Page 17 of No Interest in Love

“We need to hit a gas station or something,” I say, getting a firm grip on my carry-on’s handle. “Get to an outlet.”

“Can’t be too far, right?” Shay starts down the road, but I reach out for that belt loop again.

“Wait in the car.”

“Don’t you dare leave me alone.”

“You can’t walk on that.” I point to her shaky ankle.

“I’m fine.”

I shake my head, lowering the handle on my carry-on and tossing the backpack straps I’ve never used on this thing over my arms. I keep the bag in front, then crouch down.

“Get on.”

“I can walk.”

“It’s either this or I’m ditching you.”

I get pelted by about a quart of rain before I finally feel her hands on my shoulders. I reach back to support her legs as she throws them around my hips, and a hiss slips through her teeth, just loud enough to make me worry that I’ve hurt her ankle…you know, again.

“You okay?”

“Huh?” she says, voice shaky as I straighten on my legs.

“Are you good?” I shout over the rain. Her cheek moves up and down against the back of my head, and I start us down the road. The mud squelches between our bodies as her boobs bump against my back. I’m so glad it’s raining, because there’s no way I could adjust The Man Downstairs if he tried to make an appearance.

11:21A.M.

We’re definitely in Nevada. Nothing but dirt—or in this case,mud—for what feels like miles. It’s probably not that far, but with Shay on my back it feels like it.

Now, I’m beefed up. I’ve got the action-star arms and body I trained my ass off for. And Shay’s tiny. She’s a stick with little to hold on to. But I’m finding out that if you carry a stick across the desert in the rain for a few hours, it can turn your well-earned actor muscles into some sort of jelly shit.

When I finally see a gas station and Burger King, I force my wobbly muscles to jog across the mud just to get there faster.

Shay makes a throaty sound, tightening her grip on my waist. Her legs cross at the ankles, locking in place right over my zipper, right under my carry-on. My brain does that fuzzy, hyperaware crap again, and I have to blink a few times to get my eyes to focus on what’s around me and not the legs around me.

My hands twitch against her knees, and I pick up the pace before Woody starts thinking for me. Shay’s arms clench around my neck, cutting off my airway.

“Shay,” I croak, and let go of one of her knees to pat her wrist.

“I’m slipping!” she shrieks into my ear. I reach back, setting my hands dangerously close to her ass, and hoist her up. Our clothes squelch together, and the feel of her breasts sliding against my back sends my blood straight down and knocks my heart somewhere up into my ears.

I can’t breathe. And she isn’t even strangling me anymore.

I splash us through the parking lot, grateful for some pavement. Tempted to leave my soaked shoes outside so I don’t fall on my ass—and take Shay with me—I swing the door open and duck us inside.

“The last time I was this happy to see a Burger King was when I was fourteen.” Shay slides from my back, gingerly putting weight onto her sore ankle. Her eyes flick over her shoulder, giving me a once-over. “Oh,” she says with an apologetic laugh. “You okay?”

I nod at the ground as my breathing somewhat returns. At least enough for me to remember I just carried the girl across the abnormally wet desert. I try to be a man and not collapse on the blue and white tiled floor of the home of the Whopper, but I can’t stop my carry-on from crashing down on my foot.

“Let’s sit down. Find an outlet to charge our phones.” She reaches out like she’s going to help me across the room, but stops midair—she can wrap her legs around my waist, but touching my arm is too intimate. I give her a half smile and nod toward the booth near the fountain drinks where an outlet peeks out. She starts limping her way over, and I follow, shoving my bag across the floor with my foot because my energy is shot to hell. Shay and I leave a trail of rainwater behind us before she slides into the booth and props her foot up.

“How’s it feel?” I ask.

“I’m fine.”

I shake my head, trying not to wince at the overworked muscles as I crouch by her ankle. “You’re always ‘fine.’ ” I tap the swollen skin and a sharp breath slips through her teeth.

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