No Interest in Love (4 page)

Just as I'm sure we're about to fly off into a ditch and get swallowed up in the bright light, the seat belt locks against my chest, cutting off my airway, and the car jerks to a stop. There's just enough time for my lungs to function again before a large
clunk
jars through the engine and the entire car
glugs
.

A small whimper escapes Shay's mouth, and when I blink out of my near-death-experience haze, I flick my eyes to her gasping for air, hands still wrapped tight around the wheel.

“You're right,” I mutter. “People don't know how to drive in this weather.”

She clamps her lips shut tight, the corner of her mouth twitching badly as she refuses to humor me. She reaches out and turns the key. The car's not gonna start, though.

“You flooded it,” I tell her.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious.”

“Just wondering why you're even trying to start it.” I pull my hood over my head and reach for the door handle. “Pop the hood.”

“And what are you going to do?” she asks, crossing her arms. She rubs her hands up and down over her goose bumps. “Bang on the engine?”

“Pretty much.”

She hits the door lock. “Not a chance. You can't get sick.”

“I won't get sick.”

“Could you imagine trying to create chemistry during your screen test with a runny nose?”

“So we're just going to stay in here?” I shake my head. “Hard pass.”

She leans over me.

Her long hair brushes my arm.

And something in my brain wakes up.

She looks so damn soft. Her cheeks, the pale color of her skin, the feather-light bangs that move with the slightest breath of air. “Shay” and “soft” don't go together. She's a hardass. Seeing her up close like this almost makes me want to touch her to see if she's real. A prickling sensation rises up in my chest, and suddenly my hyperaware senses shut off completely, like I'm under anesthesia. I may be drooling.

She reaches down by my leg, and I watch the movement with wide eyes, wondering why I haven't said the smart-ass remark that's on the back of my tongue. Oh, that's right. I can't find my tongue. It's probably hanging out of the side of my mouth.

Her brows furrow, and she leans forward even farther, pushing me back into the seat. I count an unbelievably long six seconds before she yanks on her oversized bag. Then the air clears when she settles back in her seat.

“Can I borrow your phone?” she asks, digging through her purse.

“Wh-what's wrong with yours?” I ask, and what the damn hell? My voice sounds like a thirteen-year-old going through puberty.

“Died while I was listening to Barry's
amazing
news.” She sticks her middle finger up at her dead phone, making me laugh a little. “I was going to charge it at the airport.”

I clear my throat, coughing a bit to get rid of whatever is lodged in my chest, and dig in my pocket.

“Who're you calling?” I ask, handing my phone over.

“My…” She stops, looking at the blank screen. “No one. Because your phone's dead too.”

“Time to bang on the engine, then.”

A ghost of a smile hits her lips before it disappears. “Let's wait it out,” she says, gesturing to the rain. “When it lightens, we can hitch a ride to the nearest gas station or something.”

“Yeah, all right,” I say, opting to agree instead of argue with her this time. My momentary cerebral lapse has me feeling a little off. So I slide down in the seat and kick my feet up, hoping she'll give me a look or make me move them. But she doesn't. She doesn't even acknowledge how I'm sitting. She grabs at the bar under her own seat and slides it back. Then she turns on her side to face me, pulls her legs up to her chest, and starts rubbing her arms. We let out a collective sigh.

I'm already bored.

“Wanna fool around?” I tease. She lets out a small laugh through a giant yawn.

“Yeah. My boyfriend would love that.”

My neck spins around and my feet plop to the floor. “
You
have a boyfriend?”

One of her eyebrows rises. “Apparently I need to work on my sarcasm as much as you need to work on your tact.”

“I just didn't think you scheduled time for any personal relationships.”

“You would be correct.” She takes off her glasses and sets them in her bag. “Doesn't mean you have to be so surprised by it.”

“Sorry.” I grin. “So…no boyfriend?”

“Right.”

“You ever been in a relationship?” I ask, partly out of curiosity and mostly out of boredom. I've never seen Shay with someone in the years I've known her. But then again, I don't know if I was really paying attention.

“No. I'm a nun. I just don't wear my habit because black isn't my color.”

“All right, Cujo. Don't bark at me. I was just curious.”

“Have
you
ever been in a committed relationship?”

“I didn't say ‘committed.' ”

“Well, I did.”

She tucks her legs closer to her body, and it's amazing (and amusing) how she can look so demanding in the fetal position.

I turn and stare at the ceiling, debating how to answer the question. I've dated girls, never telling them my intention was to sleep with them a few times and then go our separate ways. It wasn't until Penny that I really understood what a jackass thing it was to do. Barney Stinson made it look fun, freeing,
normal.
Guess that's Hollywood magic working there. In real life there's this thing called “guilt” that isn't so easily repressed. At least for me.

So I don't commit…but I also don't want to hook up with someone who doesn't
know that about me
. Maybe that's why I'm in the major dry spell. I'm honest right out of the gate. Sometimes it works, but most times I prepare for a martini face wash.

I could switch up my tactic and not let them in on the “I don't do relationships,” since that worked before the whole Penny situation, but I don't want to hurt anyone again.

“Did you hear that?” she asks, shooting upright in her seat. I wait for a noise, but I don't hear anything but the rain.

“Um…no.”

She squints out her window. “I swear I heard a growl or something.”

It was probably my stomach. “I'd say it was Sasquatch, but he doesn't live around here.”

Her eyes land on mine after a very large roll. “Because he lives in your mind.”

“Canada.” Duh. Everyone knows that. She pushes back a laugh, settles back in her seat, and stifles a yawn. Her hands run up and down her goose-bumped arms.

“Did you pack a jacket in that thing?” I point at that giant bag of hers.

“I'm fine.”

“I think you are the only woman I know who doesn't pack their entire dresser when traveling.”

“Checking bags gets expensive when you fly a lot.”

I check the backseat for my carry-on. “Do you want to borrow one?”

“I'm fine,” she says again, this time through chattering teeth. Always trying to make do with what she has. She once told me, “When life hands you lemons, you shut up and be grateful for those lemons because life hands over absolutely nothing sometimes, Jace.” She cracks me the hell up.

“Yeah. You sure sound ‘fine.' ” I fumble for my extra hoodie in my bag and toss it at her. “Stubborn ass.”

She huffs at me but sticks her bare arms in the sleeves. “Thanks,” she says so quietly I'm not even sure I've heard it. Then she hits her seat back one more time and turns away. I smirk at the ceiling, listening to the rain pound against the roof and feeling the thunder shake the car. I'm about to be a wiseass and tell her that no good decisions are made after 2
A.M.
, and that's why we're stuck out here, but she cuts me off first.

“Hey, Jace…”

“Hmmm?” I mumble, getting ready for the subject to change back to my commitment issues, since I never did answer her question.

“Glad to know you still love your grandmother.”

7:14
A.M.

If I'd known I'd be stuck in a rental on the side of the road bored as all freaking hell, I would've packed a car charger for my phone. After adjusting for the thousandth time, I rest back against the seat, scrunching my Marvel pajama pants under my head to get comfortable. (It is my ultimate dream to play a Marvel character before I die. Stan Lee, if you can hear me…the next Colossus, 'kay?)

Shay moved to the back to get some more restful sleep when it didn't look like we were heading out any time soon. And I know it's the polite thing to let the girl take the back since it's more comfortable, but I'm regretting it. Girls don't have to worry about the stick shift digging into their junk. And if it did, they'd probably like it, yeah? The first hour with the front to myself, sure, I got real friendly with the shifter—granted, at this point a slight breeze would make my pants tent—but now it's in the way.

I flip around, hoping to alleviate some of the discomfort, only to get a giant jab up my ass.

“Son of a bitch,” I hiss, sitting up and knocking Shay's heavy bag off the dash and onto the floor. The contents spill out, and I toss my hands in the air because really, this is all I need.

My eyes jump to her in the back. Her hair is over her face and she's breathing steady. Good for her, she can sleep through the car-shaking tornado that I'm causing.

The rain echoes throughout the car, and as I lie back down and stare at the ceiling, it dawns on me that there is no way in hell that I'm getting sleep.

Well, screw it. Maybe I can sneak out and flag someone down without her nagging me.

I sit back up, sliding my ass into the passenger seat and bending to pick up all the shit that flew from her bag. Knowing her, she probably had everything in here alphabetized or settled in by color. But she's just gonna have to deal with me stuffing everything back in.

On top of her clothes for the weekend, there's a deck of cards that I find under the seat, Q-tips in the cup holder, a glass-repair kit, pack of gum, mints, highlighters, lip stuff, eyelash stuff, a sticker book, and super glue. I haven't even found her tablet or phone or chargers or toothbrush or anything normal people pack on a trip, and the bag is full. She's Mary Poppins.

I sigh and fumble under the seat for her wallet. My fingers graze over a smooth, round surface, and at first glance I think it's a mirror. But then I see the little hole at the top, and though I probably shouldn't, I crack it open anyway to see what it is.

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday…
Oh…

I snap the birth control pills shut with a laugh and toss them in the purse. Good for her. Didn't know she had that going on, especially after our conversation earlier. Thought she'd be a bit more lax if she was getting some. Man, I'd hate to see her when she's not.

My belt digs into me weird as I bend again, and I guess the sex train of thought has Woody excited. Damn horny fool. I adjust and ignore the fact that it's pretty sad that my buzzkill agent is getting more than I am.

I finally get to her wallet, and the snap has popped open. Looks like a few cards are missing, and I fish around for those as I look at Shay's license.

“Oh,
fantastic
.” I laugh to myself as my eyes drift over the picture. No one takes good license shots, but I think she takes the cake for worst one ever. She's short, so her chin is cut off. Her hair is stuck up with a pen, but the angle of the shot makes it look like she just fell out of a tree. Her mouth is open, as if she was saying something to the person taking the picture—probably telling them they were doing it wrong—and the cherry on top, there's an ink smudge on her cheek that looks like Florida.

There's no way I'm not giving her crap for this.

I push the cards back in the empty slots, noticing she has a membership at Equinox, the same gym I went to till it became ridiculous to fork out the money. Huh. Never would've pictured Shay as an Equinox girl.

Right before I go to snap the wallet shut, I notice the birth date on her license. April 1. Same as mine, only two years before me. I've been the butt of every April Fool's joke for as long as I can remember. Can't believe I've known this girl for seven years and never knew we shared the same birthday.
She
had to have known. She files paperwork for my shit all the time. Wonder why she never said anything.

Instead of putting the license back in her purse, I stick it in the center console so I don't forget to (a) make fun of her about that photo and (b) ask her why she's never wanted to party with me on our birthdays.

I can already see her suppressed grin and that twitch in the corner of her mouth. That soft mouth that was
real damn close
to my face just a bit ago.

I shake my head, pushing her wallet back into her purse, then double-check the floor to make sure there's no more crap, and attempt to zip the thing up. I tug on the zipper, cutting into the skin on my finger. It's not gonna work, so I toss the bag up on the dash and lie back into the seat.

The rain beating on the roof sounds like a song, but I can't place it.

Wonder if I put my feet on the dash, a sixth sense will wake her up so she can nag.

If I tilt my head, the rain running down the windshield looks like it spells “sad.”

Dear Lord, I'm bored as hell.

My eyelids shut, and I try to picture what it's gonna be like when I get to Alabama. I'll have my own room, that's for damn sure. Won't be sitting in a flooded rental car on the side of the road in the middle of a thunderstorm. It wouldn't be so bad if I was stranded here with someone who might want to pass the time with some heated activities.

I smirk and peek back at Shay passed out in the back.

“Hey,” I whisper. She doesn't even flinch.

“Shaaaaay,” I lilt. Her breathing is still steady as a drum, shoulder bumping against her chin every time she breathes in. My hoodie swallows her torso whole and ends right above her knees. Through the black curtain of her hair, I can see pink cheeks. At least she's warm. And she looks like a normal girl when she's asleep. Like the Venus flytrap…one poke at the innocent-looking thing and you awaken the beast.