Project Produce(23)

“Huh?” When I didn’t answer, he kept talking, “What I wanted to know is if you’d like to--”

“I’d like to go home.”

He blinked. “But I thought--”

“You thought wrong. I’m not that desperate, Detective Cabrizzi. I don’t want to go to bed with a pervert like you.”

“Pervert?” He stiffened, hardening his jaw. “You really do have problems figuring men out, because you’ve got me all wrong.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. I know exactly who you are. Sorry, pal, not interested.”

“Neither am I.” His laser beams had cooled to icicles.

“Good, then we’re on the same page. I’m grateful for the job you got me, but dinner is over. Consider my debt paid.” Spinning on my heel, I marched to the door and yanked my coat off the silly hockey man. When I grabbed the knob, Dylan’s warm hand curled over mine before I could open it.

“I’ll drive you home.” His hot breath tickled my ear when he spoke.

“Don’t bother,” I snapped, stepping away from him. Anger shot through me that my body betrayed me by reacting to the sound of his voice and the touch of his hand.

“I said I’ll drive you home.” He glared at me like he had the night Flasher Freak had shown up. “It’s foolish to walk alone at night. Didn’t you learn anything last week?”

“I didn’t say I’d walk. I’ll call a cab.”

He ignored me, took my arm, and then led me to Big Betty. I opened my door before he could do it for me, then slammed it shut. Glaring, he stormed around to his side and slid behind the wheel. Neither of us talked during the ride to my apartment.

Cutting the engine, he sighed and turned to me. “Look, Callie--”

“Thanks for dinner.” I pushed my door open and stepped out, shutting it--and him--firmly behind me, then stormed over to my apartment door. Once inside, I locked it, wilting back and thumping my head against the solid steel as I tried not to cry.

Why couldn’t I be wrong, just once, when it came to men?

Hot Britches wasn’t only hot, he was sweet, and funny, and charming. He made me feel like a woman, not a piece of meat. I swallowed the lump in my throat and reminded myself he was a phony, he was a fraud, he was a fake...

He was a sex addict.

I could not, would not, get involved with one of those ever again, so I only had one choice. Get the sexy Detective out of my heart and my head for good. I had to start fresh. I had to find another zucchini to interview, that’s all there was to it.

***

Monday afternoon, I meandered into the college cafeteria with my usual--turkey sub and iced tea loaded with sugar--and peered over my tray at the crowded room. Only one seat left. I groaned. That meant I’d have to sit at a table full of teenage girls.

Not that I had anything against teenage girls, I’d just never had anything in common with them, even back when I was a teenager. But I had to do this. Face another fear and stand up for myself. So I took a deep breath, putting one foot in front of the other, and made my way toward the giggles. Then I jerked back just before an attractive boy would have plowed me over.

“Hey,” I said, gripping my tray.

“Sorry.” He flashed a grin but kept steamrolling his way across the worn-out linoleum floor. On the other side of the room, he caught up with an equally attractive girl and threw his arm around her waist.

I shook my head.

Note to self: Being beautiful and under the age of twenty must be prerequisites to fitting in here.

“Oh, girl, did you see that? That guy’s hot,” the redhead at the table in front of me said to the brunette beside her. Then she stared after the man.

“I hear you, girlfriend. But did you see ‘it’?” The brunette leaned back in her chair to get a better look.

“No,” Red responded.

“My point exactly. If you can’t see even a hint of a bulge, then it ain’t worth the effort.”

“Oh, you are so right about that. I once dated a guy who wasn’t good looking at all, but let me tell you, he made up for it in other ways.” She sighed. “Best sex I ever had.”

Ooooh, perfect. A woman’s point of view was just what I needed to compliment this project. “So, let me get this straight. You ladies only date guys who have a big Mr. Winkie,” I said with a smile and sat down in the empty seat.

“Mr. Winkie? Is he a professor here?” A blonde eyeballed me as though I’d grown a third boob.

“No.” I frowned and glanced down just to be sure I hadn’t. Nope, no third boob. Just the two bumps I’d barely grown since puberty. I shrugged and tried again. “I meant guys with big, well, thingies.”