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that kind of behavior.”
    “And where are you getting this impression of me?” Lucas had been celibate for eight damn months. Casual hook-ups had been fine for him a few years ago, but these days he liked to be in a relationship with a woman before he took things to the bedroom. Maturity or something like it, he assumed. The kind of behavior she was talking about was a thing so long in his past he could hardly remember ever doing it, so he was hardly going to sit there and listen to Carly Denton call him a player.
    “Where did I . . . are you kidding me? Do you forget about them all too?”
    “All who?”
    “The brunette against the barn, who was getting a bit more than a kiss. The woman you were making out with at Christmas the same year. Then there was your little spring fling. Every time I saw you that year it was someone new.”
    A rash of heat broke out over his skin. Embarrassment. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt embarrassed, but he sure as hell did now. The thought of eighteen-year-old Carly catching him . . . Well, he knew exactly what she was talking about now. There had been a lot of someones, but not so many that he couldn’t remember an encounter that was that specific.
    Things had gotten a little hot and heavy in a public place, but it had ended at second base. Still, he wasn’t thrilled that Carly had seen it. He couldn’t even really explain why it bothered him so much.
    “Carly . . . I’m sorry you saw that. That’s . . . well”—the embarrassment was just starting to piss him off now—“look, it was on my property, I can do what I want on my own property. It wasn’t intended for your . . . viewing pleasure.”
    Her lip curled. “It wasn’t a pleasure, trust me. And I get that men have relationships, but there’s a difference between relationships and constant flings. Men who get involved in that . . . It doesn’t stop, Lucas, I know that for a fact.”
    There was something in her voice—anger, disgust, but that was easily identified. It was the other emotion, vibrating beneath her words, that’s what was pulling him up.
    Hurt. It had hurt her.
    The realization hit him hard in the gut. “I’m sorry it hurt you.”
    Her mouth dropped open. “Hurt me?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Oh, that’s funny. Why would it hurt me?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Well, then . . . why would you say that?”
    “Why would you still be so bothered by it?”
    “Why aren’t you? I can’t be the only person who thinks you’re . . . you’re a . . . a man-whore.”
    He shrugged. “Why would I care about that?”
    “Because. Because it should matter what people think.”
    “News flash, Carly, I don’t care what people think.” Maybe that’s why she was so mad. Because he didn’t care. And she did. So much she was crippled by it. “You should try it sometime. Let your hair down. Get your back up against a barn wall.”
    She stood up quickly, slamming her laptop shut. “This has been lovely,” she said. “But I’m going to go and do something more enjoyable. Like maybe stick barbed wire under my fingernails. I’ve got lunch.” She stuck a twenty on the table and turned and walked out of the diner.
    Lucas took the twenty and crumpled it in his hand. Then he pulled his wallet out and replaced her cash with his. He’d return hers to her later. Maybe by mail. Or he could always deliver it in person. Picturing the look on her face, the one of pure annoyance, that she would get if he did it, did a little something to reduce the knot in his gut.
    But only a little.

Chapter Four
    Carly settled into the couch, her legs tucked up underneath her. She tightened her hold on her cereal bowl and took a bite. It wasn’t grown-up cereal. It was the sugary kind, with marshmallows.
    They’d never had it growing up. Not because her mom liked to feed them healthy food, but because she often forgot to go grocery shopping. They’d always had eggs from the chickens though, so