Project Produce(86)

A reunited couple embraced right in front of me, twisting the knife in my heart further. So I sat in the far corner, striving for some privacy, and stared out the window at nothing. I felt empty. Empty. I didn’t get it. Dylan wasn’t a loser. He’d said and done all the right things, and had even asked me to stay. He’d said he loved me. What was my problem? I blinked. My problem. I blinked again. That was it. I was the one with the problem.

“Oh, my God,” I said on a whoosh of air.

I sat in stunned silence, my mouth hanging open, as that thought sank in. How could I have been so stupid? How could I not have seen this? I’d come here searching for answers about why men were such losers, when all along I should have been looking within.

I dropped my face in my hands. All these years, I’d blamed everyone else for the things that had gone wrong in my life, but I was the cause. I might not have wanted to be a porn star, but I’d purposely chosen losers, so there would be no chance of commitment. No chance of getting stuck in that small town like my parents for the rest of my life.

I swiped the tears away from my eyes. My God, I was an idiot. I’d gotten everything so wrong. I was an only child. My parents hadn’t wanted to let me go, and I hadn’t been able to stand up to them. So I’d used the scandal as an excuse to leave, blaming them for not wanting me. When in reality, they’d never actually told me to go. My breath hitched in my throat, and my stomach turned sour as another thought struck me.

Oh, God. I’d just done the same thing with Dylan.

Now that I thought about it, I’d purposely left my paper in the full trash, right on top, knowing darn well he’d find it. Then I’d pushed him away and left before he’d had the chance to tell me to go. I sobbed again, harder this time. He’d never forgive me after what I’d done. I’d never forgive myself.

Note to self: You’re the biggest loser of all.





CHAPTER SIXTEEN





Okay, enough wallowing in self-pity.

I brushed my tears away and decided I had to do something. But what? I glanced around Grand Central Station, receiving a few odd stares, but no one said a word. People moved about, chatting, drinking coffee, reading the morning paper, and waiting for their train to depart.

I’d come so far, made so much progress in getting my life back on track. Running was not the answer. I couldn’t go to Cutesville. I had to talk to Dylan, explain why I pushed him away, and get him to listen to me about my project. Out of all the people I’d known, Dylan had been the first one to hold a mirror up in front of me and force me to look at my own flaws and failures and to deal with them head-on.

I loved him.

Maybe I always had, I just didn’t want to face it, didn’t want to deal with it. I still wasn’t sure what the future had in store for me, for us, but I did know I wanted him in it. He was worth fighting for. That was what I needed to do. Fight.

I blew my nose, then grabbed my suitcase off the floor and headed for the door to hail a cab. As I stepped outside into the bright sunshine, I closed my eyes and let the rays warm my face. Hope. I had hope for the first time in a long time. I could do this. I had to believe I could fix things, make things right between us. I couldn’t lose Dylan, not after all we’d been through. And darn it, I deserved to be happy.

I pulled my money out and realized I’d spent most of it on my ticket. I didn’t have enough for a cab. How was I going to get all the way to Dylan’s place? I couldn’t call him. He’d probably hang up on me, if he answered at all. No, this was something I had to do in person.

I opened my phone to call Gloria, but remembered she was at the recording studio. Hmmm, maybe I could call the Brat Pack.

“Hello, Ms. MacDonald. Leaving town?” Professor Butthead asked, coming to a stop beside me.

Wouldn’t he just love that? Just my luck running into him. I hadn’t expected to see Butthead again anytime soon. “Hi, Mr.--”

“Professor.”

“Right. Professor Turner, what are you doing here?”

“Dropping my mother off.”

“You have a mother?”

“Funny.” He looked up at me with squinted eyes. “I have to say, you impressed me.”

I arched a brow. “Was that a compliment?”

“I know we got off on the wrong foot, but I have to fight to keep this course in the curriculum every year. People who don’t take my class seriously tend to get under my skin. You can’t tell me you signed up for the right reasons.”

“Fair enough, but I didn’t quit, either.”

“No, you didn’t.” He sighed. “If you decide to come back next semester, I could probably get you a position as a T.A.”