Page 54 of No Interest in Love

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Shay’s posture slackens, putting her back to her normal height. She gives me a pursed-lip half smile and hands my card over.

“It was worth a shot.”

I flip my wallet back open and slide the card back into its spot. Useless piece of shit.

9:58P.M.

After a few more failed attempts at swiping the card, Shay straightens her shoulders and marches straight out the front door. She stops on the sidewalk out front, setting her hands on her hips and sucking in a large breath.

“I just need fresh air,” she mumbles to herself. “Need to think. Need to think.”

She thinks for twenty more minutes before cussing herself out and taking off down the road. I’m in no mood to get separated, so I follow her, not saying too much because I can see the vein in her neck get more and more prominent the longer we’re at a standstill. And I still don’t have any ideas other than to sneak on another train. But she shot that in the crapper when she told me the only train heading to Alabama leaves tomorrow night and it’s a two-day ride.

We walk around for what feels like hours, but who the hell knows how much time has really passed—man, if I didn’t have actor calves before this week, I definitely do now—before she finally makes eye contact with me.

“Don’t you dare try to stop me.” Then she pushes past me back toward the train station.

I raise an eyebrow, then realize what she’s doing. I grab at her wrist and whirl her around.

“You’re not calling your agency.”

Her gaze drops to my hand, her chest rising and falling with suddenly labored breathing. I let her go slowly, the fear of touching her far outweighing the fear of her taking off.

She meets my stare for half a second and then hikes up the large pants and bolts to the train station.

Damn it, I should’ve kept ahold of her.

11:00P.M.

“Shit.”

“What?”

She looks at the train station, the inside dim and very vacant.

“Do train stationsclose?”

A bomb crashes in my stomach, and I follow her up to the doors and give the handle a giant pull.

“Apparently this one does.”

The clock above the train station rings eleven times. Shay shakes the door again.

“It’s locked,” I say, plucking a leaf from the tree out in front and tearing it up slowly at the veins.

Shay slumps against the glass, sliding down until her knees hit the cement. “You’ve solved the mystery again, Scooby.”

“I always pictured myself more of the Shaggy type.”

“Long arms, hollow head…”

“The comedic relief.”

“Alert me when you’re being funny.”

I blow out a breath, searching for any train personnel in the dimly lit station. “I believe you were the one who said I can do comedy.”

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