Project Produce (21 page)

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ve been around for a long time, and I don’t plan to meet my maker on a silly old pair of skates. You kids take care.”

“You, too.” I zigged and zagged my way to the bench where I’d left my shiny Snow Flurries, not once looking over my shoulder. I finally found the nerve to peek up at Dylan. He looked like he was fuming over the distance I’d purposely put between us. I couldn’t help it. It was just too much to take in right now, and I had no idea how to handle it.

He stormed over, coming to a stop by spraying the ice directly in front of me. I looked down and continued to unlace my skates.

“Don’t you think we should talk about what happened out there?” he asked.

“Nothing happened out there. We got swept up in the moment, that’s all. It’s not like we haven’t kissed before.”

Dropping down beside me, he hesitated, his jaw muscles popping. He didn’t speak until he finished changing into his boots, then he stood and grabbed our skates, leading the way to Big Betty.

He turned to face me. “We’ve kissed before, yes, but don’t you think it was different this time?”

“You were hurt. I was concerned. I’m telling you, it was only the moment. Let’s just forget about it, okay, buddy?” I walked past him and slid into the passenger side of his car, praying I could do just that.

“Unbelievable,” he said loudly from outside. “Fine, if that’s the way you want to play it. But I’m telling you, it was a hell of a lot more than
the moment
, and you damn well know it,
buddy
,” he added as he slipped into the driver’s side of his car.

Revving the engine, he tore away from the curb and took me home in silence. But that didn’t stop my brain from screaming,
Run, hide, don’t look back!
I blinked.
Oh, my God
. How had this happened? I tried not to hyperventilate, scared to death that I’d just landed myself in a relationship, and I had no idea how to handle it. We were supposed to be friends, that was all. That was not a friendly kiss, or even a lustful kiss, that was a I’m-falling-head-over-heels-for-you kiss. Why did he have to go and change the stakes on me?

More importantly, what on earth was I going to do about it?

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Early Sunday morning, I paced Gloria’s small living room. I’d been up for hours. The scents of lemon and pine filled the air, and rays of sunshine sparkled off just about everything. I’d already cleaned the bathroom, swept the kitchen, and dusted the knickknacks. Anything to avoid Dylan. I peeked outside at the blue sky. A walk sounded good right now, but I wouldn’t risk running into him, since he seemed to be everywhere.

Gloria shuffled into the kitchen wearing a short satin kimono wrapped tightly around her. She yawned. “Any coffee left?”

“Half a pot.” I headed to the closet. “Now that you’re up, I can vacuum.”

“Sit,
chica
. I vacuumed yesterday. Besides, my head can’t take the noise right now.”

I headed back to the kitchen and sat. “I see someone had a good time last night.”

“Too good.” She smiled. “Let’s just say Eduardo has more stamina than any man I’ve ever been with.”

I gasped. “Eduardo? As in the small-footed valet?”

“That would be the one.” She winked, then took a sip of coffee and sighed. “And his feet aren’t that small. Not gherkin small, more like a big dill. Anyway, size has nothing to do with it, honey, it’s how he moves that sucker that counts. Besides, I don’t want someone more impressive than me.” She shook her melons, snickering.

I rolled my eyes. “Well, at least one of us had a good time,” I muttered.

Gloria frowned. “Why? What happened?”

“Nothing, really. I had a blast ice skating, if you can believe that.” I stared down at the table and traced an imaginary letter D with my finger. “Dylan’s perfect.”

“Maybe too perfect,” she suggested in a suspicious tone. “What did he do?”

My finger stilled, and I looked her in the eye. “He kissed me. I know he’s kissed me before, but this time it felt different. I sorta freaked out and pushed him away. Now he’s mad, and I don’t know what to do.” I ran my hands through my hair and shook my head. “He’s not like the losers from my past. He pays attention to what I say and makes me laugh, but he has issues, and I’m still not ready. What should I do?”

“Maybe it’s time you confronted him about his issues.” Gloria grew serious, something new for her.

“Thought you said he didn’t have a problem. That he was just being a man.”

“Well, maybe I was wrong. Maybe he has a few problems. Yeah, you should definitely talk to him.”

I narrowed my eyes and crossed my arms over my bumps. “What do you know that you’re not telling me?”

Gloria’s face flushed a coppery red. “Nothing.”

“Yeah, right, nothing. Just a day ago, you were his biggest fan, telling me to loosen up and have some fun. So what gives?”

She huffed out a breath and rubbed her temples. “Oh, all right, but you can’t say where you heard this from. Promise?”

“I won’t say a word, I swear. Now start talking.”

“Eduardo’s gonna kill me.” She took another sip of coffee. “Hotel staff aren’t supposed to gossip, you know, but let me tell you, my Eduardo likes to talk.”

He
liked to talk?
Snort
. Funny coming from Gloria, whose mouth moved faster than a whippoorwill’s behind.

A mischievous smile played at the corners of her lips. “Things got kinky real fast between us and one of my favorite toys. But when I started laughing, I thought Eduardo’s face was gonna explode. Not the kind of explosion I was looking for.” She winked. “If I wanted to salvage the evening, I couldn’t let him think I was laughing at him...”

Oh, please, God, tell me she didn’t
.

“...so I had to explain about the joke I played on you with your special friend, Jack.”

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, she did
. “There had better be a point to this, Gloria.” I’d never be able to face Eduardo again.

“Oh there is, honey, trust me. After Eduardo got done laughing his ass off...”

I glared at her.

“Sorry,” she said, but didn’t look anything of the sort as she got up and refilled her coffee cup. She sat back down and continued, “Anyway, Eduardo knows our doorman Franz, and Franz told him he’s seen all those wackos who’ve been stalking you, hanging around with your Hot Britches at Antonio’s Deli. Says they call themselves the Brat Pack.” Gloria swirled the coffee in her cup, and the heavenly scent of Arabica beans floated to my nose.

Until her words sank in.

I shook my head, my mouth hanging open. I’d suspected Dylan was involved with those people somehow, but I hadn’t wanted to believe it because that would make him underhanded and deceitful. Just like Bob. But if he did have something to do with them, then so much of the puzzle surrounding my Twilight Zone encounters would fall into place.

Gloria added, “I know this is New York, honey, but how many Inspector Gadgets, Cat Women, Thermometer Women, and Khaki Men can there actually be? He’s a cop. I’m sure he’s got a good reason. He’s probably just worried about you.”

“Yeah, well, he lied to me. And I don’t need a babysitter.” I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if my pin-straight hair started to curl from all the heat steaming out of my head.

All that talk about being careful? With the exception of Flasher Freak, the only crazy things that had happened to me had been Dylan’s doing all along, yet he’d sat back and said nothing. He let me go on thinking I had lost my mind because he didn’t trust me enough to call for help if I truly needed it or to get myself out of a bad situation.

He’d already shown me how to defend myself. I’d knocked him off his feet, for crying out loud, but when I said I didn’t need a babysitter, he got me one anyway. Four, in fact. He couldn’t be trusted. He was trying to take charge of my life just like Bob had. Disappointment swamped me. For a moment I’d actually let down my guard and believed in him. Lesson learned.

“I take it you’re the big case he’s been working on. And if Brats One through Four are the Brat Pack, then Dylan must be Big Daddy,” Gloria said as she got up and set her cup in the sink.

“Dylan’s a big something, that’s what he is,” I ground out.

“What are you going to do?” She looked at me over her shoulder.

“Get even.”

“I think you’re making a mistake, but whatever you do, I’m here for you.”

“Thanks, but this is something I have to do on my own. Any idea where this deli is?”

“No, but I can find out.” Gloria looked up Antonio’s in the phone book then wrote down the address and handed it to me.

“Thanks.” I got up and grabbed my coat from the closet and then headed out the door.

Note to self: When produce turns rotten, it’s time to throw the junk out
.

Two could play at this game.

***

With a newspaper in front of me, I pretended to read as I hunched down in a corner booth in Antonio’s Deli. The clanking of silverware and the steady hum of conversation drifted throughout the room, making it impossible to pick out any familiar voices.

My mouth watered over the aroma of lunch meats, seasonings, salads, and coffee assaulting my senses, but I couldn’t afford to get up and order something. Someone might recognize me. How Dylan hung out in limbo just waiting and watching for a living was beyond me. Guess he had more patience than I did.

Ignoring my hunger, I peeked around the edge of my paper and seethed with anger as I watched Dylan and the infamous Brat Pack eat their lunch. After what seemed like forever, his cell phone rang.

I’d taken Gloria up on her offer to help. She’d agreed to call Dylan on his cell at exactly noon, become hysterical, and convince him to come to her rescue immediately.
Did I mention Gloria is almost as good an actress as she is a singer?

Dylan snapped his phone closed, said something to the Brat Pack, then bolted outside. And the Oscar went to Gloria Martinez for her amazing performance in “Pull the Wool Over Hot Britches’ Blue Laser Beams.”

Wasting no time, I lowered the newspaper and strode to the table then dropped into his seat. “Hey, there, brats, remember me? The naïve, small-town girl who needs to be more careful?”

All of them stared at me, mouths agape, forks and cups halting halfway to their lips.

“Speechless, are we? Gee, I wonder why. Don’t worry, I have plenty to say,” I snapped, ready to rip into all of them, but strove to control myself.

Cat Woman set down her tuna sandwich and spoke first. “What are you talking about? I’m just here--”

“Looking for your cat? I’m not buying it, sister. I know all about Big Daddy.”

Thermometer Woman took a sip of her tea, her eyes narrowing in a calculated, thoughtful way, then she started to add her two cents, but I held up my hand and said, “Gig’s up, gang. What I want to know is, who the heck are you people?”

They all looked to Thermometer Woman who hesitated, then said, “We’re Dylan’s cousins. I’m Meghan and I’m a lawyer. This is Jo and she’s a cadet. Nick over here is a patrol officer. And Mike is a CSI agent. Dylan asked for our help, so we gave it. It’s that simple.”

“What’s with the Thermometer?” I asked.

“Her clock’s ticking,” Khaki Man said and received a swat from Thermometer Woman. “Well, it’s true. You’ve been trying to get pregnant for months.”

“And the karate chopping?” I raised a brow at Cat Woman.

“Hey, I gotta fit practice time in wherever I can or I’m never gonna graduate from the academy.” She shrugged.

I looked at Gadget who scowled at me. “I never know what I might need at a crime scene, and I hate carrying around a box with all my supplies. This coat works perfectly.”

“Whatever you say.” I bit back a laugh, then glanced at Khaki Man and shook my head. “You, I think, are just flat out weird.”

He grinned wide. “Weird, but cute.”

I rolled my eyes when the bells rang over the door, and Dylan marched back in. As I ducked under the table, I squeezed my insecurity in the middle of four sets of shoes, and hugged my knees to my chest. Man, someone’s feet stunk. I glanced from a pair of designer heels, to a pair of black dress shoes, to a pair of running shoes, to what looked to be about a size nine set of tan loafers and stifled a snort.

Oh, yeah
. Those were the guilty culprits. Khaki Man must not have worn socks when he’d done all that jogging in Central Park the other day. Gagging, I plugged my nose and held my breath when a humongous pair of snakeskin boots came to a stop about six inches from my Snow Flurries.

“Hey, cuz, what’s up?” Cat Woman asked.

“Got all the way to Big Betty and realized I forgot my keys. Anyone seen them?” Dylan asked.

I glanced up as everyone shuffled about above my head, then I looked in front of my feet and my eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. A big ole Ford key ring, loaded with keys.

Shoot, shoot, shoot!
How did I get myself in such ridiculous situations? What should I do? I could kick them out from under the table. Who was I kidding? Keys didn’t have legs. Anyone in his right mind would look under the table, but what other choice did I have?

Dylan’s knees started to bend as he began to kneel. I bit my lip, lifted my toe, and...

“Here, let me.” Khaki Man poked his head under the table and winked, until he saw me plugging my nose. I dropped my hand and shot him a sheepish grin. His eyes filled with pure mischief as he scooped up the keys and disappeared, then he started to... oh, for the love of God, tap Mr. Make-Me-Go-Cross-eyed Smelly Loafer.

They were all talking above me, but a fresh wave of El Reeko Feeto nailed me in the face, and I lost the thread of conversation as my stomach pitched. So I reached in my purse, pulled out a small vial of El Smello Muchbettero breath freshener and pointed it at the small stink-bombs, squeezing the trigger tight.