Page 44 of On One Condition

Fresh air.

That’s what I need. Fresh air and yet, my feet don’t stop once I’m outside and have found it.

“Done for the night?” Bernie, our site security guard, asks.

“I am.”

“It was a late one for you.”

“Always is.”

“Any plans? The night’s still young, you know.”

“I do. Thanks.” I stop to look at him as if he just made me realize where I already knew I was going. “Have a good night.”

It takes me a good fifteen minutes to walk to Connor’s. By then, the whiskey’s worked its way through my system, keeping me warm and simultaneously spurring me on.

The parking lot is crowded with cars, and the patrons have spilled outside onto the outdoor patio at its rear. It’s a large place, and the live music and loud chatter floats out the open windows and hits me from the far side of the parking lot.

The front door has a crowd around it, so I veer around toward the back to avoid it. I’m just about to walk through the small gate that encloses a mixture of low and high tables when I hear a voice.

Asher’s voice.

“Knock it off, Carson.” I turn to see Asher pushing against the chest of a guy who has a good hundred pounds on her. “Stop.”

“C’mon. You’ve been cock-teasing me all night—hell, for years,” he slurs. “Just admit you want me—” The fucker smashes his lips to hers as she tries to struggle out of his grip.

Four strides. That’s all it takes for me to cross the distance and get to them.

“Get off her,” I shout as I push him away. He shoves me back, but I have my fist cocked and let it fly into the fucker’s face before he can say a word.

“Ledger. No.” Asher’s shout of my name mixes with the ooof made by the prick as he stumbles backward and hits the railing behind him.

“Are you okay?” I turn to look at Asher, my one hand out to keep her away and my other toward the guy.

“What are you doing?” she shouts at me as she runs to the man’s side. Confusion blankets me. “Carson? Car?” Her hands are on his face, her voice full of concern. “Are you okay?”

She wanted him?

Wanted the kiss?

Carson mumbles something, his words garbled as he’s clearly shit-faced, before chuckling and bringing a hand to rub over his cheek where my punch landed.

“What were you thinking?” Asher screams as she takes two steps toward me.

“He was all over you. He wouldn’t—”

“He’s harmless. Fucking harmless.” She looks from me and then back to Carson, who’s clearly unaffected much to my dismay, and then back to me. “He’s just . . . Carson,” she says in exasperation as if I’m supposed to know what that means.

And as if on cue, Carson’s laughter rings out as he looks my way. “S’all good, man. S’all good. I’d fight for her too.” He stands and wobbles a bit before stumbling a few feet toward the back entrance of the bar. His words repeat in my head. I’d fight for her too. “I need another drink after that.” He turns to look at Asher again, smiles sheepishly, and then almost falls off the barstool he’s trying to sit down on.

“You,” Asher says, pointing at me as she stalks toward me, closing the distance between us. Her face is a mask of fury, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. “How dare you punch him. He’s just Carson. Harmless. Friendly.” She pushes hard against my chest, and I take a few steps back, more than surprised by her reaction. “Just him.”

“I was helping you. Saving you.”

“Saving me?” she screeches.

Her lips.