Project Produce(57)

“Listen,” she swiped her hand through the air, “for someone who’s supposedly an addict, he sounds a bit lame to me.”

I frowned. “He’s not lame. He’s made moves, or maybe I have. Heck, I can’t remember.”

“My point exactly. An addict probably would’ve given up a long time ago, or possibly pressured you ‘till you caved. You, of all people, should know that. Everything’s black and white with you, chica. Maybe you’re wrong about this one.”

“I’m not, trust me. I saw--”

“The evidence, I get it. I just don’t buy it.” She reached out and squeezed my hand. “Just because he’s into girly mags and Internet porn, doesn’t mean he’s addicted to sex. It just means he’s a guy.”

I stared down into the creamy swirls of brown in my cup. “I guess part of me is afraid he may have seen that stupid porn video of me. I just don’t think I could stomach that.” My eyes met hers. “What if he’s just being nice to me because he thinks I’m easy?”

She laughed. “Honey, if you were easy, he would’ve gotten some by now. I think he would’ve figured that one out and given up on you.” She grew serious. “Ever think maybe he just likes you for you?”

“I might think that, except for Flasher Freak. I know how much Dylan wants to be the one to catch him. Once that happens, he won’t have a reason to hang out with me. He’s just using me to further his career.”

“Kinda like you’re using him to find your answers?” She arched a winged brow.

“Yeah. Great basis for a relationship.” I snorted. “Once he finds out he’s part of a psychology project, he’s going to hate me anyway, so what’s the point?”

She stood up and carried her cup to the sink, rinsing it out as she spoke. “You’re way over-thinking this. Just enjoy his friendship while it lasts. You seem happier since he came into your life. It doesn’t have to go any further than that, if you don’t want it to. And if it does, well hell, enjoy that too.” She winked. “Just don’t go losing your heart, and you’ll be fine.” She headed into her room to change for work, calling out behind her, “Loosen up, would ya? Go have fun.”

Gloria was right. I stared outside at the bright sunshine and clear blue sky, determined to have a good time on my date. Hypothetical date, that is. So, really, I shouldn’t have anything to worry about. Just because I was the type to fall fast and hard in the past didn’t mean I would do so now. Especially if I was on guard against it. I just had to keep reminding myself of that, and everything would be all right.

***

“I can’t do this.” My skates slipped out from under me, and I landed hard on the ice for the millionth time today. Who knew my insecurity could be an asset? I painstakingly made my way to a bench, plopped down with a wince, and crossed my arms over the bulk of my Eskimo parka.

“Sure you can. Just have a little patience, and it’ll come.” Dylan gave me an encouraging smile.

Why did he have to be so nice? Or so cute? And why in the world had I ever agreed to ice skating at Rockefeller Center when I didn’t have a clue how to skate? Because I’d had such an amazing time in the toy store last night, I admitted. And because I never could turn down a challenge.

Since I chose where we went last night, it was his turn today. He hadn’t even told me until he picked me up and we were on our way. Like I could cancel then. Besides, I wasn’t kidding when I said I was competitive.

I once ate ten pounds of Grandma Brown’s baked beans all by myself because Shawn Sheritan claimed to have done so and made the arrogant mistake of saying I couldn’t. I didn’t even like beans, but I was determined to make him pay. I just hadn’t anticipated the entire west wing of Cutesville High would pay as well.

If someone had lit a match, the whole school would have gone up.

But I didn’t regret it one bit. Even if I hadn’t been the most popular kid in school, I’d won. Today wasn’t any different. Okay, so I wasn’t tooting like a choo-choo train stuck in high gear, but there was no way I would quit until I skated on my own at least once.

To Dylan’s credit, he’d been trying to help me all afternoon, but I’d been too stubborn to allow it. No wonder he was good at skating. How could he not be? His feet were so big, he looked like he wore skis instead of skates. Heck, I could be Nancy Kerrigan with those. I huffed out a breath and peeked up at him from under the hood of my humongous coat. I hated that I couldn’t do this on my own, but maybe it wouldn’t be such a terrible thing to accept just a little bit of help.