Page 56 of No Interest in Love

“Honest? Yeah…we can chalk it up to lack of food.”

And then those tears that I thought had waterfalled back inside of her start to form in the corners of her eyes. She swallows hard. I swallow hard. She licks her lips, and I can’t help but watch the motion like an alcoholic who’s spotted the last bottle of wine. I want to take those lips, drink them up…and hope that it heals the painful words that tumble out of them next.

“I’ll always be the Elmo Girl,” she says, sniffing and turning away from me. “It’s been seven years, and everyone still only sees me as that. My parents…my parents still see me as that.”

She buries her face, hiding the vulnerability I know Shay doesn’t like feeling. I know becauseIdon’t like feeling it. I hide behind sarcasm and jokes when really I get everything she’s saying. Every damn day I wish I wasn’t a failure. That I wasn’t some nobody hoping to make something of himself. I wish I could read without messing up. I wish I could say all of this out loud, but at the same time I don’t know if I can. Because the paths leading to what I want are starting to get blurry.

No…my vision isactuallygetting blurry.

I’ve never wiped a girl’s tears away. I never felt like I could. That always felt like something a boyfriend would do. Or a brother. Or someone who meant something or more than what I could offer. I never empathized with a girl before. Never wanted to drown in her sorrowwithher. I always wondered who would do that to themselves.

But a tear rolls down Shay’s cheek, and it feels like it’s rolling down mine. Her breath hitches, and I suddenly feel like I can’t breathe. My heart is slowly ripping in my chest, and it catches me so off guard that I stumble a bit. I have to grasp onto the glass door and guide myself down next to her.

I meet her eyes.

I wipe her tears.

I erase them one by one with the pads of my thumbs.

I say, “You’re not a failure,” meaning every single word and knowing that it probably won’t be enough. Because I get it. For the first time, I knowexactlyhow a girl feels when she breaks.

Shay nods, and I grin at her silent argument. My arm slides around her shoulders, and I tuck her into the warmth of my neck. Her hand slithers up my shirt, fisting it near the collar. I’ve been with several women in positions I never thought possible, but this…this is the most intimate position I’ve ever been in.

I like it.

It scares me that I like it.

Shay doesn’t cry for long. Her breathing evens out rather quickly, and I find my hand running up and down her back of its own accord. Sheissofter than I expected. Honestly, for a while I thought she was made of tough-as-hell shell.

She shifts, bumping her head slightly on my chin, then settles back up against me. I edge closer in case she’s uncomfortable.

Her hand lets go of my shirt and she pulls at her own, bumping and wiggling next to me, ruining the back-rubbing rhythm I got going on.

“Am I hurting you?”

She shakes her head. “Just another article of clothing biting the dust.”

My mouth quirks up. “Huh?”

“The wire snapped on my bra.”

“Take it off,” I tell her.

“I’m not one of those women who can walk around with no bra. It’s pretty noticeable.”

“I’m not complaining.”

She shoves my side and sits up, taking the warm and buzzed air with her. “Jace, I’m really not in the mood to be faux hit on.”

I shake my head and stick my hand out. “I’ll fix it for you.”

Her eyes drift to my open hand, eyeing it with uncertainty before she looks back at me. “You’ve done this before?” she asks with an attempted smirk that looks amazingly cute, even with the glossy effect in her eyes. She snakes her arms through the sleeves, stretching the material enough for me to see the bra loosen as she unsnaps the hooks. I swallow hard, ignoring the pounding rhythm in my chest, and echo her attempted smirk.

“Darcy VanCamp,” I say with nostalgia. “Eighth-grade play.”

“Really?” She raises an eyebrow, wiggling her arm back out, red bra settled in the palm of her hand. “I was kidding.”

“I know.” I grin. And yeah, I try to see if I can tell she’s braless. I can’t. But she crosses her arms pretty tight after handing the bra over.

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