No Interest in Love (11 page)

The corner of her mouth twitches, and then she licks her pointer finger…and jams it into my ear.

“Son of a—”

“What's the plan now, Sherlock?” she asks as I wipe my juiced ear using my shoulder. I'm tempted to wet-willie her back, but Milo's door cranks open, distracting me. Truffles jumps in first and licks the ear I just cleaned.

“All right. Sorry, but gotta head out,” Milo says, handing us each a water bottle, grinning at the way I'm hovering over Shay. I sit back, clearing my throat and refusing to look at either of them.

“Um…one more minute?” I ask, tapping on his Facebook app. I log out of his profile and enter in my own.

“What are you doing?” Shay asks, leaning over, face close enough that the screen glow hits her lips.

“Gonna send my friends a group IM. Maybe one of them will see it.”

“Yeah, but how are
we
going to see when they respond?” she asks as I type to Alec, Theresa, Liz, and Landon.
Hey. Out of cash and need to get a flight to Alabama for an audition by FRIDAY. Can you guys spot me till I get back?

I type in my account number, log out, and hand the phone to Milo. Then I grab Truffles's cheeks. “Bye, buddy. Thanks for the ride.”

“Oh yeah, because he was driving.”

I laugh and shake Milo's hand. Shay gives him a hug. Then we hop out in silence. I don't know about her, but I'm still trying to shake my muscles free of all the tension. But whether that's from sitting on my ass for a day and a half or from something else, I'm not sure yet.

Shay starts pacing and biting at her pinkie nail the minute Milo and Truffles hit the highway.

“Any ideas?” she asks.

“Maybe there's an Internet café or something at the airport. Take the shuttle, hang out there till one of my buds gets back to me.”

“And if they don't have a way to log on?”

“We could pretend my wife in New York is about to have a baby, and I lost my wallet.”

She laughs to herself before bringing her nail back to her mouth.

“What, no go?” I joke, planting my ass on top of my carry-on. “You know people won't help us out if they know the truth.”

“I don't know. Sexy actor needs help getting to his next movie with Carletta Ocean.” She sighs and stops her pacing. “Could be worth someone's money.”

“Sexy, huh?” Yeah…I caught that.

“To some people.”

She looks down, and I stare at the hair that's come loose from the pen and blowing around her neck. She goes quiet, and I'm wondering if she's coming up with some brilliant plan to get us both the rest of the way. Well, I'm hoping, because I'm drawing blanks. I'm about ready to grab another ride there. It can't be more than three days' trip straight. Though I'm pretty skeptical we'll hit another break like we did with Milo. Shit, I forgot to grab his number. Wanted to keep in touch with him—

“Why did you do that?” she asks, pulling me from my head.

“What'd I do?”

“Talk to Julie.” She pushes on my hip to make me slide over on the carry-on so she can sit. I know she's small, but she's not that small, so I get up and flip it on its long side, and we both take a seat. Her side is pressed right up against mine, and I lose concentration for a second.

“Sorry, what'd you ask?”

She turns her head to look at me. “Julie could've gotten you there by Friday. Actually, she could've gotten you there by
tomorrow
. So why didn't you let me let
her
take over?”

“We had a deal, dork.” I say it like it's an obvious thing, but it hits me that she's right. All that stuff would make sense. Less risky. But…

“Look,” I say, adjusting a little on the bag. My knee hits hers and she looks down at it briefly before her eyes blink up to mine again. “We either both get what we want, or neither of us does. I'm okay with that.”

The corner of her mouth twitches. “Me too.”

“All right. Then let's think.”

We both stare off at the shuttle, and I don't know about her, but my mind is still a giant, blank, whiteboard.

Then a train whistle blows in the distance.

7:41
P.M.

“Just pretend you're into me,” Shay says, grabbing my hand and setting it firmly on her tiny waist. She throws the fakest of smiles out at a couple of passersby, and I'm trying not to let my hand drift down to her ass. Out of habit. Not because I want to. The Smurfs just want me to make a move on
someone
.

“How is this supposed to get us free tickets?”

Shay huffs out a breath, blowing her bangs up and making them look more chaotic than they were before. I laugh and push them back in place.

“See, like that.” She pulls me closer, and I shrug because I wasn't trying to look “into” her. Another few people pass by, hardly noticing us because most are looking at their cells.

“We should just ask to borrow one of their phones for a second,” I say. Shay's arms loosen around my waist. She's gung ho about getting us on the next train heading east. When we heard the whistle blow back at the shuttle station, she shot to her feet and dragged me out here. Apparently sneaking onto a train without paying is her brilliant plan, even though the train only goes to certain stops. She's determined to get us closer, even if it's not Alabama exactly.

The doors open on the train down the platform a bit, and Shay tightens her grip. “Okay, follow my lead.” She takes one step forward, then turns back around. “But don't…say anything.”

I salute her, and she grabs the hand against my forehead and weaves me and my carry-on through the crowd. As passengers spill out from the train that just pulled in, she waits for a lull, then sneaks us into flowing traffic.

“Uh, don't know if you noticed, but these people are
leaving
the train station.”

“You're saying things,” she sings at me. I laugh and squeeze her hand. Then wonder why the hell I just did that.

“Oh, shoot!” she says very loudly, startling the lady in front of us. (And me.) “I left my bag.”

Her hands find my arms and spin me around. She uses my body to get us back through the crowd and toward the train door. The ticket checkers or whoever those people are smile as passengers get off, telling them to enjoy the rest of their evening. I try not to make eye contact with any of them.

Shay's relentless in her steering. I'm at the stairwell before I know it, and as much as I didn't want to catch anyone's attention, a soft hand touches my shoulder briefly before the cheery hostess says, “We're not quite ready to board, sir.”

I shoot Shay a look, because I'm not supposed to open my damn mouth, but she could've given me something to go on. Improv is my forte.

Shay squeezes in close to me, running her nails up my forearm. Unexpected goose bumps shoot up and down my skin.

“Sorry,” she tells the hostess, “I left my bag.”

“Oh, you must've been in the upper coach.”

“Yes, exactly.”

She steps out of the way, and Shay heads toward the stairs that lead to the upper level at a speed I think is a little too fast to be inconspicuous, but she doesn't go up them. She pauses, keeping an eye on the staff as they continue to help people off the train. When the hostess turns around to assist a woman with a bag the size of Texas, a strong shove from the side knocks me into the train bathroom.

“I knew you wanted me,” I joke. Shay narrows her eyes, takes her hands off of my shoulders, and shushes me. “You want me to lock it?” I whisper.

She shakes her head. “Locking it will let them know someone's in here.”

“So you're just hoping they don't do bathroom checks.”

She doesn't answer, and I blow out a breath and lean against the sink while she rests against the opposite wall. We're gonna get caught, but for the sake of our nonarguing week, I don't bring that up.

Shay shifts, the bottom of her shirt dangling by her knees because she's still wearing the one I loaned her. An unexpected laugh floats on the edge of her lips when she catches my gaze.

“What?” I ask her.

“Nothing…It's just…I can't even say this is the first time I've been in a bathroom with you.”

Half my mouth picks up and I nod at the floor.
S
HAY,
S
CENE
F
OUR
:
Setting: guy's restroom at the Culture Club.
There I was, doing my business, when she comes bursting through the doors, dumping her purse onto the counter. She was muttering Korean mixed with English. The only word I remember was “bitch.”

I shook off—only twice, like we've all been taught—zipped up, and said, “I'm all for gender equality, but a little warning might be good next time.”

Her eyes widened as she looked up into the mirror, then they filled with amusement when she saw me sauntering to the sink next to her.

“Of course,” she said, turning the faucet on, not even attempting to leave while I washed my hands. “Of all the guys I could've walked in on, it had to be you.”

Then a tiny bit of blood dripped from her left eyebrow.

“Whoa…what happened there, Elmo?”

She shot me a deadly glare, made even more deadly by the blood. “It's Shay. I know you know that,
Jace
.”

“Damn,” I said, turning off the water and grabbing a towel, “you're a mean drunk.”

“I'm not drunk. My head just…hurts.” Her eyes pinched shut while her fingers massaged her temples. “That girl's purse was lined with bricks.”

I had missed a catfight. Damn bladder.

I pulled a few extra towels from the dispenser and wetted them for her. “Put pressure on it,” I offered, taking her hand and securing it to her head.

“I want to sit.”

“Whoa,” I said, catching her before she slid to the tile. Her skin was on fire. “You don't want to sit on this floor.”

She whined then, and I believe it's the only time I've heard her whine like that. I carefully placed my hands on her small waist and gauged her reaction because I didn't want her swinging at me. When she didn't bat me away, I hoisted her onto the counter. A low groan rose from her gut, and I prepared to shove her face into the sink if I needed to.

“Are you here with anyone?” I asked after a few scary, pale seconds. She let her head fall back against the mirror, fingers still pressing the wet towel against her forehead.

“Why are you being nice?” she asked. “You're a jackass.”

“Well, I love you too,” I said with a grin. She let out a very off-sounding laugh and started sliding down the glass. I caught her again, and she mumbled something that sounded a lot like “Sleep.”

“Stay awake,” I told her. I felt like I had to get her home or something, so I carried her to a cab, snuck a peek at her license to get her address—back then, it didn't have such a hilarious picture—and then walked her to the apartment door. A woman who looked exactly like Shay, only five years older, answered.

“Shaylene?” her sister said when she saw Shay draped on my side. She was awake still, but not exactly coherent. “What happened?”

“She hit her head. Didn't know where to bring her.”

We set her up on the living room couch, and her sister started going off on how bad this was going to be if her parents found out. That if Shay wanted to be taken seriously she had to stop making a spectacle of herself or some shit like that. I just nodded and slowly made my way to the door. That's the only time I've been to Shay's place. Actually, I have no idea if she still lives there. I considered stopping by the next day to see if she was okay, but for some reason I chickened out.

“You know,” Shay whispers in the bathroom we're currently occupying, “if that bartender hadn't pulled me off, I would've lodged that pool cue right up that girl's—”

“Shh.” I put out a finger, leaning toward the bathroom door. I hear people. A lot of them. “I think…I think they're boarding.”

Shay's bright brown eyes widen, and she presses a hand on the door and peeks out the crack.

“Okay, we have to hurry,” she whispers, then snaps her fingers around my wrist and drags me with my carry-on up the stairs to the upper levels.

“Do you even know where we're going?” I ask as she rushes down the tight hallway. My shoulder rams into a wall.

“Sleeper car 2J.” Her eyes pivot back and forth between all the room numbers. “The kiosk at the station said it was still open.”

She's going so fast she walks right past the room she's looking for, and so I grab her belt loop and tug her back. Her arms flail in this hilarious, cartoonish way, and I keep my laughter in check while she pushes me into the car.

It's tiny. I mean, more room than the lounge seating on the lower deck, and definitely more spacious than the bathroom, but it's so damn cramped I'm wondering how people spend hours confined in this thing. The entire car consists of a bed that lowers down, two seats with barely enough legroom, and a fold-away toilet and sink. A toilet right by where we're supposed to sleep. Shay and I have gotten to know each other on a pretty good level, but we're nowhere near
that
level.

She shoves me into the opposite wall—before I can comment on bathroom logistics—where apparently there's some sort of makeshift closet. Well, it's got a hook for coats and it's sort of tucked away. Enough that I can't see the train hallway anymore. Shay squeezes up against me, and Woody goes, “Hey, a warm body!”

“Um, hello,” I say to her invading my space.

“Shh.” She pushes closer to me and there's no hiding the horny bastard in my jeans. She jolts a little and meets my eyes with a cute drop of her jaw. I snort and shake my head.

“Dry spell.”

“Well, get rid of it.”