Page 23 of Whiskey & Wreckage

I stand there, back against the wall, lips still tingling, brain trying to reboot from whatever the hellthatwas.

I’m not hurt. But Iamreeling. And now, thanks to one perfect, explosive, gut-punch of a kiss… I’m not sure I’m going to stop thinking about Thomas Ashcroft anytime soon.

Chapter Eight

THOMAS

Two weeks.That’s how long it’s been since I kissed her, and then walked away like a fucking idiot.

Since then, I’ve replayed that moment more times than I can count. Her mouth on mine. Her fingers fisting my shirt. The way she looked at me like I wasn’t just a man who showed up for her,I wastheman.

And I left. Because I panicked. Told myself she needed space. That she wasn’t ready. That she didn’treallywant me, not long-term. But every day that passes, I feel more like a coward.

I slam the barbell back onto the rack, chest heaving. I’ve been working out like I’m trying to sweat the thoughts out of me. It’s not working.

She’s texted a few times, but my replies have been dry, short, and cold. I told myself it was the right thing to do. Give her room. But I never stopped watching.

Not in the "tracker-on-the-phone" way. I’m not a complete bastard. But I kept tabs. Checked security footage. Made sure her ex and her sister didn’t come sniffing around again. Even installed a Ring cam on her door when she wasn’t home, left her a note and instructions. She doesn’t know I’ve been watching outfor her. Not really. And I don’t know how to explain it without sounding like a stalker.

I rack another round of weights, go for one more set.

“You’re working out like you’re trying to kill something,” Nash grunts from beside me.

“Maybe I am,” I mutter.

He tosses his towel over his shoulder and glares. “You gonna tell me what’s crawled up your ass, or am I supposed to guess?”

I don’t answer.

“Still got your boxers in a twist over the bar girl?”

I exhale hard, staring up at the ceiling. “Her name’s Poppy.”

Nash raises a brow. “Ohhh. We’ve graduated to first names.”

I slam the weights back into place and sit up. “We kissed.”

He freezes. “What?”

I scrub a hand through my hair. “At her place. After I helped with the lock. It just… happened.”

He sits slowly beside me. “Jesus, man. That’s kind of a big deal. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I shouldn’t have done it,” I snap. “She just got out of a relationship. She was vulnerable. I shouldn’t have touched her.”

Nash whistles under his breath. “But you did.”

“Yeah.” I stare down at my hands. “And then I walked out. Told myself it was the right thing. That I didn’t want to be a rebound.”

“Let me get this straight, you kissed her, things got heated, and instead of talking to her about it like a grown-ass man, you ghosted her?”

“I didn’t ghost her.”

He raises both brows. “Really? What would you call it?”

“I texted her.”

“Once? Twice? With actual words or your usual one-word grunts?”

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