Page 26 of No Interest in Love

A semi trucker who doesn’t know how to shut up long enough for Mr. Kickass Lead and Miss Unlikely to get some damn sleep. A character who is basically a “comedy filler”—only here to move the story along in a lighthearted fashion and have a page and a half of dialogue at a time.

“…and then the guy tells me he’s running from the mob and he’s gotta get across the border fast. But then his wife pulls up and tells him to get in the car because he’s not getting out of it, and I’m sort of freaking out because I’m thinking this dude is gonna get killed or something and she’s all for it, but then she says, ‘I have to deal with your mother, so you can deal with mine!’ and he slumps into his wife’s car. She waves an apology to me, and I got a great story out of it.”

Shay pulls her foot up on the seat, resting her chin on her knee. She took the front while I lounged out in the back with Truffles. Gotta hand it to her, she looks genuinely interested in Milo’s rambles. He went off with loads of road stories when she asked him if he picked up a lot of hitchhikers. What started out as “Not really, since everybody seems to have cell phones” turned into about an hour of hitchhiker stories. My eyes get droopy, but I don’t want to fall asleep until I’m pretty sure I’m not in the middle ofJace: The Horror Movie.

“So, technically, you didn’t give him a ride,” Shay says. “So he doesn’t count as your weirdest.”

“True…Then I guess it was the mail-order bride who only spoke one word in English.”

“I think her and ‘Husband’ are very happy together,” Shay says through a half smile.

Milo takes off his hat and puts it over his heart. “Love and green cards conquer all.”

Shay chuckles and reaches down for Milo’s iPod. She doesn’t look the least bit tired. I don’t know how the hell I’m staying awake.

“You mind if I scroll through?” she asks, and Milo shakes his head. His eyes flick to the rearview mirror.

“You’re the quiet one, huh?”

Shay snorts but doesn’t say anything.

“Just beat,” I answer.

“Then sleep.”

Not a chance. I’m keeping my eyes open as long as I can. I adjust myself in the seat, accidentally nudging a sleeping Truffles awake. Sorry, boy.

“Your iPod looks like mine,” Shay says, snapping in the audio cord. “Almost all country.”

“You likecountry?” I ask.

Shay blinks back at me. “It relaxes me.” Then she tucks some loose hair behind her ear and my heart stutters unexpectedly. But the sensation is short-lived because a twangy guitar starts playing. Truffles and I let out a unified groan.

Milo laughs. “Yeah, Truffles isn’t a fan. He howls and whines every time I turn on Kenny Chesney.”

“I hear ya, boy,” I say, pulling him onto my lap. His tail starts beating the back of Shay’s seat.

“I’m not surprised you have so much in common with a dog,” Shay says, a grin on her face. I scratch my forehead with my middle finger, which makes her laugh. Whenever I get a laugh out of her I always feel some sense of accomplishment—more than with other women. Like I’m not just funny, I’m the most hilarious guy on the planet.

Then Truffles licks the side of my face, making Shay let out a bigger laugh, and I start feeling jealous of the damn dog.

“He smells good,” I say, rubbing the dog’s ears so they flop against his cheeks. “How do you smell good? You lick your own ass.”

Milo laughs and scratches his scruffy chin. “He gets spoiled at home with bubble baths.”

“Well, it’s working.” I squish the beagle’s cheeks together. “Isn’t that right, Truffles. No wonder you’re so good with the ladies.”

“Apparently he’s good with the men too.” Shay turns in her seat and quirks another grin at me. Seeing her smile always gets me in a teasing mood, so I let my fingers scratch the hell out of the back of the beagle’s ears, getting the little guy’s foot to bob up and down real fast. Then I laugh and push Truffles toward Shay.

“Look at this damn face. I dare you not to fall for it.”

“I think you need to reiterate your one rule,” she says to Milo.

“She’s just jealous I like you better than her,” I say to Truffles. The twangy song ends and is replaced by another that soundsexactly the same. Truffles whines, I laugh, and Shay adjusts in the front seat, eyes drifting closed. Guess it does relax her. Good to know her kryptonite.

“How old is he?” I ask Milo, rubbing my hand over Truffles’s paws. He playfully growls but doesn’t nip at me.

“Don’t know. He was a stray when we got him. Vet said probably six or seven, though.” He pulls out a fresh water bottle from somewhere next to him and hands it back to me. “You have a dog?”

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