No Interest in Love Read online

“Told ya,” I say, climbing into my own bed. “Romance is in my blood.”

  She huffs the huff that I dig—the one that I can tell she’s doing just to avoid laughing. “Yeah, yeah. We all know you’re a great actor. That’s why I offered representation, and that’s why your head is the size of a blimp and filled with just as much hot air.”

  “Well, I love you too.”

  “Night.” She turns off the only light and I grin at the ceiling as my eyes adjust to the dark. If Shay couldn’t find any fault in my performance, then really, no one’s going to.

  Monday

  2:37 A.M.

  I think I’m humping my sheets. My mind is in that halfway awake, halfway not really awake, or maybe I’m all the way asleep, but I’m definitely feeling something down under. If I’m not humping the sheets, I sure as hell am kicking my leg like a dog when it gets its stomach scratched.

  Ten years ago, this was the sign that I was gonna wake up with a load in my shorts. I’m twenty-five, right? At home alone, just got off the plane from L.A., and itching to take my horny ass to the bar.

  No wait…I never got on a plane.

  I’m in a hotel room. With my agent. My eyes shoot open, and I twist around in the rough bed sheets. My ass tumbles off the edge of the mattress, and my arms flail out, grabbing at whatever’s closest to break my fall.

  “Jace…oomph…you’re a thousand pounds.”

  Shay’s breath cools the sweat I have going along my hairline, and I shift my weight, my mind trying to pry itself out of my dream and into reality. I’m dry from the waist down, but definitely not soft. Trying not to laugh, I push against what I think is the floor but ends up being really squishy and warm.

  A tiny yet firm hand grasps my wrist. Shay’s sharp voice follows.

  “Get your hand…off my boob.”

  My hand twitches, and I snap back, releasing a bolt of laughter. I hear her roll across the floor, smack into the nightstand, and a stream of Korean spills from her mouth.

  I sit up to untangle my feet, still chuckling at her in my groggy state. Man, what the hell was I dreaming about? I can’t picture a face or anything, but I was certainly having a good time.

  “Hey, will you turn on a light?” I ask.

  “The power’s out,” she says, and I feel the mattress dip behind my back as she crawls up from the floor to the bed. “Get dressed. We’ve gotta get going.”

  A yawn pushes past my lips. “Wha…what time is it?”

  “Time to go.”

  I roll my eyes, rubbing them before checking the clock on the nightstand, forgetting that the power is gone. I flop my hand around, running my fingers over the lacquered wood of the nightstand before finally landing on my phone.

  “2:45? Oh, hell no.”

  Without attempting to crawl back in bed, I shove bits of the comforter under my head before making myself comfortable on the floor. She’s gonna have to drag my ass out of here.

  She pushes at my upper thigh with her foot. “A huge storm is coming in. Forget finding a flight out of LAX that’s on time.”

  “The storm won’t last five days, will it?” I grumble into the scratchy hotel sheets. “Practice some patience, already.”

  Something flops against my face, and I inhale the scent of my deodorant. “Get dressed. I’m driving you to Vegas because they have sunny skies and a flight available. I’ve already exchanged the tickets. If we hit the road now, we’ll get there in time.”

  “You on something?” I ask. “Because why didn’t you share?”

  Another something hits me in the face.

  “I’m serious. Get up.”

  “ ‘Bad decisions wake up after 2 A.M.,’ ” I quote from another How I Met Your Mother genius episode. “So I’m going back to sleep.”

  The bed creaks and I hear soft, padded footsteps stumbling around the room. Before she opens her mouth to tell me yet another reason to get up, I yawn and cut her off. “How about this?” I say, shoving my clothing away and turning to my other side. “I sleep, and we stay put till the rain goes away. It’s California. It’s not like it’ll stay long. Unless it’s a sharknado.”

  “Jace, can you please be serious for once in your lifetime?”

  “Not until you relax for once in your lifetime.”

  She growls under her breath, and after a solid ten seconds of no rebuttal I think I’ve finally won a Shay/Jace argument, but then a fuzzy recorded voice rings through the dark room.

  “Hi, Ms. Kwak? This is Carletta Ocean,” the voice says with flair. I lift my head up. “My coproducer on Behind the Scenes said you were planning on flying into Birmingham this week. I was hoping to set up a dinner with Jason on Wednesday evening. I like to get one-on-one time with the front-runner leading man before his screen test. Perhaps see how we’d fit together…work on our chemistry, so to speak. You can contact my assistant, Danielle, at this number to set something up. Can’t wait to meet him.” Carletta makes a wet kiss noise, then the message clicks off.

  I slowly roll over, squinting through the darkness to try to catch Shay’s face in the light of her phone. She has one eyebrow cocked so high it disappears into the shadows and an expectant grin on her face.

  I shake my head. “You’re shitting me.”

  “No. Let’s get you on that flight, yeah?”

  My hands fumble for the clothes she tossed at me. “All right. I’m definitely up.”

  3:25 A.M.

  The rain pounds against the windshield, and Shay hits the wipers up another notch. I double-check my seat belt.

  “The rest of this trip is on the company dime, right? Because I just spent my last four bucks on this.” I raise my coffee cup, then adjust my seat so I can kick my feet up on the dash. The second I put them there, Shay bats at them with the hand holding her very potent onion bagel.

  “Yeah, don’t worry about it,” she says around her food. I keep my feet on the dash, despite Shay’s abuse. If I’m being honest, I like teasing the hell out of her. Because even when she’s swatting at me, there’s a hint of a smile that creases the corner of her lips. And when I glance over at her eyeing my shoes, there it is, pulling her mouth upward ever so slightly. Enough to make her look like she actually has fun in her very scheduled life.

  I drain the last bit of my coffee, but the caffeine’s doing shit to keep my eyes open. I lean back against the seat and zone out until it kicks in.

  SHAY, SCENE TWO: Setting: also freshman year. She walked into my film studies class, and I choked out a laugh, scaring my buddy Alec out of the snooze he’d fallen into. She took a seat in the front row and pulled out her laptop and jabbed a pen into her ponytail. Like a douche, I leaned down and said, “You gonna take off that flip-flop and beat me with it, Elmo Girl?”

  She whipped around with a death glare, which got even more evil when she recognized me. Then she slipped her flip-flop off slowly from her dainty foot…and whacked me over the head with it.

  That was the first time I saw that suppressed grin.

  Shay growls something under her breath, pulling me from my in-and-out sleep. The rain hasn’t let up, and when I stretch out my limbs, I check the time.

  “Shit, it’s only been a half hour?” This will be the longest drive of my life.

  “Californians don’t know how to drive in this kind of weather,” she says, and because I was sort of dreaming about her smacking me with her shoe, I flinch when she bends to scratch her ankle. “This is like a light summer rain in New York.”

  I laugh as I look at the window, not seeing anything past the waterfall streaming down the glass.

  “You’re probably driving with the storm and not out of it,” I say, kicking my fallen feet back up on the dash. She sighs, reaches over, and pulls on my pant leg to get me to put them back down. Grinning at her, I finally relent, adjusting the seat back instead to stretch my legs. “Hey, so while I was at the pool, a Jason Sterne fan wanted me to sign her boob.”

  The car jerks a bit to the right, but Shay regains control an
d swats me.

  “Don’t joke around. I have to concentrate.”

  “I’m not joking. One lucky boob has my John Hancock. And a lucky arm, since I signed her husband’s skin too.” Travis said if I become a big name that’ll be his tat. I really hope not, since my writing looks like a three-year-old’s. But not gonna lie, that sent unrealistic fantasies of big jobs, movie posters, giant premiere parties, and lots—lots—of women replaying over and over in my head while I slept in that hotel bed. Probably explains the pleasure dreams.

  “How old was she?”

  “Huh?”

  “The woman attached to the boob you signed?”

  “Oh, I dunno. Early twenties maybe.”

  Shay nods, brings her pinkie to her mouth, and chews on the nail.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Learning your demographic.” She puts her hand back on the wheel. “You land this audition, you’re going to attract a lot of women—”

  “Obviously.”

  “And your debut will attract a lot of men.”

  “I’m just the all-around shit.”

  She starts biting her pinkie nail again. Usually she has some comment to pop my big head when I start bragging, but she stays quiet, biting that nail and staring out the windshield. I stretch my arms out and tuck them behind my head. May as well try to sleep while I can, since that coffee had to be decaf. If I stay awake, pretty soon she’ll make me work in some way. Practice lines, study Carletta’s movies, social network or something. Maybe make out with another inanimate object. She already recited the movie description to me—word for word, I’m betting. The gist of it is Guy One and Chick One get on a reality show and realize that if they fake a relationship, then they’ll move farther in the game. Sort of like a chick-flick Hunger Games for thirty-year-olds. Of course a series of unfortunate and hilarious events draw the two very opposite leads together, and the initial “end goal” of the money doesn’t mean shit anymore.

  It’s the screenplay that only happens on-screen and rarely off of it.

  Keeping my eyes closed, I pretend to be dead asleep while Shay keeps talking about how we’re going to market…well, me. I doze off almost right away.

  5:57 A.M.

  A lurch in my stomach wakes me up, and I shoot upright. Shay’s fists are curled around the wheel so tight her knuckles are white, and her lips are pushed together in a hard, straight line.

  “Shit, how fast you going?”

  “Is that always the first word you say when you wake up?” she says through those tight lips. “Be more professional, damn it.”

  “Ahhhh…” I inhale deeply. “The sweet smell of hypocrisy.” The car lurches forward again and I adjust the seat up and check the speedometer. “Seriously, though, slow down. We’re gonna spin out.”

  “I know what I’m doing,” she spits, and I jolt back from her tone. Sure, Shay’s never been a ray of sunlight, but she’s never been one hundred percent hellhound. I check the durability of my seat belt.

  “You okay?” I ask her.

  “Fine. Just want to get there.”

  I raise an eyebrow, noticing the makeup under her eyes is a bit smeared. She fixes her glasses and doesn’t give me a second glance.

  “Stupid!” Shay says, making me jump in my seat. “Stupid, stupid,” she continues, pounding her hand on the steering wheel. “I work my ass off and they just…They just…Argh!”

  “Oh yeah,” I say. “You sure sound ‘fine.’ ”

  “Did you know I’ve been a junior agent for three years? I double-majored in business and film studies and guess who gets promoted before me? Brownnoser Barry and his newest client, Weston Roland.” She shakes her head side to side, glaring at the windshield. Her foot presses harder on the gas pedal, and I know she’s in a mood, but I don’t want to end up splattered on the side of the road.

  “Calm the hell down. We’re gonna spin out.”

  “You know what’s the worst part?” she goes on, flinging her hand out at me. “I was the one who researched Weston. I sought him out, contacted him, and told him about the part I thought he’d be perfect for. And he goes and signs with my colleague because he’s ‘more personable’?”

  “Well…” I say, then shut my mouth because the car pushes forward again when Shay turns and gives me the death glare.

  “I can be personable,” she says, then turns to the windshield. Under normal circumstances, I’d argue with her, but I’m clinging to the dash now, squinting through the downpour and wondering how the hell she can see.

  “Damn it,” she whispers, her voice getting wet. My chest feels tight, and I cringe because crying women are my kryptonite. Probably why I get along with Shay, because she doesn’t cry. She keeps her shit together. Discomfort prickles the back of my neck when I hear her sniffle, and I’m not sure whether to ignore her right now or to pat her leg and go, “There, there.”

  “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Her voice shakes, but she clears her throat and takes a deep breath. “Really, I should be used to it by now.”

  The wheels squeal as we come around a bend. I swallow hard and loosen my grip on the dash. “Hey, I know you’re upset, but we really are going too fa—”

  “I’m fi—” Shay starts, then the car swerves to the right hard, then back to the left, and then…

  “Agghhhhh­hhhhh­hhhhh­!”

  It takes me a second to realize the sound of a thousand banshees is me. I grapple for the “oh shit” handle, the car spinning and spinning while Shay slams on the brakes.

  And my life actually flashes before my eyes.

  First grade: Peter Rubarb gives me a black eye after I call him “Peter the wiener.” Junior prom: Kelsi Higgins kicks me in the nuts after I try to get to second base. Last year: Penny Shaw pushes me buck-ass naked into the hallway at our apartment complex after I tell her I’m not ever gonna love her back.

  I’m going to die a douchebag.

  The car spins again, the rain pelting on the windshield, and Shay’s white-knuckling the steering wheel. And I don’t know what comes over me, but in the midst of it all, I blurt out, “I love you, Grandma!”

  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 s
ensation 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?”