Project Produce (24 page)

I gasped, seriously considering pushing Hot Britches to dive right in, but then I decided even I wasn’t that bad. Keeping Dylan up all hours of the night was enough. “Sorry, mister,” I said nice and loud. “I finished what I set out to do.” I snagged my trash bag and poker then turned around and headed in the opposite direction.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” I answered, but kept walking.

“Because it wouldn’t take much to--”

Smack!

I came to an abrupt stop and whirled around but could only see shadows scuffling. It sounded like fists smacking skin, and then something went
thud
.

Dylan!
Oh, God
. I’d just wanted to get even with him, but I didn’t want him getting hurt because of me. I dragged my loaded trash bag and poker as I jogged back to the dinghy. As I drew close, more rustling came from the dinghy, and then a shadow darted by and a whoosh came from the dumpster. The fishgut dumpster.
Uh-oh
.

“Hello? Anybody there?” I held up my poker. What if it wasn’t Dylan? “It’s Miss Community Serrrr-viiice,” I called out in a singsong voice, my stomach in my throat.

No answer.

Swallowing hard, I peeked inside the dinghy only to see the phony crony lying flat on his back, out cold. “Oh, yeah. That’s gonna leave a mark.” And I was gonna be in big trouble when he came to.

A muffled grunt came from somewhere inside the dumpster, and I jerked my head up. Gripping my poker tighter, I peered over the edge and blinked. Nothing there. I squinted and looked closer then pressed my lips together. A patch of black hair lay barely visible beneath a mound of garbage. I waited until I saw him move a fraction, then I pulled away.

Snort
. Big, big trouble. Payback had gone a bit far tonight, but since the damage had already been done, might as well roll with it.

Note to self: Fishguts at three A.M. make a perfect late-night snack for rotten produce
.

I felt myself soften. Rotten or not, he’d come to my rescue. Probably because he still hadn’t caught Flasher Freak, I reminded myself, but a part of me didn’t really believe it. Still, I had to admit that community service felt darn good. I plugged my nose, trying not to inhale, and tossed my trash bag into the dumpster, my work for the evening complete.

I couldn’t resist. I sliced the air for good measure, threw a punch, then yelled, “Ye-haw!”

Ding. Ding
. Round two went to Callie MacDonald, the country karate boxing champ of the evening.

***

At the end of the week, I stood grinning in my bathroom mirror as I got ready for my date. Dylan had called a few times after the first two episodes, asking if I wanted to get together, but I’d made one excuse after another, until he’d finally stopped calling. Well, he couldn’t blame me for being leery of our sham of a friendship after that kiss, and he deserved the silent treatment after siccing the Brat Pack on me, even if I was getting over it.

We’d get back to using each other soon enough. Just as soon as I had him convinced this naïve little small-town girl had finally gone loco on him. I had to be close after this past week.

I’d turned myself into a careless, irresponsible, completely helpless damsel in distress. I’d chosen Grand Central Station at one in the morning and Chinatown at midnight for Episodes Three and Four. I snickered, thinking maybe he’d finally had enough, but part of me didn’t want to stop. I was having too much fun.

He must have been questioning his own abilities as a Detective, because I hadn’t given the Brat Pack a single problem. Just him. He’d even called Gloria, asking if something had happened to me because I was acting strange.

Something had happened, all right. I’d successfully put him in his place, and he’d apparently moved on. I frowned. According to the Brat Pack, Dylan had a date. Penelope was a red-hot masseuse he’d been casually dating before I had invaded his life. But since I hadn’t agreed to “hang out with him,” he’d decided Penelope would do as a Valentine’s date.

Bet he wouldn’t be her
friend
tonight.

It shouldn’t have irritated me. I should have been glad he’d moved on in the dating department, but darn it, I wasn’t. So I’d found out where he was taking her, and I asked the Brat Pack to fix me up with my own date. If he could move on, hypothetically, then so could I. After all, we never were “really” dating.

Besides, tonight wasn’t about jealousy, it was about my final stand in the payback department. One final stand. That was it.
Really
. Sigh.

I didn’t believe me, either
.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Figured, Dylan would take Penelope to Dominic’s. He only took me to his place. I guess that was all a hypothetical date warranted. No need to impress me before moving on to dessert, which was all I had been to begin with. Bart, my hot-beefcake-with-no-taste date, bypassed the valet and parked his pickup in a handicapped spot at the expensive restaurant.

I had to slam my shoulder into the truck’s rusted door three times before it opened, not that Beefcake would think to help me. He might have been attractive and packing some good-sized produce, but he couldn’t have had more than a peanut for a brain. Preppy Khaki Man must have chosen Crude Bart as his form of payback for the whole smelly-feet incident.

Bart tossed his key to the doorman who just blinked at him, then Bart sailed through the door and let it close in my face. I sighed. “Sorry.” I smiled at the doorman.

“No, problemo.” He pulled the door open wide.

“Thank you.” I walked into the restaurant, smoothing my hands down the front of the little red dress I’d borrowed from Gloria. The one that made her look like a goddess and me a two-bit hussy. Given my height, it barely covered my insecurity but showed off my legs perfectly. Only, Gloria’s breasts were so much bigger than mine. The neckline plunged well below my non-existent cleavage. I’d had to go without a bra and tape the red shimmery material to my nipples. I only hoped the overall effect would work on Dylan.

I wanted him to suffer.

Beefcake shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he stood in the lobby, waiting to be seated. “There you are. What took you so long?”

I stared at him, wanting to knock him upside the head. “I had a little problem with the door.”

“I know, man, that sucker was heavy.”

“Ya think?” I took a deep breath, putting Beefcake’s manner’s--or lack thereof--out of my mind as I searched the restaurant for Dylan.

“Be right back. I gotta go fill the pool,” Beefcake said.

“Huh?” I asked, still scanning the interior. “They have a pool?”

“You know. See a man about a one-eyed snake.”

I looked up at him, half listening. “What are you talking about?”

He gaped at me as though I were the one with the low IQ and spoke in a loud, slow voice. “Drain... the... main... vein.”

My eyes sprang wide.
Good Lord, who talked like that on a first date? Who talked like that, period?
“Couldn’t you have just said you needed to use the facilities?”

He stared at me blankly.

“The bathroom? The john? Never mind.” I shook my head. “I get it. Just go do your business.” He walked away, while I stepped out of line and waited for him on a bench in a cozy corner. The heels I wore were killing my feet. “Fixing me up with Bart was a good one, Khaki Man. I’d call that more than even,” I mumbled to myself as the restaurant door opened.

Dylan came in, followed by some blonde bombshell. I snatched up the menu beside me and sank low as I hid behind it. I peeked around the edge and watched the maitre d’ sit them at a table close by. Close enough for me to hear her high-pitched, nasal voice. I winced. And if I hid over by that fake tree, I could probably hear what they were saying.

I stood and casually made my way over, still pretending to study the menu. I lowered my menu just enough to see over the top and peek through the tree.

“Whoa, would you look at the fun bags on her?” Beefcake said from behind me.

I jumped and then looked over my shoulder. “Shhhh. They’ll hear you,” I whispered. “Fun bags? Why on earth fun bags?”

“Cuz they’re fun. If I were him, I’d be playing all night.”

“Right.” I had to ask.

“So, is that the guy?”

“Yes. Now, stop talking so I can hear what they’re saying.”

“Ooh, yummy. Look at all these choices. And they use such pretty colors to describe them, don’t you think?” Penelope batted her lashes at Dylan, curving her ruby red lips into a coy smile.

Wonder how long it took Bombshell in front of the mirror to perfect that little number.

Dylan grunted. “Uh, pretty colors. Right.”

So his type consisted of a life-size Barbie with big implants, professionally-bleached blond hair, and colored-contact-enhanced indigo eyes. She rambled on about the shapes and sizes of the menu choices, but he yawned as he stared at his own menu, looking like he wasn’t paying the least bit of attention.

“Sir, your table’s ready,” the maitre d’ said from behind us.

I spun around and stared into narrowed eyes. “Great. I was just studying the menu, and the food looks delicious.”

“But I thought we were--”

I elbowed Beefcake in the ribs and pasted on a brilliant smile.

The maitre d’ pursed his lips, stuck his nose in the air, and said, “Right this way.”

Beefcake started barreling off without me again, but I snagged his arm and attempted to strut my stuff. Dylan looked right at me as we approached, but I pretended not to see. He ducked down in his seat and held the menu up in front of his face.

Oh, no. You’re not getting off that easy after asking another woman out
. I know I hadn’t returned his phone calls, but I didn’t care. I’d be rational later. Right now, anger and jealousy battled within me. There, I admitted it. I made eye contact with Bombshell and gave her the biggest smile I had in me, then I pretended to notice Dylan for the first time. “Dylan? Is that you?”

He lowered his menu and looked at me. “Mac.” His gaze flicked to Beefcake and hardened.

“Oh, my God. You two know each other? Well, you just have to join us,” Bombshell gushed.

“There’s not really enough room.” Dylan glared at her.

“Don’t be silly. Yoohoo, Mr. Maitre d’ man, could you bring two more place settings? My date would like to invite his friend and her date to join us, wouldn’t you, snuggle bunny?” She giggled.

Dylan met my direct stare. I looked from Penelope to him and then arched my naturally-blond brow high, flattening my collagen-free lips into a thin hard line.

“Why not?” he answered, his eyes narrowing to icy blue slits. “I’m dying to meet Mac’s date.”

“Well,
snuggle bunny
, I’d love to introduce you to Bart,” I said with a stiff smile and frost lacing my voice.

Penelope giggled. “I’m Penelope, and I call him snuggle bunny, too. Isn’t that funny? She’s funny, Dylan. I like her.”

“Yeah, she’s a regular riot,” he responded, his stare boring into mine. “And I thought it was Dukeypoo.”

“It was. As in past tense. Bart, this is Detective Cabrizzi.”

“Hey, man.” Bart nodded, barely acknowledging Dylan as he plopped down across from Penelope. “Hey, babe.” He’d need a flipping bib if he didn’t stop drooling.

“He calls everyone babe. It’s so sweet.” I forced a smile as I sat across from Dylan and dug my heel into Bart’s foot.

“Ow, Christ, what the hell did you do that for?” Dylan leaned over and rubbed the top of his black dress shoe.

Whoops
. “Oh, God, I’m sorry. My foot slipped.”

“By accident or on purpose?”

“If I’d meant to do it, I wouldn’t have aimed for your foot.”

“We gonna order or what? I’m starved,” Bart asked.

“You like to eat? That’s so funny, I like to eat, too,” Penelope answered, and they dove into another pointless conversation, oblivious to us.

“So this is how you’ve been spending your time?” Dylan asked me as he jerked his head in Beefcake’s direction and arched his sleek, black brow.

God, he looked good in a suit. Heck, he’d probably look good in a trash bag, but I refused to let that distract me. “Yes, well, I was a bit busy this week with my new friend, and all. He’s been such a doll, helping me get over my insomnia. I finally found a safe way to tire myself out.” I bestowed a flirty smile on the stud muffin sitting next to me, but Beefcake simply stared at me. I cleared my throat, and after a moment, he finally got the hint and draped his arm around my shoulders.

Duhhhhhh!

I smiled the sexiest smile I knew how and stared into his eyes as though he were a god. Then I glanced at Dylan and caught him glaring at Beefcake’s hand as it hovered an inch above my bumps. He set his jaw. Guess the overall effect of Gloria’s hot tamale dress worked well enough, judging by the look on Hot Britches’ face.

I sat up straighter, giving Beefcake an eyeful. Forget an eyeful, his fingertips touched the swell of one bump, nearly giving him a handful. I slid lower and heard Dylan grinding his teeth clear across the table.

Beefcake shrugged and dropped his arm. “Let’s order, man.” He picked up the menu. When I could no longer stand his struggle with the entrée terms, I snatched it and read it for him. After we placed our orders, he leaned over to whisper loudly in my ear, “I’m hungry.”

I gave him a sultry look and offered up my neck, even though his hot breath smelled of cigarette smoke and turned my stomach. When he sat there like a knot on a log, I fumed, until he finally blinked, then leaned over to nuzzle my skin.