Project Produce(74)

“No more than you played me for a fool the week before,” I snapped back.

“Touché. But for the record, all I ever wanted was for you to be safe. Can’t anyone be concerned about you or want to help without you getting all bent out of shape? Not everyone has an ulterior motive.”

“You don’t understand.” I sighed deeply.

“You’re right, I don’t. Not because I don’t want to, but because you won’t let anyone in. I thought we were friends.”

I laughed. Friends? That was a joke. We could never be friends. “Friends don’t do the Dirty Salsa.” I turned toward him and saw his face. He was serious. Were we friends? Could we possibly be friends, as well as something more? In the middle of all this craziness, had we actually formed a bond? Maybe I hadn’t given him a fair shot.

“And let me give you a head’s-up, sweetheart.” His eyes met mine, and he stared for an intense moment. “Your giant was not one of Nick’s bozos. You picked the real deal when you picked him.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. “I told you I didn’t pick him, he picked me.” I pressed my lips into a firm line, but clamped my knees together to keep them from shaking. “It doesn’t really matter. The point is I handled the situation. I don’t need a baby-sitter, let alone four.”

“Yeah, you handled yourself fine. You made your point. You don’t need anyone, including me,” he ground out in a voice laced with steel.

“That’s right, I don’t.” So why did my heart feel like a vise had tightened around it? This is what I wanted, wasn’t it?

“Good, because I’ve got better things to do than waste any more of my time on you.”

I choked, ignoring the quick flash of hurt that zipped through me. “I never asked you to spend time with me, thank you very much. You’re the one who decided to play Super Cop and protect the innocent hillbilly from the big bad city.”

He opened his mouth as though he wanted to say something, then seemed to change his mind, remaining silent until he pulled into the parking lot of my apartment.

“Well?” I asked, wondering where we stood now or what to do next. Could this be the end of our relationship? Somehow, I didn’t want that to happen, either. His expression turned to granite, impossible to read.

“Well, nothing.” His eyes met mine and looked empty. “You’re free, Callie. I won’t be bothering to help you anymore. You can count on that.”

I got out of the car and slowly closed the door. Leaning down, I looked in through the window but didn’t know what to say. “Dylan--”

He threw Big Betty into drive and roared away from the curb, cutting off any reply I might have made.

With a heavy heart, I turned and let myself into my apartment, feeling as though I’d lost my best friend. And in a way, I had. Somehow, some way, he’d succeeded in becoming my friend, and I had an uneasy feeling I’d made a huge mistake.

Question was what, if anything, could I do about it now?

***

Two miserable weeks later, I sat in the Russian Tea Room waiting for Gloria to meet me. Dylan had kept his word, and I hadn’t seen or heard from him in two whole weeks. I’d even tried to contact the Brats, but they were mum about Dylan.

I was a mess. I’d made a huge mistake, dismissing him from my life so carelessly. Struggling for my independence for so long, I had a hard time letting anyone help me now, and all he’d wanted was to see me safe.

Granted, he’d gone overboard, but he was right about one thing. If he’d been up front with me, I would’ve shut him out completely from the start. Then I would never have gotten to know him, or to see his playful side, or to feel the incredible response my body had to his.

God, I missed him. More than I thought I ever could. I took a deep breath, intending to sigh, but my hot tea slithered down the wrong pipe. As I gagged and coughed, I groped for a napkin.

“Whoa, hey, I’m here, sister.” Gloria emerged through the restaurant entrance and jogged over to me, patting me on the back and then raising my arms as if I were a newborn baby trying to catch my breath. “Easy does it. You’ll be fine in a minute, honey.”





“I’m fine now,” I croaked. “Just swallowed wrong.” I tugged my arms from Gloria’s grip and glanced around, smiling at the other diners in embarrassment. “Sit down. Causing a scene.” I took a gulp of water, trying to regain my voice.

“Oh, who cares what anyone thinks?” Gloria waved her hands furiously in the air while she talked. “So what’s up? Why the urgency in your message?” She flipped her long, curly hair over her shoulder and flagged down a waiter to order a vanilla chai tea and finger sandwiches.