Page 30 of No Interest in Love

“Knowing that dog, he’d sabotage the whole proposal and eat the ring before it ever got to Shane.”

Shay smiles at Milo’s joke, and she starts scribbling in a notebook she must’ve gotten from him while I was out. I check over her shoulder to see all the times and dates she’s listed in the margin.

“Making a schedule already, huh?” I ask, wincing as I fix my jeans. Damn, that dog’s got killer aim. I should have a talk with him…I need my equipment intact for Miss Sure Thing.

“You still have your script, right?” She scribbles something down for what I think says “Friday night at 8:00,” but her handwriting is so small and I’m not that great of a reader. I fumble for the zipper on my carry-on and tug out the lines I went over with her the other day.

“You’re gonna make me work, aren’t you?”

She nods, her pen flying across the paper. “We still have a slight chance of getting you to Birmingham tomorrow, and Carletta wants that dinner with you.”

“Wait…hold up,” Milo says, a half grin pulling on his lips. “I think I’ve pieced it together.”

Shay tucks her loose hair behind her ear with her pen. “Fire away.”

Milo catches my confused-as-hell look through the rearview.

“I’ve been trying to figure out who you are and where you’re going. And I think I’ve got it.” He sticks his finger out and points at nothing in particular, since his eyes are still trained on the road. “Jace is an actor.”

“X gets the square,” I say, and Truffleswoofsat a passing car with a dog and scares my head into the side window.

Milo sticks out another finger. “Shay’s your assistant.”

“Close enough,” I say with a grin, while Shay reaches back and beats me with the notebook.

“I’m his agent,” she tells Milo, who sticks a third finger out.

“You’re headed to Alabama…but I’m not sure why yet.”

“For Carletta,” I say, resting my head on my hands. “Carletta and her sweet, sweetassets.”

Shay rolls her eyes at the very pervy expression I’m wearing. “That’s whyhe’sgoing. But some people have to actuallyworkfor their money.”

I make a face at her because like I give a shit. I’m not sleeping with Carletta to get the job. I want to get the job to sleep with her. I’m about to say something, but I notice Milo’s face going bright red, and my eyes widen because I think I have to give our driver the Heimlich.

“Hey, are you chok—”

Then he sucks in a large breath, and the rest of his laughter is so loud it shakes the truck.

“I’m sorry,” he says wiping his eyes. “It’s not even that funny. But…you just said the exact same thing on your meme.”

Shay’s cheeks go pink, and she hurries and scratches more miniature writing on her paper. A forced smile appears on her lips. “Well, some people do.”

Milo chuckles again, and I drop my hands from behind my head and lean up on the front seat to get a better look at her face. I’m not sure if she’s bothered or annoyed or what, but it bothersme. That look punches me in the chest, making breathing difficult. I feel the sudden urge to make that look disappear, to try to get her to crack a real smile. The one that causes her mouth to twitch. The one I find incredibly adorable scary.

“Those were the first words you ever said to me,” I blurt. Her brown eyes soften as they look at me over her old-lady glasses. I smile, then turn to Milo. “I’m the douche she beat with that shoe.”

“You’re messing with me.”

I shake my head. “I’m normally cropped out, but in some of the memes you can see my arms guarding my face. Shay’s got a hell of a swing.”

Don’t know why, but I give Shay a wink before sitting back in my seat. Like I somehow helped her out there, when really I probably just made fools of us both. Shay’s brow furrows slightly, then she points her pen at my forgotten script by Truffles’s paws, and I huff out a childish groan.

“I’m working on it. Buzzkill.”

I read over the first page silently (takes me about twenty minutes, sadly) and then start whispering the lines to myself. There’s a “love speech” in one of the scenes that is about a page and a half long, so I take a deep breath and say that one out loud to the dog. Shay reaches back with her pen every time I mix up words and taps me lightly on the knee. She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t get frustrated, but after the seventeenth tap,Iget frustrated.

“Damn…piece of…” I sputter, shaking the script in front of me. Once I get the words in the right order, it’s a breeze to memorize. It’s just doing all that damn work beforehand.

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