Project Produce(43)

“What did your purse just say?” I couldn’t believe my ears. I reached for her purse.

“Hey, watch it, lady.” She tucked it under her arm. “My purse didn’t say anything.” She stuck her hand in the large bag and muffled a beep as she slammed the door. “You really should be careful who you try to help. I could have been some sicko.” She rolled up the window and the cab sped away from the curb.

I stared after them, wondering what had just happened. The woman had said careful, and there was that word brat again. “There’s a bizarre conspiracy going on,” I grumbled to myself. “A conspiracy of loony nutcases, completely paranoid about being careful. And apparently, there are brats everywhere.”

Seeing another cab pull around the corner, I whistled again, but the music blaring from his radio drowned me out. The cabbie’s head bee-bopped to the beat like an out-of-control bobblehead, not paying a bit of attention to his surroundings. He couldn’t possibly make much money driving a cab like that, but I couldn’t afford to waste any more time. I lunged into the road and waved my arms. The cabbie slammed on his brakes, screeching to a stop right in front of me, his eyes bugging out of their sockets.

I grabbed the door handle and did a double-take as Dylan’s car cruised by. “What the hell?” He didn’t even look my way. I was supposed to meet him at the gym for a boxing lesson during my lunch break. The only reason I had agreed was to find out what made him tick, what drove him. And it wouldn’t hurt to learn to protect myself a little better. Besides, we were supposed to be friends. I shrugged and shook my head. Maybe it hadn’t been him. “Face it, Cal, you’re losing your mind.”

“You say your shoes need shine?” the cabbie asked as I climbed in.

“No, I need--”

“You need shine. No worries, lady, Nikko know perfect place.” He pulled away from the curb.

“But I don’t--”

“You don’t know the way. I take you.” He merged into traffic, heading... the wrong flipping way!

“But I have to--”

“You have to hurry. Nikko no mind. We get there fast.” The cab roared down the street, narrowly missing a bus, and the bus driver blared the horn. Nikko leaned out the window and spewed a stream of angry-sounding Greek, as if the near-accident wasn’t his fault. I gripped the back of his seat for dear life and gave up on trying to talk to him.

But I sure as heck wasn’t paying him for taking me to the wrong place.

***

I stumbled through the gym doors, breathing loud and heavy. Forget the Twilight Zone. Getting to the gym had turned out to be Mission Impossible. Good grief, I was on the verge of collapse and our workout hadn’t even begun. Pausing to catch my breath, I spotted Dylan by the boxing ring.

He looked at the clock on the wall, probably wondering where I was. No problem, Zuc, just having a near-death experience with the country’s biggest NASCAR wannabe.

Dylan lifted his shoulders, tipped his head from side to side, and bounced from foot to foot, jabbing his fists at the air. Whatever he was doing, he looked really good doing it.

Glancing around the old gym, I liked what I saw. Nothing new or fancy about it, just a whole lot of heart and soul. And sweat. The people who came here obviously did so because they loved the sport, not putting on a show just to hit on the opposite sex.

Dylan caught my eye and smiled. Well, shoot. That meant I had to move. I wove my way through the mostly-male population until I reached the ring.

“What happened?” he asked.

I stuck out my gleaming Snow Flurry. “Let’s just say these boots are no longer made for walking, since Nikko’s cousin, Marco, got done plastering a pint of grease on them. Or maybe it was pomade, judging by his slicked-back hair. In either case, I fell three times just trying to walk through the gym door.”

Dylan’s brows knitted, then he shook his head. “You’re too nice, Mac, that’s why you need my help.”

“Some help you are. You didn’t even offer me a ride back there. And don’t deny you drove right past me. I saw Big Betty. There’s only one of those beasts in this town.”

“Honey, I offered you a ride yesterday. If my memory hasn’t failed, you tossed my ass curbside.”

I glared. “You know what? Even if you had offered me a ride--in Big Betty--I wouldn’t have taken it.”

“What makes you think I’d want to offer again?” He arched a brow.

“Let’s get this straight. Friends don’t ride each other.”

“Really. From where I was laying last night, you wanted that ride, friend or no friend.”