Page 39 of No Interest in Love

We set her up on the living room couch, and her sister started going off on how bad this was going to be if her parents found out. That if Shay wanted to be taken seriously she had to stop making a spectacle of herself or some shit like that. I just nodded and slowly made my way to the door. That’s the only time I’ve been to Shay’s place. Actually, I have no idea if she still lives there. I considered stopping by the next day to see if she was okay, but for some reason I chickened out.

“You know,” Shay whispers in the bathroom we’re currently occupying, “if that bartender hadn’t pulled me off, I would’ve lodged that pool cue right up that girl’s—”

“Shh.” I put out a finger, leaning toward the bathroom door. I hear people. A lot of them. “I think…I think they’re boarding.”

Shay’s bright brown eyes widen, and she presses a hand on the door and peeks out the crack.

“Okay, we have to hurry,” she whispers, then snaps her fingers around my wrist and drags me with my carry-on up the stairs to the upper levels.

“Do you even know where we’re going?” I ask as she rushes down the tight hallway. My shoulder rams into a wall.

“Sleeper car 2J.” Her eyes pivot back and forth between all the room numbers. “The kiosk at the station said it was still open.”

She’s going so fast she walks right past the room she’s looking for, and so I grab her belt loop and tug her back. Her arms flail in this hilarious, cartoonish way, and I keep my laughter in check while she pushes me into the car.

It’s tiny. I mean, more room than the lounge seating on the lower deck, and definitely more spacious than the bathroom, but it’s so damn cramped I’m wondering how people spend hours confined in this thing. The entire car consists of a bed that lowers down, two seats with barely enough legroom, and a fold-away toilet and sink. A toilet right by where we’re supposed to sleep. Shay and I have gotten to know each other on a pretty good level, but we’re nowhere nearthatlevel.

She shoves me into the opposite wall—before I can comment on bathroom logistics—where apparently there’s some sort of makeshift closet. Well, it’s got a hook for coats and it’s sort of tucked away. Enough that I can’t see the train hallway anymore. Shay squeezes up against me, and Woody goes, “Hey, a warm body!”

“Um, hello,” I say to her invading my space.

“Shh.” She pushes closer to me and there’s no hiding the horny bastard in my jeans. She jolts a little and meets my eyes with a cute drop of her jaw. I snort and shake my head.

“Dry spell.”

“Well, get rid of it.”

“How do you suggest I do that?”

She wiggles, trying not to press against it while also staying out of sight, but she’s failing.

“That’s not helping,” I croak.

“How is it even…?” She extends her forefinger so it’s pointing straight to the ceiling, and it cracks me up.

“Well…you’re close. And warm. And he’s not picky.”

She snorts. “I’ve been in the same clothes since Sunday night. Haven’t showered. No makeup. I’ll probably have to chop this pen out of my hair.”

“You do stink,” I joke. Like I’d notice her smelling after three days.

“You’re worse. I’ve had to breathe through my mouth.”

I shift, making her face fall right into my armpit. She gags, then sucker punches me in the gut.

“That is the most god-awful smell…”

“I’m wearing deodorant, big fat liar,” I tease, and my fingers find her ribs. I tickle her enough to get a giggle out.

“You have deodorant?”

“Uh, yeah. I have my bag.”

“Why the hell haven’t you been sharing?”

I shrug, and she hits me again. There are a couple voices down the hall, and we both snap our mouths shut to keep quiet. She’s right. We both stink. But Downtown Jace doesn’t have a sense of smell, so he continues to press into her hip. If only I could reach down and strap him under the waistband.

I shift again and Shay wobbles backward, and instead of adjusting myself I snatch her waist and pull her back to me. Her face rams smack into my chest.

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