Page 8 of On One Condition

Liar. It’s my first thought.

Leave the past in the past. That’s my second.

I draw in a deep breath, determined to heed the second one, but struggling with the task already. Scars may fade but they can still run deep. “I’m not implying anything. I’ve learned the hard way about men like you.”

“Men like me?” He lifts a lone eyebrow, confusion etched in the lines of his handsome face. “I don’t remember you being this judgmental before.”

“Huh. And here I thought you didn’t remember me at all.”

He startles. “Didn’t remember you?” He coughs the words out in disbelief, his eyes narrowing. “After everything we shared? After the hell I went through? How can you—”

“The hell you went through?” I all but screech. “What about—”

A ruckus breaks out in the rear of the bar, with shouts and the clatter of glass bottles falling. I move to calm the situation, but Hank is there already, breaking up the fight between two regulars we all know by name because this isn’t the first time it’s gotten heated between them.

I take advantage of the quick reprieve and short distance from Ledger to try and gain some clarity and gather my thoughts.

The hell I put him through?

The last time I saw Ledger Sharpe was the night I gave him my virginity. It was also the night that my naiveté in thinking all people are considered equal was shattered.

I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath.

My anger, my snark to hide my hurt—hell, this whole direction of our conversation—won’t get us anywhere. Not that I want it to. But in the same breath, I can’t deny the emotions seeing him has dredged up.

Go. Be nice. Be polite. Make small talk. Then serve him his beer so he can get on his way back out of my life.

Again.

He tracks me as I make my way back to him. “Look. Everything is perfect. Obviously, we have a past. It’s best if we leave it alone.” I muster a strained smile I don’t expect him to believe. “Sound good?”

His snort is unconvincing, the displeasure in his eyes even more so. “Sure. Fine.” He shrugs nonchalantly. “Right after you explain to me what you mean by men like me . . . because last I knew you, you seemed to like men like me.”

Touché.

I did.

I still do.

I’d be lying to myself if I said otherwise, and yet, men like him are the reason I’ve lived my adult life trying to prove I’m more than enough. That I’m more than a motherless girl with no future. It was men like him who cast me aside because I didn’t meet the Sharpe standards.

My thoughts become crazy as the memories renew my fury. Don’t be angry. Ignore the hurt. It was years ago. But it’s so much easier to hide behind the anger and use it as a defense than to admit seeing him has opened wounds I thought had healed and faded.

I clear my throat. “Men like you,” I state and find my footing that his unwavering stare is constantly knocking askew. “Clearly one who thinks he’s too good for this establishment, this town, the people in it . . . maybe even this state, but for some reason, shock of all shocks, he’s sitting at this bar.”

“Not by choice.”

“Of course not. You just proved my point. On that note”—I lift my chin toward the direction of the door and lean my hips back against the counter behind me—“you know where the door is.”

“Asher Wells speaks her mind now? That’s new,” he says with mock surprise and, for the first time, I see a hint of the personality that my teenage heart used to be madly in love with.

“I’m not the same person you used to know. A lot has changed, Ledger.”

“Clearly.” A ghost of a smile paints his lips. It’s smug and arrogant and, Jesus, does it suit him perfectly. There’s confidence to back it now, an acknowledgment that he is who he is without apology. “I like the change. It’s becoming of you—”

“No, you don’t.” I snort and cross my arms over my chest, a defense in and of itself. “You think I’m being a bitch—which for the record, I am. I think I have a good cause too. Just as I’m sure you’ve followed in your father’s footsteps, opting to be the asshole whenever you feel like it, simply because you can. Or do you still toe the line, always doing what you’re told? Do you still need Daddy’s praise? To be the best of the best or you’re not considered good enough?”

My temper gets the best of me with this incoherent ramble that I can’t help. It’s hurt or be hurt. It gets everything you once wanted to say out since this might be your only chance.