Page 12 of No Interest in Love

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’tknow 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 2A.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.”

7:14A.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.

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