No Interest in Love Page 4

  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 b
efore 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.

  Ah, forget it. I’ll tease her when she’s awake.

  I rest my hand on the seat release to lower myself into a more comfortable position. My fingers pull very slightly, and I ease it down with my upper back. Better go slow, because Shay’s feet are right under—

  BOOM!

  My hand slips on the seat release and I fly back with another banshee scream. But it’s drowned out by the intense thunder and simultaneous crash of lightning right outside the car window. Shay shoots up and taps the top of my head.

  “Movemovemove,” she chants at me, and I hoist myself and the seat back to our original position. She wraps her small hands around her ankle, muttering in Korean under her breath.

  “Oh shit, did I hurt you?” I ask, rubbing the throbbing in the back of my head. Shay reaches behind her, pulls open the car door, and climbs out into the rain.

  “I’m sorry!” I shout after I climb out too. She’s limping up and down the side of the road, hands set firmly on her hips as she takes deep breaths. “Get back in the car. I’ll look at it.”

  “I’m fine!” she calls back, rain wetting my hoodie that she’s wearing so much it looks hard to move in. “Just got to walk it off.”

  Blowing out a frustrated breath at her stubborn ass, I duck back into the car and grab her open bag. I’m pretty sure I stuffed some sort of first-aid kit in here.

  “Will you just come here?” I say, popping my head out of the side door.

  But she ignores me, throwing her hands into the downpour. She’s shouting a lot of Korean, but some English empties out with it.

  “Tell me I didn’t sign up for this, because I take it back! I want Rae’s life or Jin’s. They can deal with this one from now on!”

  “Will you get your ass in the car?” I shout at her. She’s gonna end up as roadkill if she steps any closer to the lines. Her wet hair sticks to her cheeks as her eyes move from the sky to me.

  “I’m allowed to be mad, Jace! I’m allowed to have a freaking moment when the cherry falls onto the pile of shit.” She gestures to her ankle, and I get out, slamming the car door shut.

  “Man, I apologized. It’s not like I meant to squish your damn foot.”

  “I’m not mad at you.”

  “Then why the hell are you yelling at me?”

  “It’s raining!” She spreads her arms wide. “Don’t people yell in the rain?”

  She manages to get a laugh out of me, but it disappears into the thunder when she rips her bag from my clutched fingers.

  “You’re a damn liar,” I say, smile fading. “You’re mad at me.”

  “I’m mad because we’re stuck on the side of the road and not in an airplane. I’m mad because my ankle is killing me. I’m mad because why is it raining so much? I’m mad because Barry got promoted before me, and it’s because I’m piss-poor at my job.” She swipes furiously at the wet hair clinging to her cheeks, finds her glasses and jams them on, and then goes back to digging through her stuff.

  Stressed-out Shay is someone I’m familiar with, but I’ve never heard her say her thoughts out loud like that. She’s always seemed confident in her work. She gets me auditions I’d never be able to get myself. It’s my own fault I botch them.

  I take a step toward her, putting my hands over hers before she tears her belongings to shreds. “You’re great at your jo—”

  “I’m mostly mad because you were right.” Her brown eyes blink up at mine, water dripping down her glasses. She tugs her purse away from me again and shakes her head. “And I hate it when you’re right.”

  “I’m always right,” I tease. “But what about this time?”

  “We should’ve stayed at the hotel. I should’ve listened to you. I’m so darn impatient all the time and if we’d just stayed maybe…and now…what if I totally just screwed this up? What if I never get their approval, huh?”

  My brows pull in. “Whose approval?”

  Her eyes widen like she didn’t realize she was speaking out loud. Rain pours down her glasses, off her quivering bottom lip. She stares at me for half a second or half a lifetime, I can’t tell anymore, before her tongue snakes out and swipes off the drops of rain. Her gaze goes back to her bag and a small growl escapes from the back of her throat. “Ugh, why can’t I find it?”

  I reach for the bag, since I’m the one who jammed everything back in, but she pulls it away. A frustrated growl barrels through my own throat and I go for it again. I’m fighting over a damn purse.

  “Let me help you, damn it.”

  She spins around, whipping my arm with her wet hair. I blow out a breath and reach around her, manage to grab hold of the thing, and pull.

  She pulls back.

  “Let go,” she says.

  “You need to calm down.” I tilt my head expectantly, and her eyes narrow to slits.

  “I’m. Fine.” She gives her bag one giant tug, and the contents fly out, some rolling down the road. The bag itself washes to the edge of a very large storm drain, and before I can even move it’s suctioned down into the abyss with the rainwater. Her thick wallet pushes out of a puddle and starts following the same path. Shay’s breath hitches…and then stops.

  My feet trip over themselves to go after it before it goes down with her clothes, and I get tangled up in my own haste. The world blurs and whooshes past my ears. I smack the road hard, loose gravel digging into my stomach and my thighs. My face lands in a puddle, splashing rainwater up into my nose. Sharp pain attacks the back of my throat as I sputter out the water I’ve inhaled. I peek an eye open just in time to see the wallet tip over the edge, and I reach into the drain before it falls.

  Nothing.

  My fingers grab at nothing.

  I feel Shay kneel down next to me, her knees sending puddle water up my arm. Her upper body leans over my head to peek into the darkness of the drain. After two seconds, she clutches at her chest as if she needs help to breathe.

  “Shit,
” I grunt out, pushing myself to my knees to see where all her other belongings went. Even though it’s midday, it’s too gray and foggy to make out much detail. But through the rain I can see her broken tablet, the Q-tips all along the road, and the roll of Ace bandage across the mud.

  I lean back and swipe my face free of puddle water. “Guess we can’t wrap it,” I say like a genius.

  Shay’s wide, panicked eyes slowly fall. Her mouth sets into a firm line, but I don’t think she’s pissed anymore even though she has every right to be. The loose gravel under her shoes crunches as she gets to her feet. I automatically reach out to help her, my hand clasping the crook of her elbow as she uses mine to steady herself. There’s not a wince in her expression, not a tear or shred of panic, and I’m wondering if she’s transferring that all onto me, because I sure as hell feel it.

  Once she’s steady, she loosens her grip, unclasping her fingers from my arm one by one. I push up on my knee, ready to hoist her over my shoulder and set her back in the car, but she starts limping toward the side of the road. Her arms are straight lines, parallel to the angle of her spine.

  “What are you doing?” I call out.

  “I’m hitching a ride!” She jabs a thumb out even though there is not a car in sight, and then starts marching down the side of the road, limping every other step.

  She’s lost her mind. It’s disappeared with her stuff, and because I don’t think she should be on her own—and I feel somewhat responsible for her breakdown—I snatch her ID from the center console, grab my carry-on, and drag it behind me as I catch up to her.

  “You shouldn’t walk on it if it’s killing you.”

  “I am not in the mood for a lecture.”

  “You lecture me all the time. Eye for an eye.”

  When she doesn’t respond to my obvious teasing, I grab her upper arm and spin her toward me. Her watery eyes blaze hellfire at me.

  “Let. Go.”

  I do, slowly. Like she’s a flight risk. “Damn it, Shay. I’m sor—”

  Honk honk!

  The horn makes us both jump, but I go backward while Shay leaps toward the road. She waves her arms at the semi, but I doubt the driver notices anyone that small through the rain and lack of light.