Page 37 of No Interest in Love

“Sexy, huh?” Yeah…I caught that.

“To some people.”

She looks down, and I stare at the hair that’s come loose from the pen and blowing around her neck. She goes quiet, and I’m wondering if she’s coming up with some brilliant plan to get us both the rest of the way. Well, I’m hoping, because I’m drawing blanks. I’m about ready to grab another ride there. It can’t be more than three days’ trip straight. Though I’m pretty skeptical we’ll hit another break like we did with Milo. Shit, I forgot to grab his number. Wanted to keep in touch with him—

“Why did you do that?” she asks, pulling me from my head.

“What’d I do?”

“Talk to Julie.” She pushes on my hip to make me slide over on the carry-on so she can sit. I know she’s small, but she’s not that small, so I get up and flip it on its long side, and we both take a seat. Her side is pressed right up against mine, and I lose concentration for a second.

“Sorry, what’d you ask?”

She turns her head to look at me. “Julie could’ve gotten you there by Friday. Actually, she could’ve gotten you there bytomorrow. So why didn’t you let me lethertake over?”

“We had a deal, dork.” I say it like it’s an obvious thing, but it hits me that she’s right. All that stuff would make sense. Less risky. But…

“Look,” I say, adjusting a little on the bag. My knee hits hers and she looks down at it briefly before her eyes blink up to mine again. “We either both get what we want, or neither of us does. I’m okay with that.”

The corner of her mouth twitches. “Me too.”

“All right. Then let’s think.”

We both stare off at the shuttle, and I don’t know about her, but my mind is still a giant, blank, whiteboard.

Then a train whistle blows in the distance.

7:41P.M.

“Just pretend you’re into me,” Shay says, grabbing my hand and setting it firmly on her tiny waist. She throws the fakest of smiles out at a couple of passersby, and I’m trying not to let my hand drift down to her ass. Out of habit. Not because I want to. The Smurfs just want me to make a move onsomeone.

“How is this supposed to get us free tickets?”

Shay huffs out a breath, blowing her bangs up and making them look more chaotic than they were before. I laugh and push them back in place.

“See, like that.” She pulls me closer, and I shrug because I wasn’t trying to look “into” her. Another few people pass by, hardly noticing us because most are looking at their cells.

“We should just ask to borrow one of their phones for a second,” I say. Shay’s arms loosen around my waist. She’s gung ho about getting us on the next train heading east. When we heard the whistle blow back at the shuttle station, she shot to her feet and dragged me out here. Apparently sneaking onto a train without paying is her brilliant plan, even though the train only goes to certain stops. She’s determined to get us closer, even if it’s not Alabama exactly.

The doors open on the train down the platform a bit, and Shay tightens her grip. “Okay, follow my lead.” She takes one step forward, then turns back around. “But don’t…say anything.”

I salute her, and she grabs the hand against my forehead and weaves me and my carry-on through the crowd. As passengers spill out from the train that just pulled in, she waits for a lull, then sneaks us into flowing traffic.

“Uh, don’t know if you noticed, but these people areleavingthe train station.”

“You’re saying things,” she sings at me. I laugh and squeeze her hand. Then wonder why the hell I just did that.

“Oh, shoot!” she says very loudly, startling the lady in front of us. (And me.) “I left my bag.”

Her hands find my arms and spin me around. She uses my body to get us back through the crowd and toward the train door. The ticket checkers or whoever those people are smile as passengers get off, telling them to enjoy the rest of their evening. I try not to make eye contact with any of them.

Shay’s relentless in her steering. I’m at the stairwell before I know it, and as much as I didn’t want to catch anyone’s attention, a soft hand touches my shoulder briefly before the cheery hostess says, “We’re not quite ready to board, sir.”

I shoot Shay a look, because I’m not supposed to open my damn mouth, but she could’ve given me something to go on. Improv is my forte.

Shay squeezes in close to me, running her nails up my forearm. Unexpected goose bumps shoot up and down my skin.

“Sorry,” she tells the hostess, “I left my bag.”

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