Project Produce (29 page)

“Absolutely.” I took a deep breath and walked to the front of the room, receiving an encouraging smile from McCreedy along the way, and set my report on the podium. But I didn’t have to look down and read it to know what I was going to say.

“When I first started this project, I truly believed that size mattered.” The class snickered, but I smiled indulgently and kept filling them in on what I’d learned. “The truth is, we can’t prove one way or the other whether size matters or not. We can only draw conclusions. And after thorough research and help from some special friends, I’ve concluded that we’re human beings.”

Several heads nodded and the snickers subsided as I won them over.

“We all have issues based on the experiences we’ve had in life, not necessarily on the size of our produce.” A few more snickers rang out, but overall, I’d captured the attention of nearly everyone in the room. “That’s not to say there aren’t a few generalizations that might hold true on how the size of a man’s produce could potentially affect his personality, but just remember there are exceptions to every rule.”

I looked around the room, all eyes were riveted on me, and a newfound confidence I didn’t even realize I had filled me to the core. I no longer minded being in the spotlight. In fact, it felt darn good for a change. “At first, based on my observations and interview questions, I thought pickles were downright cocky because they felt they had to overcompensate for what they lacked, and cucumbers seemed comfortable with who they were, while zucchinis seemed overconfident women-magnets whose only thoughts were their next conquest. But then I dug a little deeper and discovered this: everyone’s self-conscious about some aspect of their bodies, no matter if they’re born gorgeous or wishing to be that way.” I smiled, as I ended with, “So don’t judge a man by his produce, get to know the person within, and we’ll all be better off. Just because one zucchini’s a jerk doesn’t mean they all are.”

The whole class broke out into applause, Professor McCreedy clapping the hardest. Professor Butthead’s face had puckered up like a prune. His mouth opened and shut a few times, then he sputtered, “Well done, Ms. MacDonald. You can take your seat now.”

When class was over, I treated myself to lunch in the cafeteria and ran into Callie’s Angels.

“So, how’d it go?” Red took a seat beside me.

“Great. You should have seen Butthead’s face when Professor McCreedy walked in. It was priceless.”

“We thought you’d like that.” Brownie grinned.

I blinked. No way. “I thought it was some coincidence when she walked in right before my presentation.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You guys did that for me?”

“Yeah, isn’t it great? We ran into her just before your class, and she was all too happy to check out your presentation. Jeepers, I wish I could have been there.” Blondie clapped.

“You guys are the best.” I got up and gave each of them a hug. “I could not have done this without you. Thank you all so much.”

“Hey, no big deal.” Brownie shrugged, but a smile tugged at her lips.

Blondie giggled. “We had fun.”

“Besides, how could we say no after we said your eggs were rotting?” Red grinned from ear to ear.

“That makes us even since I first thought of you all as giggling puddles of estrogen.” We all laughed. “I’ve got to get to work. Maybe I’ll see you next semester.”

“Count on it. And if you need any more help, you know where to look,” Red said with a smile.

“Thanks, Angels.” I waved as I left the cafeteria on cloud nine. First Dylan loved my redecorating, and then I’d succeeded in pulling off the insane project, and now I’d made friends. Real friends. Things were suddenly going right in my life.

I’d stopped running from my problems, learned how to stand up for myself, and I knew I wanted to be an Interior Designer. So why did the thought of entering a serious relationship terrify me? I guess I still wasn’t ready to trust men completely.

Dylan hadn’t said he loved me, and he hadn’t asked me to live with him permanently, so I refused to get in any deeper. I had to end it tonight, but I had a feeling it wasn’t going to be easy. I frowned, falling off my cloud and landing in a puddle of reality. If things were going this well, that only meant one thing when it came to me...

My life was about to hit the fan
.

***

“Did I thank you for my new coat?” I asked Dylan as I tucked my legs beneath me and snuggled deeper into the black leather sofa. My stomach hurt from stuffing myself with take-out, but the orange chicken and egg rolls had been to die for.

“Several times,” Dylan answered, putting his arm around me and pulling me closer to his side, then crossing his sock-clad feet on the coffee table in front of us. He picked up the remote and turned the TV to the sports channel. “Come on, guys, you’re beating yourselves,” he said as though the baseball players could hear him.

“Dylan?”

“Hmmm.”

“Are you sure you like this room?” I leaned my head back to rest my cheek on his shoulder and looked up at him. God, I wished I could take a picture so I’d never forget his profile. I inhaled deeply, trying to ingrain his musky scent in my brain forever.

“Positive.” He still stared at the TV. “Bad call, ump. Get some new glasses.” He shook his head and ran his hand up and down my arm as though it were the most natural thing in the world for him.

I unfolded my legs and plopped them across his lap, wanting to be closer to him, if that was possible. He laid his other hand on my thigh and squeezed, then gave me a quick kiss and went back to watching the game. “Why all the questions?”

I sighed. “Just tying up all the loose ends before I have to go.” There, I said it before him, yet my heart still thumped painfully. No matter how hard I’d tried to guard myself against it, the thought of leaving him still hurt. But I had to. I already cared more than I should.

“Go? Go where?” He gave me his full attention now, and his brows formed a deep V.

My breath hitched. Why did he sound so surprised? “Well, the semester is over, and I have to live somewhere. Since I couldn’t find a place here, I thought I’d go back to Cutesville to confront my parents. It’s time.”

He frowned. “Okay.” He turned off the game--his favorite team, no less--and slowly set down the control. “I’ll go with you, and then we’ll come back here together.”

My heart started hammering. “Why would you do that? And where would I live if I stayed here?” He couldn’t be suggesting what I thought he was, could he?

“You’d live here with me.” He stared deep into my eyes, and his filled with an emotion I was afraid to name.

“B-But this is only temporary. You said so.”

He took my hands in his and ran his thumbs over the backs of mine. “Because I knew you’d never move in if I said anything else. This doesn’t have to be temporary, Callie. This could be a whole lot more, and I think you know that.”

I pulled my hands from his, slipped my legs off his lap, and crossed my arms in front of me. “No. No, I don’t know that. Men don’t commit. Men c-can’t be trusted.” My eyes darted left, then right. Anywhere but on his face. I couldn’t believe what he was trying to tell me, because then everything I’d ever thought about men had been a lie. I wasn’t ready to believe there were still good guys left out there, even though deep in my heart I knew it to be true. Dylan was everything I’d ever wanted but thought I couldn’t have.

So why was I freaking out?

“Callie, look at me.” His voice rumbled soft and low, until I was helpless to do otherwise. “I love you. I have for a while now, and I want us to be together. Please say you’ll move in with me for good.”

I jumped up off the couch and backed away from him. “No, you don’t love me. You can’t.”

“Sweetheart, I know you’ve been hurt, but I’m not that guy.” He stood up and stepped toward me.

“Don’t come any closer.” I ran into the bathroom and locked the door. I couldn’t breathe. My palms began to sweat. This couldn’t be happening. I couldn’t let it happen. I had no clue why, I just knew I couldn’t.

“Callie, come on out,” he said, his voice filtering through the door. “You don’t have to decide anything right now, just sleep on it, okay? We’ll talk it over in the morning.”

I sat on the edge of the tub for ten minutes until I’d finally calmed down. Maybe I could let this happen. Maybe I deserved to be happy for a change. I didn’t know what I wanted. This was all too much too soon.

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.

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.