did you mean that?” Ash asks, his voice quiet.

I look over at him with a soft grunt. “That I don’t plan on hurting you? ’Course.”

“No, not that,” he says, setting his empty plate down and resituating to face me more fully. “I mean, that was good to hear—don’t get me wrong. But no. The part about me being…pure.”

Christ.

I fidget with the label on my beer bottle, feeling scrutinized and not sure I like it. Actually, scratch that. I’msureI don’t like it.

But this is Ash. And he’s been nothing if not honest with me from the start.

Easing out a breath, I say, “Yes, I meant that. Ashley, you have this way about you that’s good and bright. You remind me of that great big orb up there.” I point the end of my beer bottle toward the sun for emphasis. “You make everything lighter. And maybe pure ain’t the right word ’cause Lord knows you’re filthy when you wanna be…”

He gives me a coy smile, and I rein in everything that smile has me itching to do.

“But I don’t think there’s a single piece of you capable of purposeful destruction,” I go on. “You’re pure of heart, and that’s something I can’t help but admire.”

And feel drawn to.

Ash doesn’t speak for the longest time. He looks out over the land, a pensive expression on his face. “I hurt Nicholas.”

My chest constricts briefly. “Not intentionally. I don’t think you would’ve walked out the way you did if he had once tried to stop you. He hurt, true. But I don’t think it was your fault.”

He tips his head into a nod, lips quirking slightly. “Your mom said you’re not good at sharing your thoughts.”

I huff. “No. Usually, I’m not.”

“You have been with me, though.”

I let out a sigh. “’Cause I don’t know how to deny you.”

Ash chuckles, the sound almost dark. “That’s a lot of power to give a person, Jack.”

“I’m not worried.”

“Because of my pure heart?” he asks, sounding amused.

I grunt.

Ash chuckles again, leaning back in his chair and setting his ankle over my knee. I grab the skin beneath his pant leg, my thumb stroking over his ankle bone.

“You know,” Ash says slowly. “It’s polite to offer someone respite when they’re so very far from home.”

“Far?” I ask, my pulse picking up.

“Uh-huh. You wouldn’t want me walking all the way home in the dark, would you?”

I glance at the still-risen sun before looking over at the man with the wavy blonde hair and eyes I’m fairly certain were crafted from the sky itself. How this warm, bubbly presence is capable of inciting such wicked thoughts, I’m not sure I’ll ever understand.

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