No Interest in Love (10 page)

“All right, all right, handsy,” I joke, and he lets go of my sleeve and smooths it out. Truffles barks and growls at him because little dude has got my back.

Milo tosses his hands in the air and says, “Whose side are you on?”

The cash crackles in my hand, and I stuff it into my pocket before hopping down.

“Oh dear Gooood,”
I grumble, clutching at where my thighs meet my ass. Feels like I've been on a horse all day.

Milo walks around the semi and takes one look at me bent over and groaning, then bursts out with his booming laugh.

“Take it you didn't go on long trips growing up.”

I shake my head. Mom and Dad didn't do much other than work, my brother is seventeen years older than me, and Grandma didn't really like…

Oh my damn.

Grandma.

“I need to use your phone,” I fire at him.

“Do you need to call one of your random women?” he jokes, pulling it from his pocket.

“My grandmother,” I answer, fingers flying over the cell screen. Call me a “Grandma's boy” but I have a standing date with Grams every Monday night. Shit, she probably called a million times to my waterlogged phone.

“Hello?”

“Grandma, it's—”

“Oh, Jace…don't you do that to me!”

Shit. Her voice sounds on the edge of panicky tears. The only thing worse than girl tears is grandmother tears. “I know. I'm sorry. The flight—”

“I've been glued to the Weather Channel all day.”

“I know. There was a—”

“You were supposed to be here. I had Alec and Landon here to help set up the game for you.”

My grandma still doesn't know how to turn on ESPN. “Shoot, Grams, I know. But I was—”

“I can't get through to your phone. Do you not have your charger? I knew I should've sent an extra. Did you miss the flight?”

Ah, shit, her breathing's going crazy. “Grandma, are you using your oxygen?”

“I've got it.”

“ 'Kay, you take a breath. And give me more than two seconds to explain.” I wait till I hear her breathing even out, then I dive in. “I changed my ticket last second because my agent got me an audition for this Friday in Alabama. I'm sorry I forgot to call you, but I haven't been to the airport since the storm started, and my phone got big-time water damage.”

“So where are you?”

Middle of nowhere at the moment. But I'm not telling her that. She'll send out a search party with money she doesn't have.

“Heading to Albuquerque. Hoping to catch a flight there.”

“Do you need money?”

“I'll be okay.” I'm not getting it from her.

“You sure? How are you paying for your flight?”

I could lie and tell her Shay's agency is covering it. Anyone else, I probably would.

But I
don't
lie to Grandma.

“I'm going to call Landon. He can spot me till I get back.”

“If he can't, you call me. And keep me up to date as much as you can, big shot.”

“I will.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I make sure her breathing is okay before hanging up. She scares the hell out of me when she panics like that. Though that really was my fault. Would've been a lot worse, though, if I were ten years younger.

A garbling monster awakens in my gut, and I toss Milo's phone into the truck. Food first. I'll call Landon later.

The people wandering around in the gas station look sketchy. I swear the guy behind the counter is a ghost. He's sallow and transparent-looking. I shift my eyes away and grab a few things to snack on, not knowing what Shay likes or what she doesn't. And when I check out, I think the pen on the counter moves without anyone touching it.

I've walked into
Paranormal Activity
, whatever number they're on now.

I unload the stuff in the truck, shoving Milo's drink into the cup holder, which can barely contain it. Since I'm not sure what Shay likes, I just leave the other two drinks—Pepsi and Diet Pepsi—there so she can pick. Then I grab the massive cheese-filled hot dog I nearly ate right off the heat roller and take a bite that could feed a small country. The thing is gone within five seconds, and I'm really tempted to eat the salad and side of fruit I got Shay. Instead I pop open the bag of sunflower seeds and dig into them, staying outside to keep my legs from cramping.

I stick a few seeds into my mouth and suck on the salt for a second before breaking one between my teeth. Shay comes around the corner right as I spit the shell.

“Whoa,” I say, shoving the seeds into my cheek to talk. Shay's face is drained of all color. Even her cheeks—which always seem to have a hint of pink in them—are primer white. Her wide almond eyes don't blink once in the time it takes for her to get to the truck.

“You all right?” I ask as she pulls herself up on the first step.

“Nothing. Fine. Great.”

I break another seed and offer my hand to help her into the truck. She settles her fingers in my palm, and they slide a little with whatever sweat I had or she had. I grip harder, only to realize how small her hands are. How soft. My heart pivots in my chest for a split second, then she pulls her hand away and shrugs into the back. Her eyes stay trained on the headrest in front of her.

“You sure you're—”

“Fine. Yep.”

I quirk a smile, slide in the back with her, and offer her the bag. “Seed?”

Her eyes glance at it quickly, then her nose wrinkles, and she shuts her mouth as if she's gonna blow chunks all over our legs.

“Are you gonna puke?”

She shakes her head hard, closing her eyes.

“You sick?”

“I'm fine.”

“Please say something other than that word.” I chuck a seed at her. She picks it up and tosses it back.

“I'm really okay. The bathroom was just…” Her nose wrinkles again, and I let out a laugh.

“Didn't know you were picky about where you—”

“No!” She points a finger at me. “You can't judge. You did not just see what I saw.”

“Betcha I've peed in worse.”

“It wasn't that.”

“Then what did you see?”

She buries her head in her hands, and as pale as she was before, she's now beet red. It fills up the skin on her neck, runs over her high cheekbones. My heart pivots again. It pounds and drums and punches my rib cage, and I choke on the seeds in my mouth. Her arm brushes against mine, and instead of leaning away from the physical contact, I press into it, feeling like there are too many layers between our arms.

Too many layers…

…
on
our arms.

I've gone insane.

Shay's eyes tilt upward, hair blowing gently around her face. I want to push it back for her, but my hands stay glued to the sunflower seeds. Just as she opens her mouth, finally looking like she's going to reveal her bathroom trauma, Truffles comes barreling through the driver's-side door. Milo and his nonstop mouth climb in after, jabbering about how he learned to pump diesel in this truck six years ago. I don't miss the way his eyes drift over and note how close Shay and I are to each other, the fact that we've occupied the space in the back and left the front wide open. I force myself to relax, to increase the distance between our covered arms. Shay clears her throat and scoots a little ways down the seat. I suppose I'll let her and her adorable regular-looking blush off the hook for now, but I'm gonna get her to tell me the rest of the story at some point between here and Alabama.

“Did you get me anything?” Shay asks, leaning forward and digging in the bag. She pulls out the salad and gives me a face. The blush is slowly dissipating.

“What?” I laugh at her.

“Is this what you ate too?”

“You don't like salad?”

She shrugs, prying open the container. I pull out the fork and dressing from the bag, open them, and hand it over.

“I'm fine with salad. But I haven't eaten since early yesterday morning.”

“I still don't think you would've wanted what I had.”

“What's that? Foot-long wiener?”

“Cheese-filled. Greasy. Gone in two seconds.”

Her head falls back and she closes her eyes. “Gah…That sounds magnificent.”

“You like wieners.”

“Yep, really big ones.”

I snort, relieved that she's making me laugh. But also not so relieved…because I'm really attracted to sarcasm. My plan to get laid this week does not include this sudden-attraction-to-my-agent shit.

Shay stabs a piece of ranch-covered lettuce with egg and cheese and bacon bits and pushes it into her mouth. “Thank you,” she says to Milo around a mouthful. He nods, and Truffles perches on the seat to watch Shay and every move she makes while she eats. It's not till after we get back onto the highway that I realize I'm watching her too, and trying real hard not to picture her eating a hot dog instead.

5:37
P.M.

A light tap on my shoulder pushes my eyes open. I blink a few times before the view of an overcast sky out the window comes into focus.

“We're here,” Milo says. I reach to the ceiling to stretch my muscles and jolt when Shay's head falls from my shoulder when I do.

I have no idea when we fell asleep.

Milo gives me a smart-ass grin, and my eyes narrow because the dude thinks he's some sort of Dumbledore of relationships. He nods out the front window while Shay fixes her shirt and slides clear across the cab so we aren't in danger of accidentally touching each other. You know, like we're in middle school. She has cooties and I'm dirty.

Though…I'm catching a whiff of my pit and I think I need to spring out the deodorant.

“There's a shuttle that can take you to the airport. Just wait at that stop.”

Both Shay and I take a look at the middle-of-nowhere pit stop we're at. The rain doesn't look like it came out this far, since everything is pretty dry.

“Can I use your phone one more time?” I ask. Milo unbuckles and hands it over.

“Make it quick. I'm going in to take care of business.” He nods to the restrooms. “But I gotta hit the road when I get back to get this haul dropped off on time.”

I nod as he gets out. Shay stretches her arms in front of her.

“So…what'd you see in the bathroom?” I ask with a sleepy smirk, pulling up the dial screen.

“Your mom's chest hair,” Shay says through a yawn, but I can't laugh at it. My smirk drops, and I slam my eyes shut.
Shit
.

“Okay, I know it wasn't my best comeback, since I stole it from a movie,” she says. “Give me a break. I've been stuck with you for two days.”

“I don't know his number.”

I open my eyes and give her a sheepish half smile.

“What?”

“I can't call Landon. I don't know his number.”

She raises her eyebrow. “You don't know your best friend's number?”

“Yeah. It's in my contacts. I tap ‘Landon.' ” Or more accurately, I tap “Married Sucker.”

“Do you have
any
numbers memorized?”

I shake my head, scratching at the back of my neck. “My grandma's. But I'm not asking her for money.”

She scoots across the seat, closing the distance between us. Her nails lightly drag over my knuckles when she pulls the phone from my hand.

“You have a plan B?” I ask as she taps in ten numbers. She sighs and brings the phone to her ear.

“My agency.” She gulps. “It's the only number I know besides yo—Well, it's the only helpful one I have memorized.”

“And you gave me shit.” I laugh. “You gonna go with the mugging story?”

She shakes her head. “Hi, Julie Perry's office, please.”

My brow furrows. “Is she still there? Kinda late in New York.”

“She'll be there.”

“What are you gonna say?”

“I'll tell her to get you to Birmingham.” She offers up a sad smile, and it hits me what she's about to do.

“Wait, you can't do that.”

“What else are we going to do, Jace?”

I don't know. And I give her a pitiful blank stare because I really have no solution. But we're not doing this. She'll get fired.

Before I can think, before she can talk, I snatch the phone back and bring it to my ear just as Julie answers.

“Julie Perry.”

“Hi, Julie. It's Jason Sterne.”

“Hi, Jason.” She pauses. Shay starts pulling at my arm. “What can I do for you?”

I push Shay back, suppressing a grin. My head keeps tapping the window behind me as she fights me for the phone.

“I'm calling because Carletta Ocean wanted to schedule a dinner tomorrow evening, and I'm unfortunately not able to make that appointment. I was hoping since you had her contact information you could tell her for me? And that I am looking forward to meeting her at the screen test on Friday afternoon.”

Damn, Shay is relentless. I pull my shoulder up to keep the phone by my ear, take both her wrists, and lock my elbows. She's not getting anywhere near this call.

“I can…but isn't Shaylene with you?”

“Yeah, but you know her. She's been chatting up so many people here in LA, she's keeping real busy. I told her I'd take care of this one.”

“Give me that damned phone!” Shay demands. I shove up, tuck her hands behind her back, and make her sit on them. She wriggles underneath me, her chest bumping into mine, causing my brain and skin and heart and nerves to run absolutely wild.

“I'll contact Carletta's assistant tomorrow morning.”

“Thank you, Julie.”

Then I hang up with a giant grin on my face. Shay sticks her tongue out at me.

“Tuck it back in unless you're gonna do something with it.”

I'm teasing.

(Sort of.)

I release my knee that's pinning her hands under her ass, eyes locked on hers, wondering if she'll take me up on the offer. She's got that mischievous glint in her expression. I like this feisty girl. It's the girl who whacked me over the head with a flip-flop. It's the Elmo Girl…but
not
the Elmo Girl. It's the one who's not so worried about schedules and planning and making things perfect. It's Shay. Fun, playful, adorable…no, regular-looking Shay.