Page 6 of No Interest in Love

LANDON:“You did mean what you said?”

“Okay, what am I getting wrong?” I ask her, dropping my arm till the script hits me in the thigh. She shoves the bite of her apple into her cheek.

“Just the first two words. Try again.” Her eyes drift over from behind her glasses. “Oh, and if you call your tone ‘romantic,’ I’m going to question your theater degree.”

“I don’t hear the lamp complaining,” I tease, bringing the script back up, trying to focus on the order of the words.

LANDON:“You did mean what you said?”

No, damn it. That’s not what it says. There’s a question mark at the end. I cover everything with my hand other than the first two words of dialogue:Did you.

Did you, did you, did you. I bet that sounds hilarious five times fast

“Did you—”

“Romantic, Jace,” Shay says, then bites down into the untouched side of her apple, spraying juice all over her lips. She smears it around with the back of her wrist, then licks the juice off her skin. I must be dry as hell in the trousers, because I find it so damn cute that romance seems pretty easy to tap into now that I’ve got the words right.

So, okay, romance. A girl begging to be taken back. Never experienced it before, but then again, never experienced a zombie attack either. Just need to think about if it really was happening and shut off reality. Because if any of the girls I dated ran back to me, I’d probably end up bailing to avoid getting attached.

Not this guy…what’s my character’s name again? I glance at the script.Landon. Ah, hell, being head-in-the-clouds-in-love with that inspirational name is gonna be a cinch. My best friend got married just a few months ago, and his wife, Liz, has got her claws deep into his ticker.

I’m more of a nails-dug-in-the-ass kind of guy.

Instead of a quick look over the lines in the scene, I turn around and practice each one, whispered to myself. Shay’s used to this technique, so she doesn’t do any of that impatient annoying shit like big long sighs or humming or tapping her nails. I’m actually so in the zone I almost forget she’s there. Just me and Lampy—the female version of Lumière. My jaw tightens, and I work up some moisture in my eyes to give them a good “emotional turmoil” look, then I settle the script down on the bed.

“Did you…did you mean what you said?”

Shay shifts, but I try not to look at her. “What?”

I ignore the thin metal stand and wide, dusty shade (and the lamp’s apple chewing and monotone “voice”) and pretend it’s Carletta’s full lips and ample breasts in front of me.

“Last night.” I clench my jaw a bit again. “Or was that just for the cameras?”

Cameras? Looks like I need to read the movie description in order to get it. Or have Shay give me the rundown.

Shay turns on her back, holding the lines out above her head.

“I meant it. I mean it now. Look around. There isn’t anybody but me and you. No cameras, no lines to memorize, nobody telling us where to touch or how to kiss. And when it’s just been the two of us, I’ve always been honest. This is me being honest, Landon. I love you, and I meant every word of what I said last night.”

Yeah, she’s not making this easy for me with her mouth full of crispy apple. Kinda hungry, actually. And then Shay tilts her head and bats her eyes at me in a faux-loving way. My mouth twitches as I almost break character.

I take a deep breath, squeeze my eyes shut, and shake my head at the ground. “I just…I don’t know if I can…” My heart beats normally, but I pretend as if it’s breaking, shattering, or maybe even a bit indecisive. I start pacing in front of the lamp, hands shaking as I pinch the bridge of my nose, grab at my chest, and fist them against the fabric by my hips (which is my gym shorts at the moment). Landon—either the character version or the real-life one—would most likely want to yell at this point, but he’d struggle to keep it in. He’d also want to give in, keep the girl close so she wouldn’t get away. Even if he was still angry, he’s in love.

That poor sucker.

I drop my hands from my waist and cross the two steps to the lamp. I grasp the shade on both sides, pulling it close to my forehead and saying my next line, which is the most difficult of the bunch. Lots of little words that are easily switched in my head.

“I want to trust you. But how do I know if any of it is real?” After a few beats, in which I amp up my breathing to make it look like letting the lampshade go is the hardest thing I’ve ever done while, really, I’m just hoping I got all the words in the right place, I back up, dropping my arms in defeat.

“Didyoumean what you said last night?” Shay says after my performance, and I let out a tiny breath of relief. Her voice has taken on a tone that suggests she’s actually paying attention now. “Are you done, then? Is this it? Because if you meant it, I’ll go. So did you mean it?”

I bring my eyes up to the lamp, visualizing Carletta and her long red hair that drops at the waist, her hips that round out a magnificent ass, and I’m picturing her topless, because why not?

“No.” I close the distance between me and Carletta, wishing I was running a hand over her cheek and her bottom lip instead of the coat of dust on the lampshade. “I didn’t mean a damn word.”

This is the part when I kiss her, and I’m about to commit to it. I even pretend to tuck the imaginary hair behind the imaginary ear, but Shay drops the script to her stomach and blows a raspberry.

“Damn it.”

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