Project Produce(20)

His brow arched higher, but the corner of his lips hitched up a notch. “Well, that explains a lot.”

I glanced away. “Can I help with anything?”

He chuckled. “Nope, just sit tight. I’ve got it covered.” He wandered back into the kitchen, giving me a great view of his buns. His perfect buns. No insecurity there, I’ll bet. I took a gulp of wine this time.

Note to self: Produce conversations get easier with alcohol.

“Speaking of zucchinis, I’ve kind of noticed you’re rather, um, tall,” I called out from the dining room. “Does that mean you have Tall Man Syndrome?” Lord, he must think I’m a freaking nympho.

He returned with a loaf of steaming Italian bread and a devil of a grin. “Well, I am tall. Have big hands, too, but I’ll leave the rest to your imagination.” That darn crooked grin spread even wider across his face, melting me like the hot butter spread across the massive loaf.

“Hmmm, I don’t know. You seem rather cocky to me, chief. And according to you, cocky equals small. Maybe you’re hiding a pickle, and that’s just a sock.” My gaze dipped between his legs, giving me the sudden urge to fall off the face of the earth. This had just gotten really weird, even for me.

He grinned. “My pants aren’t that tight, and the only socks I have on me are the ones on my feet. The word you’re looking for is ‘confident’. There’s a difference.” He set the huge loaf right in front of me. “Big difference. And I thought it was Dukeypoo?”

I glanced at the loaf. In your dreams, Zuc. He wasn’t that well-endowed. “Yeah, well, Dukeypoo, I wouldn’t be comparing myself to that loaf of bread. Looks to me like he’s been castrated, too.”

Dylan laughed, the rat, then disappeared and came back carrying a bowl of tossed salad. “Anything else?”

“Actually, yes. Does your Mr. Winkie give you any problems?” I managed to choke out, and he gave me a level stare. “Hey, you asked.” God, this project bit the big one. Ooops. That hadn’t come out the way I meant. It basically sucked. Like that was any better. Good Lord, I couldn’t even think without getting myself into trouble.

“Well, that’s a question for Mr. Winkie.” He winked. “Why don’t we ask him?” He set the salad on the table and looked down at himself. “Hey, buddy, the nice lady wants to know if you’re having any problems?”

Darned if I didn’t join him. “Oh, I’d say he’s responding just fine,” I croaked, yanking my mortified gaze up to meet his twinkling one.

“You asked. I answered.” He pulled out his seat and sat.

“And then some.” I fanned my cheeks. “So, um, does having a zucchini ever worry you that it won’t fit, or that you might hurt your partner?”

His eyes narrowed. “Why? Are you afraid of it?”

“Well, to tell you the truth, I... I...” How did I tell him without him thinking I was using him? I was using him, but that didn’t mean I wanted him to know it. I had taken Gloria’s suggestion--turn the tables on the opposite gender--but I was still a woman, which meant I had a conscience. “I’m not afraid of ‘it,’ I just haven’t had very good experiences when it comes to men. Guess I’m trying to figure out what makes them tick.” At least I hadn’t lied.

He shifted in his chair and eyed me suspiciously. Okay, so the light, playful tone of the conversation had just taken a nosedive to the serious side. Don’t worry, pal, I’m not going to burden you with my problems.

“You? I can’t imagine you having problems with men.” The sincerity in his eyes threw me, and I wondered if he’d heard about the scandal. Could he be different from all the other men I’d met and actually like me for me?

I mentally shook myself. How would he have heard of the scandal? Paranoia had set in. The chances that he had heard of the scandal were slim, but I wasn’t willing to gamble with my fresh start. “You have no idea.”

“So, you just want to know what makes me tick, that’s all?”

“Yeah, you know. What kinds of things guys think about. I don’t understand the male species at all. It’s like dealing with an alien.”

“Man, I know the feeling. I thought I understood the female population, until I met this shrink.” He shook his head, and a pained expression briefly flashed across his face. “She gave me the runaround, keeping me out of work much longer than I had to be, all because she had an ulterior motive. I don’t think I’ll ever trust a shrink again, at least a female one, anyway.” He met my gaze head-on. “So what do you want to know?”