I can’t win with women. I just can’t.

They see me and either hate me immediately for being born the way I look, or don’t hate me but also don’t bother to get to know me because they assume my looks mean I’m a bitch.

My eyes drift about until they fall on an open seat on the far end of the bar and my hope lights up. I shuffle through the crowd with several mumbled apologies. A guy already seated at the bar eyes me lewdly as I walk by. I look away and quickly make my way to the open seat. It’s at the dark end of the bar, which doesn’t thrill me but at least I’ll be able to sit by myself and not draw attention.

Beside the open barstool sits a couple; a brawny guy with several tattoos and a raven-haired girl with big hoop earrings. They laugh together as they enjoy their beers.

As I slide into the open barstool, the girl eyes me and I smile. “Hi there.”

She gives me a dirty look.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I say quickly, lifting off the barstool. “Is this seat taken?”

“No,” she sneers then whips her attention back to her date.

I pause, half on and half off the barstool, slightly confused and a little offended. Why are girls rude like that? It’s not like I’m here to steal her boyfriend.

With a shaky breath, I resume my seat and try to relax as I scan a small plastic menu on the bar. All I want to do is enjoy a hot meal and forget about this whole day. And maybe make a plan for my life.

Last year I was in nursing school, barely scraping by, but at least I had a future ahead of me. And now I have no money to go back to college and if Big Joe ever finds me he’ll probably beat the twenty-thousand-dollar debt out of me.

I stare at the bar menu and try to contain the panic rising in my chest.

A pretty bartender with long red hair and large blue eyes comes up to me with a warm smile. “How are you doing tonight?”

“I’m good.” I smile back, grateful for the distraction from my dreary thoughts and pleased she doesn’t seem to hate me like the girl beside me. “How are you?”

“Busy and bustling.” She cocks her head. “You look familiar. Have we met?”

She looks familiar to me too, but so do a lot of people in this town.

“I don’t think we’ve met before,” I say. “But I used to come to Copper Springs in the summertime and stay with my dad, so maybe we’ve seen each other before?” I say. “I’m Kayla.”

“Kayla… Turner?” She covers her mouth. “Your daddy. Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

My smile becomes strained but I force it to stay in place. “That’s very kind of you. Thanks.”

“Can I get you a drink?” she says, setting a black napkin down in front of me. LATECOMERS is stamped in copper lettering across the top. “It’s on the house.”

I shake my head. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to. I’m Amber, by the way.” She smiles.

My smile becomes easy again. “Nice to meet you.”

She grabs a rocks glass. “So what’s your poison, sweetheart?”

Before I can reply I hear, “Yeah, sweetheart. What’s your poison?”

Turning to my other side, I see that the dark corner of the bar is not as vacant as I thought. There’s one more barstool capping off the end, and in that barstool sits a pair of dark brown eyes and a wrinkled purple shirt.

So much for forgetting about today.

This is the problem with small towns. You can’t avoid anyone. Ever.

I don’t know why I’m surprised to see her. There are only three places to eat dinner on this side of town, and Latecomers is the only one with decent food. It only makes sense that Kayla would end up here. But sitting right next to me? Come on.

She’s traded her skirt and blouse in for a pair of ripped jeans and a gray T-shirt, but she still looks hot—even with her eyebrow arched in irritation like it is now.

“Of course,” she says, looking at me in exasperation.

I grin. “It’s a small town.”

Amber looks back and forth between us. “Do you two know each other?”

I say, “Yes—”

“No.”

“Seriously?” I stare at Kayla. Why does she act like we’ve never met before? And why does it irk me so much that she does? “I’m not Stranger Danger over here, Kayla. You know me.”

She looks at Amber. “I’ll just have a beer, please.”

Amber gives me a questioning look before slowly saying, “You got it.” Then she reaches for my empty dinner plate.

I stop her hand. “I’ll clean it up.”

Kayla looks at me, then around at the patrons, and asks Amber, “Does everyone clean up their own plates here?”

She laughs. “No. Daren is only insisting on cleaning his plate because he’s working in the kitchen later.”

At the word “working” Kayla glances at me then looks back at Amber. “Oh. Okay.” She flushes a bit. “I just didn’t want to be rude and not clean up after myself if that was how it worked here.” She gives a nervous laugh, which makes her look adorable. Almost.

She’s still a brat for taking Old Man Turner’s money and shutting him out of her life.

“Nope.” Amber smiles. “I’ll clean up any dishes you use. So don’t you worry about a thing.”

She shuffles away, leaving Kayla and me on our own. We’re seated at the end of the bar top where it makes an L shape so I have a perfect kitty-corner view of her face. It’s a pretty face—a sweet face—but at the same time it’s a sexy face. Long eyelashes and a small nose. Plush lips and high cheekbones.

I tap my finger on the counter between us. “I think you and I need to work on our relationship status.”

She turns to me and manages to look both amused and pissed off. “Excuse me?”

“We are not strangers,” I say. “I’ve seen the inside of your bedroom, Kayla. I think that qualifies me to be at least an acquaintance of yours.”

“Wha—” She looks horrified. “When? When have you ever seen my bedroom?”

I shrug. “Sometime in the tenth grade I think? Your dad bought you a new dresser and I helped him move it into your room.”

Her eyes bulge. “What?”

“Love the puppy posters, by the way,” I say with an exaggerated voice. “Super cute.”

Her face starts to redden. “I hate you.”

“Ditto. The point is,” I say leaning forward, “we’re not strangers. But since you insist on telling people that we are…” I give her my most charming smile and hold out my hand. “Hi. I’m Daren Ackwood—all-around nice guy and legendary lover. Nice to meet you.”

She doesn’t even look at my hand. “No.”

I blink. “No?”

“No.”

Amber returns with Kayla’s beer. “Here you go,” she says, carefully setting the mug down so it doesn’t spill. She looks at my outstretched hand, still hovering in midair between Kayla and myself, and raises a brow.

“Kayla won’t shake my hand,” I explain, pulling my arm back.

Kayla looks at Amber. “He introduced himself as a ‘legendary lover.’ ”

Amber slants her eyes to me. “You didn’t.”

I shrug innocently. “It’s supposed to be funny.” And it’s supposed to work, dammit. It always works.

Amber shakes her head with a sigh and says to Kayla, “Don’t mind Daren. He’s full of himself, but he’s harmless. I swear.”

My mouth falls open. “Traitor.”

Amber shrugs. “You are full of yourself.”

“Yeah,” I say. “But you’re not supposed to tell people that.”

“Oh, honey.” She smiles. “Kayla already knew. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some thirsty patrons to attend to.” With a glint in her eye, she turns and walks away.

“I like her,” Kayla says smugly, watching Amber walk away.

“I do too. Usually,” I mutter.

A guy seated down the bar looks over at Kayla before nudging his buddy’s arm and jutting his chin her way. Both guys eye her appreciatively as one of them says something. They start laughing and Kayla turns her face in the opposite direction.

It’s a small movement, so slight it could have been coincidental, but the annoyance on Kayla’s face tells me she’s more than aware that guys are staring at her. I look around for a moment. Lots of guys.