Page 18 of No Interest in Love

Droplets of rain are scattered across her lips. One is snaking its way down her chin. I watch it, confused by the warmth spreading over my very cold body, until it falls onto the thick, wet hoodie of mine that she’s wearing.

“See,” she says with a strained voice. “Totally fine.”

I tear my eyes away from the moisture on her lips and focus on her ankle. “You need ice.”

“I need a working phone.”

I hand her my cell and charger from my bag. “And a chill pill.”

A small laugh tumbles from her lips, and the sound does something weird to my chest. It pulls at the corner of my mouth, making me grin.

“Hang tight,” I say, “I’m getting you ice.”

“I need Coke.”

“I was kidding on the chill pill.”

She chucks a napkin at me. “I meant the drink, smart-ass.”

“Well, I love you too.”

Her eyes narrow, and she makes a face at me. I lean over her, plugging the phone in before stepping in line at the counter. Ice is free, I hope. I could try my card, even though the machine will mostly likely decline it. I maxed it out last week, and currently my checking account holds a whopping negative twenty bucks. Watch out, Bill Gates. I might catch up to you.

With a long what-the-hell sigh, I pull my credit card out and tap my thumb against my belt loop while I wait.

The lady in front of me finishes at the counter, so I step up.

“Any chance I can get just a bag of ice?”

The dude behind the counter looks under his cash register and pulls out a Ziploc.

“Help yourself.” He points at the fountain drinks. Then, before I can even chance swiping my card for anything, he invites the next person up. Customer service at its finest.

Half the ice spills into the drain as I try to catch it with the bag. Shay’s teeth have slipped over her bottom lip as she holds back her laughter at my show.

“I’m doing this for you.” I chuckle at her.

“I told you I’m fine.”

I get the bag zipped up and head back to the booth. My phone doesn’t look like it’s charged anything yet.

“Can you see if you can turn it on?” I ask, nodding to my cell while I open my carry-on for an extra shirt.

Shay taps on the side of the phone, but the screen doesn’t do anything. “Give it a minute, I guess.”

I nod. “Scoot over,” I tell her, and when she only gives me a “Huh?” look, I tuck my hand under her legs and slide in next to her, resting her bad ankle against my thigh.

“I…uh…I’m fi—”

“I know you’re fine.” I put the Ziploc of ice inside the sleeve of my shirt and press it gently against her ankle. Her body tenses slightly before completely relaxing. Good. She needs to chill out.

“So, you gonna call them up once my phone’s running?” I ask, trying to ignore the weight of her leg on mine, which is making heat run up and down my spine even though the ice is pressed against me too.

“Call who up?”

“Your agency.”

She snorts. “And tell them what? That the company credit card is now resting in the sewer?”

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