Page 71 of No Interest in Love

“See?” she says as I step toward her. She puts a hand on my chest. “I’m right. So we can’t.”

“You’re not right.”

Her eyes narrow. “Okay, which part am I not right about?”

I lean in. She’s pressed against the door. The heat from our romp has fogged the glass, and my hand slides a little before it flattens above her head.

“What if I said I don’t want just one night with you?” My breath comes out shaky, damn it, and I gulp and try to relax. Her eyes keep skating over my neck, where my pulse is hammering out a wicked tune. “What if I said that you’ve changed my mind? That I don’t want just meaningless sex. That I want something a little more, and a lot more often. That you’ve completely warped my brain, turned me into a romantic who wants nothing more than to just hold you all night, every night. What if I said that I think I’m falling for you?”

The pause is so deafening, I wonder if time really has stopped. In movies this is the climax. This is the part when the leads get together. This is when the screenwriter puts in the suggestion to drag out the tension. That’s all this is. Tension dragging.

Then she closes her eyes and says, “I wouldn’t believe you.”

And my chest…ripsapart.

No.

No, no.

That’s not the next line. The next line is “I’m falling for you too” or “Are you serious?” or something that ends the movie with the two leads together.

“Why not?”

“You don’t want love, Jace. You’ve never wanted it. And of all the people to make the exception for? Well, let’s just say I know I’m not anyone’s number one choice.”

“Why in the hell would you say that?” I say a little more harshly than I mean to. But I don’t like her self-deprecating tone.

“I am the most difficult person to be involved with. I’m controlling and overwhelming and I don’t keep my mouth shut when I probably should. I’m not fun. I’m difficult. And you know that. I’m labeledBUZZKILLin your damn phone.”

“That’s a joke.”

“Everythingis a joke with you. So when do I take you seriously? How do I know if you’re being real or if it’s just a what-the-hell moment?”

“You know when I’m acting, Shay,” I tell her, making her eat her own words. But she shakes her head, letting her eyes fall to the floor. She has more to say. I know she does. But she’s not letting me hear the thoughts running through her mind. And in the silence that follows, something hits me.

Hard.

Right in my ripped-apart chest.

Maybe I’m not the lead inShay: The Movie.

Maybe I’m the mistake.

I drop my hand from the glass and step back to give her air. I hear her hand fumble over the doorknob before she pulls it open. She’s leaving. She’s doing what I thought she should do before my dick took my brainpower.

Good.

Good for her.

Sheisright. I don’t know how to do everything I just said. So I don’t really believe myself either.

Damn, my chest hurts.

She gets halfway across the parking lot before I spot her glasses still resting on the ice machine. Snatching them up, I whip open the door and follow her out.

“Hey, wait up.”

She turns around, eyes pinched closed. “Jace, please—”

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