Page 38 of No Interest in Love

“Oh, you must’ve been in the upper coach.”

“Yes, exactly.”

She steps out of the way, and Shay heads toward the stairs that lead to the upper level at a speed I think is a little too fast to be inconspicuous, but she doesn’t go up them. She pauses, keeping an eye on the staff as they continue to help people off the train. When the hostess turns around to assist a woman with a bag the size of Texas, a strong shove from the side knocks me into the train bathroom.

“I knew you wanted me,” I joke. Shay narrows her eyes, takes her hands off of my shoulders, and shushes me. “You want me to lock it?” I whisper.

She shakes her head. “Locking it will let them know someone’s in here.”

“So you’re just hoping they don’t do bathroom checks.”

She doesn’t answer, and I blow out a breath and lean against the sink while she rests against the opposite wall. We’re gonna get caught, but for the sake of our nonarguing week, I don’t bring that up.

Shay shifts, the bottom of her shirt dangling by her knees because she’s still wearing the one I loaned her. An unexpected laugh floats on the edge of her lips when she catches my gaze.

“What?” I ask her.

“Nothing…It’s just…I can’t even say this is the first time I’ve been in a bathroom with you.”

Half my mouth picks up and I nod at the floor.SHAY,SCENEFOUR:Setting: guy’s restroom at the Culture Club.There I was, doing my business, when she comes bursting through the doors, dumping her purse onto the counter. She was muttering Korean mixed with English. The only word I remember was “bitch.”

I shook off—only twice, like we’ve all been taught—zipped up, and said, “I’m all for gender equality, but a little warning might be good next time.”

Her eyes widened as she looked up into the mirror, then they filled with amusement when she saw me sauntering to the sink next to her.

“Of course,” she said, turning the faucet on, not even attempting to leave while I washed my hands. “Of all the guys I could’ve walked in on, it had to be you.”

Then a tiny bit of blood dripped from her left eyebrow.

“Whoa…what happened there, Elmo?”

She shot me a deadly glare, made even more deadly by the blood. “It’s Shay. I know you know that,Jace.”

“Damn,” I said, turning off the water and grabbing a towel, “you’re a mean drunk.”

“I’m not drunk. My head just…hurts.” Her eyes pinched shut while her fingers massaged her temples. “That girl’s purse was lined with bricks.”

I had missed a catfight. Damn bladder.

I pulled a few extra towels from the dispenser and wetted them for her. “Put pressure on it,” I offered, taking her hand and securing it to her head.

“I want to sit.”

“Whoa,” I said, catching her before she slid to the tile. Her skin was on fire. “You don’t want to sit on this floor.”

She whined then, and I believe it’s the only time I’ve heard her whine like that. I carefully placed my hands on her small waist and gauged her reaction because I didn’t want her swinging at me. When she didn’t bat me away, I hoisted her onto the counter. A low groan rose from her gut, and I prepared to shove her face into the sink if I needed to.

“Are you here with anyone?” I asked after a few scary, pale seconds. She let her head fall back against the mirror, fingers still pressing the wet towel against her forehead.

“Why are you being nice?” she asked. “You’re a jackass.”

“Well, I love you too,” I said with a grin. She let out a very off-sounding laugh and started sliding down the glass. I caught her again, and she mumbled something that sounded a lot like “Sleep.”

“Stay awake,” I told her. I felt like I had to get her home or something, so I carried her to a cab, snuck a peek at her license to get her address—back then, it didn’t have such a hilarious picture—and then walked her to the apartment door. A woman who looked exactly like Shay, only five years older, answered.

“Shaylene?” her sister said when she saw Shay draped on my side. She was awake still, but not exactly coherent. “What happened?”

“She hit her head. Didn’t know where to bring her.”

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