Project Produce(13)

“Well, no, ma’am.” His smirk faded, but his eyes still smiled. Of course he’d have sexy crow’s feet.

I frowned. “And that’s another thing. I hate ma’am. It makes me feel like your grandmother, or something.”

“Believe me, ma’am is better than being compared to my fifth grade teacher. Her name was Ms. MacDonald, too.” He grimaced. “Not a pretty picture.” His gaze roamed over me. “You, on the other hand, are quite a sight.”

“Gee thanks.”

“That was a compliment, ma’am.” He grinned.

“Well, find another name, please.”

He shrugged. “How ‘bout Mac?”

“Mac?” He had to be kidding.

“Mickey D’s is already taken, and MD makes me think of a doctor. It’s either Mac or Supersized.” A cockeyed grin hooked the corner of his full, blurry lips. “Something tells me you’d prefer Mac.”

“Cute.” Not. But Hot Britches was, darn it. Even without my glasses, I could see he still looked hot. I, on the other hand, was positive I did not. I tugged my knit hat down over my ears and then smoothed my bulky mittens down the front of my Eskimo parka. Nope, definitely not hot. “Except Mac sounds like a man’s name, and I’m not a man.”

His gaze roamed over every inch of me, and his eyes heated. “I can see that.”

My stomach flipped. I might not be hot, but apparently, I wore the musher look well. Then Dylan locked those sapphire-blue laser beams onto my eyes, and the U.S. Gymnastics team decided to hold practice beneath my ribcage. I swayed, looking away. “I knew you’d be here, but I didn’t expect you to scare me half to death.”

“I thought you were a big girl. You said you could handle yourself.” When he inched closer to me, I just about had an asthma attack. And I didn’t even have asthma.

I started to step back but caught myself. “I can.” I tried for a glare, but I had a sinking feeling my pale green gaze looked more like a flashlight low on batteries than a laser. So I hoisted my chin for good measure.

“Yeah, with what? I bet you don’t even have pepper spray,” he said.

No, but I smell good, I thought, remembering Gloria’s deodorant. “Don’t need it.”

Dylan eyed my thick mittens and puffy coat. “Hell, even if you did have pepper spray, it’d take you a year to find it in that getup. Where do you get your clothes, Mac?”

“From parents who haven’t got a clue, Zuc.”

“Zuc?” He arched a black brow.

Shoot. “Uh, I meant... Duke.”

“Huh?”

“Just my little nickname for you, Dukeypoo.” I poked him with my mitten, feeling like a complete fool. His brow hit his hairline this time, so I pulled my mittens on a little tighter and then held my hands out in front of me as I took a detour on the conversation path. “I don’t need any pepper spray, Detective Cabrizzi. I have these.”

He slanted those cute blurry lips into that irritating, over-confident smile, and the strongest urge to reach out and pull his goatee swept over me. “What are those supposed to be? Let me guess. The small-town version of boxing gloves?” he asked.

Smart-alec. I threw him a stiff smile. “Why, Detective, you surprise me. I thought you knew we hillbillies don’t box. We wrassle. But it don’t take much to wrassle a city boy, seein’ as how they don’t have much in the way of brains and all.” I looked him up and down. “Care to go a round?”

“Ouch.” He slapped his hand over his heart.

“You deserved that.”

“Touché.”

The icy wind blew crystals into my face, stinging my cheeks. Cold, tired, and in no mood to play games, I stabbed the sign taped to the front door of the motel. “Is this your way of making me lose my job?”

“Hey, all I did was pass along your tip that your boss operates under questionable practices. We suspect the motel might be a front for prostitution. Closing this place down was a given, but the usual procedure would take too long. Calling the health department was quicker.”

Prostitution? Figured. But that was neither here nor there. I couldn’t believe Hot Britches had interfered with my life. Who did he think he was? “Looks like you got your way after all. How do you expect me to eat?” I turned around and marched back toward the subway.

He fell into step beside me and matched his long strides with mine. “Hey, wait a minute. It had nothing to do with getting my own way.”

Ignoring him, I kept walking.

“At least let me give you a ride home,” he said.

I picked up the pace.

“Dammit, Callie, hear me out.”