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Project Produce(85)



Gathering courage I had no idea I possessed, I opened the bathroom door. “Okay, I’ll think about it, but that’s all I can promise.”

He opened his mouth.

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore tonight.” I took a deep breath. “I just can’t. There are things I need to tell you, things I’m not ready to say yet, but I will. Just give me some space, okay?”

“I can live with that. Don’t stress, Mac, it’s going to be fine. You’ll see.”

“Whatever you say.” I followed him back to the living room, but somehow, I doubted everything would be ‘fine.’ Dylan was a really nice guy, and he’d been good to me, but my past had taught me things were never fine when it came to me. I still wasn’t sure about anything, but maybe it was time to trust a man again.

***

The next morning, I got up and headed to the living room. Maybe Dylan was right. Maybe things could work between us. I’d thought it over and decided being with him was worth the risk. But first, I had to tell him everything. He might not want anything to do with me once he found out.

Everything was quiet. Too quiet. Where was Dylan? I walked into the kitchen and found him standing there, still holding the wet filter and coffee grounds he’d obviously intended to throw out, as he stared down--Oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph--at the crumpled research paper I’d thrown in the trash. The bottom of my stomach dropped out, my throat tightened and I could feel my cheeks flame. Why had I waited to tell him?

He reached in and picked up my paper, absently tossing the coffee grounds and filter in its place. I opened my mouth and was about to explain, but I wasn’t prepared for the look of stunned surprise that had washed over his face as he looked up at me.

“Is this why you asked me all those crazy questions about size and personality? I was your project?”

“It wasn’t like that.” I stepped forward to touch his arm, but he flinched away.

He shoved the paper in my face, nearly blinding me with the bright red “A” on it. “You just wanted to figure men out because you’d been hurt? What a crock. You never loved me, you just used me for research.” He turned away, like he couldn’t bear to look at me. “Tell me, did you sleep with all your subjects?”

I stood there in stunned silence, staring at his back, unable to speak.

He faced me again, his brows puckered in disbelief. “My God, you’re no better than Tina. She didn’t love me, either. She knew all along she didn’t want to be married to a cop, she was just in it for the sex like some slut.” His blue laser beams bore into me as he ground out, “Like you. You both make me sick.”

I sucked in a breath, and pain sliced through me over the word “slut,” reminding me of what every guy had thought of me after the scandal. My guilt faded as pure agony set in. Everything would be fine, Dylan had said. Yeah, right. Nothing was fine. I’d been a fool to think for even a second that he might be different, that we might stand a chance.

I fought back against the pain the only way I knew how. “That’s right, I don’t love you. I was just using you.” His shock turned to a mask of pain, but I couldn’t seem to stop the words from pouring out. “I never meant for things to go this far. Sorry.”

“Sorry? That’s all you can say?” His pain vanished, and the angles of his face turned rigid in anger. He clenched his fists as he stared at me with disgust. Then he threw my paper at me and said, “I hope it was worth it,” as he walked right on by and out the door, slamming it behind him.

I stood there with fisted hands, body rigid, breathing heavy, and staring at the door he’d closed in my face. My throat filled to the point where I couldn’t swallow, and I could no longer see through the tears hovering on my eyelids.

“What have I done,” I whispered, then fell to my knees, my heart shattering into a million pieces. I began to sob. Why? Why had I pushed him away like that? If it was what I wanted, then why did it hurt so badly? My mind was a blur, and I could no longer think clearly. But one thing was certain. I’d ruined everything. He hated me.

I got up and threw my clothes in a suitcase, just enough to get me by, then left as quickly as I could. I could never face him again. I had to get out of there, before I changed my mind. His smell was everywhere. I couldn’t breathe between my sobs.

Stepping outside, I hailed a cab. “Grand Central Station, please,” I stammered. The driver left me alone on the way there, thank God. After I paid my fare, I hit the ATM and withdrew all the money I had left, just enough for a ticket to Cutesville. Ten minutes later, I was waiting in the train station, alone.