Page 2 of Whiskey & Wreckage

I snort. “Glad I could be your evening’s entertainment.”

“You’re more fun than the TV behind the bar,” he says, glancing up. “And that’s playing a live car chase.”

I roll my eyes. “God, you’re charming.”

He raises his drink to his lips. “So I’ve been told. Usually right before someone throws something at me.”

“Guess I’m ahead of the curve.”

“Trailblazer,” he says, deadpan.

The bartender slides another whiskey in front of him. We both nod our thanks.

“I’m Thomas, by the way.”

“Poppy.”

He grins. “Fitting.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re sharp. A little unexpected. And I’m guessing you don’t let people walk all over you.”

I blink at him, unsure if that was a compliment or a warning.

“So,” he says casually, “what brings you to the fine establishment of Booze & Bad Decisions?”

I lean an elbow on the bar and sigh. “My boyfriend slept with my sister. In my bed.”

His smirk fades instantly. “Wow.”

“Yeah. That’s the cleaned-up version.”

He nods slowly. “Did you key his car yet?”

I blink. “No.”

“Slash his tires?”

“No.”

“Set it on fire?”

“Not yet.”

He raises a brow. “You’re showing remarkable restraint.”

I laugh, a surprised, watery sound. “Don’t tempt me.”

“I’d offer to help,” he says, “but arson’s a hard one to explain on a background check.”

“You think I wouldn’t pass one right now?”

He glances at me, takes a slow sip of his drink, then shrugs. “Honestly? I’d still hire you over most people I know.”

Something about that makes warmth flicker in my chest.

“So,” I ask, “what’s your excuse for sitting in the shadows like a moody movie villain?”

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