No Interest in Love (15 page)

She's quiet for far too long, and I hear her biting that pinkie nail.

“Look at you,” she says, and her hand flops down, grazing my leg. “You have a sensitive side.”

The corner of my mouth twitches up. “It's more like a rib.”

She pops her knee right into that rib, and I reach down and stop her from further abusing me. Our sleepy laughter disappears into the dark, and I plant my hand on her knee. And even though I know I'm a Barney, the fact that I'm touching her like this, sleeping next to her with no intention of sex, it makes me feel like a Ted.

Right now…I'm okay with it.

2:53
P.M.

So I may have exaggerated a bit when I told Shay that I know how to cuddle. It's true, I've slept in a bed with a woman after we rolled around, but I sort of let her do all the snuggling while I lay on my back and dozed off till morning. I'm not used to sharing sleeping space, especially so
little
sleeping space. So it's no surprise that when I blink my eyes open to the moving train car, I'm taken aback by the extra weight flopped over my legs.

Shay has me in a vise grip. She's claimed my right leg, hugging it to her chest and using my ankle as her personal pillow. The left leg is hanging out between the bottom of the bed and one of her arms and, I notice with a slight shift, that arm is trapped between my thighs, hand lazily splayed against my ass cheek.

I lift my head just barely, smirking at the way she's latched on. One of her legs has been tossed over my hip…like she's taken spooning to a whole other level. Backpacking maybe. If I'd woken up this way with a woman I was trying to get away from, I'd have a hell of a time escaping. But honestly, I can't wait to see her reaction when she wakes up, so I let her stay there, closing my eyes and pretending I didn't wake up first.

She's so damn adorable it's driving me crazy.

No. Not adorable. Some other word.

My hand twitches and it's only then I realize that I'm latched onto her ankle. It's the only part of her body she hasn't tangled up with my limbs…and I'm holding on to it. And instead of drawing my hand back, I slide it up from her sock to her skin under her pants and my breathing jumps from the steady track it was on.

Her leg is prickly. It's not smooth and oiled like how I'm used to women's legs being. Granted, it's been a few days since she's seen a razor; my face feels the same way. It should turn me off, and I
need
it to turn me off because I'm damn near losing my mind with her wrapped around me the way she is. It's Shay…but Shay's body is warm and her hand is on my ass and her pelvis lined up pretty well next to mine. Dangerous thoughts sprout up in my barely awake brain, and I keep rubbing my hand up and down her somewhat hairy leg hoping it will douse the fantasies, but it doesn't. Hell, it makes them worse. I'm suddenly hearing the conversation that would play out if she
was
awake.

I'd say, “Didn't know I fell asleep with a grizzly.”

And she'd respond with, “A grizzly and a jackass, sitting in a tree.”

I'd ask her with a cocky grin, “You saying you want to kiss me?”

“Don't you still have cheesy wiener breath?” she'd say with a sexy lift of her eyebrow.

I'd shake my head, lean up, but keep my hand on her leg. With a nervous grin instead of my arrogant douchebaggery, I'd tell her, “See for yourself.”

If I'm lucky, she wouldn't say anything. She'd sit up, grab my face, and…

“Good afternoon, passengers. It's just about three
P.M.
central time, clear skies at our next stop, Kansas City. We'll be arriving within ten minutes, so please prepare for exit. If you need assistance, please look to our staff located at each aisle doorway. Ticket checks will be conducted before our transfer route to Chicago. Thank you for riding Amtrak. We hope you enjoyed your stay.”

Then the blazing sound of the train horn reverberates around the room, and Shay shoots upright, slamming her head on the overhead light. When she catches sight of me, she flails backward and overcorrects, and I have to reach out and grab her before she lands hard on the train floor. My hand snags her back pocket while she scrambles for anything to keep her on the bed…which happens to be Woody himself, who almost shoots off right then and there in his overexcitement.

I let out a strangled laugh, trying to hoist her back up. “It's not a handle,” I joke, and her eyes bug right out of her head and she lets go. There's a loud
riiiip
, then a
thunk
. Shay's gone, and the only thing I have left is the back pocket of her jeans.

Shay makes a noise I can only describe as a constipated bear growling in the woods, and I lean up on my elbow, peering down at her sprawled-out figure on the car floor.

“Sanka, ya dead?”

“Yeah, man.”

I grin at her quoting
Cool Runnings
with me, then she rolls onto her stomach, and I bite my fist to keep from laughing.

Her back pocket is missing, since it's currently in my right hand, but the force of the tear ripped her jeans, and now there's a nice view of her upper thigh and the bottom half of her white underwear.

“You want to ask for my pants now?” I ask, and her hand flops to her butt, and when she realizes what's going on back there she flips around, neck blossoming red as she hides her ass from me.

I push myself off the bed, being careful as I make my way down to her. She leans against the door, head falling onto her knees as she pulls them up.

“This. Is. A. Nightmare,” she mutters into her now-ruined jeans. I hold the pocket out to her.

“We could tape it back on.” I offer. She smacks my hand away, looking up with a hint of a smile on her lips. But it's not her lips that I'm looking at for long. While she slept, her hair covered most of her face, but now that I'm getting a good look…

I reach up and smack the overhead light switch on the wall. The bridge of her nose is bright purple. Under her eyes looks like she's been bludgeoned with a sledgehammer.

“Ah shit…” I mutter, nearly reaching out to touch her but too afraid to damage her more. “Are you okay?”

She kinks her neck from side to side. “Think so. I've fallen out of bed before.”

“That's good…but I was talking about your nose.”

She gives me a look like I'm spouting Greek, then nudges me out of the way to look into the mirror over the pull-out sink. After about ten seconds of staring, she lets out an exasperated sigh.

“I'm going to be a walking bruise by the time we get there.”

“I think you already are.”

She's not amused by my comment, but honestly, neither am I. That probably hurts like hell. And as I'm looking at it I feel hot smoke creep up the back of my neck. I don't like it. I don't like seeing her bruised and in pain. Even knowing that it came from crashing into a toilet.

She shakes her head at her reflection, then turns to me, gesturing for her glasses, which she left up on the bed. I pray they're still intact as I swing my arm up to grab them for her.

“Next time we share a bed, you get the edge,” she says, sliding her glasses into place. She's laughing, and it's dousing the unexplained flames going up my neck. I avert my eyes from her bruised nose and scratch the back of my head.

“You want to share a bed again, huh?”

“Hypothetical ‘next time.' ”

“Then hypothetically, next time, if I start falling off the mattress, am I allowed to cop a feel?”

“That was a total accident.”

“Mistook it for my leg? It happens all the time.”

“Didn't realize you had chicken legs.”

“Ouch.” I grab at my chest like she's torn my heart out, but my neck finally feels normal again, so I'm cool if she's okay enough to insult me.

She presses up against the wall, hiding her butt and looking pointedly at my carry-on. I crouch down and unzip the main pocket, letting out an exaggerated breath as I take the Marvel pajama bottoms from their spot. Holding them like they are something sacred—because they are—I turn around and bestow them upon Shay…who whips them out of my hands.

“Thank you.” She sighs.

“You're welcome, but don't bundle them like that.” I put my hand on her wrist and step in close. “Be gentle. They are very delicate.”

She pushes her lips together as they twitch upward. “Would you like me to give you two a minute to say good-bye?”

I stare down at the pants. These are the pants no one sees me in. They're the ones I drink booze and play video games in and the ones I wear when I feel like shit. They're healing pants. So…hell, yeah, I'm attached to them. In fact, one of the one-nighters thought she could get away with wearing them the morning after. I took one look at her and said she had crossed the line. Never did see her after that.

Yet here I am, letting Shay wear the magical pajama pants, knowing full well she'll end up ruining them in the next twenty-four hours. Keeping one hand on her wrist, I let the other pet the fabric good-bye while she stifles her laughter next to me.

“Hey, we all have our things,” I say, defending myself…and my pants.

“I didn't say anything,” she says, carefully tucking the pants against her chest. My fingers tumble down from her wrist to her elbow, and her eyes follow them.

I probably shouldn't be touching her. We've never had the touchy-feely type of friendship. It's rare that we hug, let alone have long, meaningful physical exchanges. Is this meaningful? I'm still touching her. I can't let go. Don't know what's come over me, but I like the feel of her skin, I like the way my favorite piece of clothing is pushed against her chest, and I'm trying to tell my hand to drop from her damn elbow, but my hand is not listening.

“I have to pee,” Shay suddenly blurts, slowly pulling from my grasp. Oh shit, I freaked her the hell out.

“Oh yeah, morning piss,” I say like a moron, then I turn around and run smack into the door. She doesn't laugh at me, which I'm pretty sure is worse than if she did, and I sneak into the hallway before we have any more awkward exchanges.

3:04
P.M.

Shay is wearing my Marvel pants. But she's strapped on her torn jeans over them. The baggy fabric of my pants peeks out by her waist and through the rip by her butt, and she's tucked the bottom of the legs into a pair of oversized socks I recognize as mine. She looks insane. Like the People of Walmart.

Adorable.

“What's the plan?” I ask when we get to the main platform at the station, trying not to laugh at her attempting to walk without tripping over fabric. Shay
hmms
and brings her pinkie nail to her lips. Her head keeps turning over her shoulder at the security personnel—the ones who are guarding each train like it's made of gold. It doesn't look like we'll be able to sneak another ride unless Shay has some brilliant plan, because I got nothing.

“I'm open to ideas,” she says, then laughs when I give her the blankest of stares. “I can still call my agency.” She points to the ticket counter, where a Melissa McCarthy look-alike is sitting on the phone.

“We're not doing that.”

“That's all I've got. So unless you decide to offer up more than a cross-eyed shrug, then that's what we're going to—”

“Let's buy a ticket.”

“With what?”

“My card.” I dig into my back pocket and pull out my wallet. I have exactly three things in here. My maxed-out credit card, my license, and a cherry-flavored condom.

“You said you had no money.”

“I don't.” I lightly grab her by the wrist, making sure she's right by my side while we move the ten steps to the ticket kiosk. The place is so crowded I wouldn't be surprised if she was swallowed up somehow and taken away from me. “But if Landon got my message, he might've wired some money into my account.” I tap on the screen and select the next train out. “Worth a shot, right?”

She sucks in a breath, making her back straighten so she's maybe half an inch taller. She comes up to my shoulder now. “If this works, I'm not sure if I'll be happy or feel like an idiot for not thinking to try it sooner.”

I nod, and she swipes the card, my gut dropping as the little loading wheel spins and spins on the screen. I'm not even sure if the train will get us closer to Alabama or not, but if it works, I'll call it even on the ride I just took for free and then take a cab out to the nearest airpo—

Card not approved. Please insert another form of payment.

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.

9:58
P.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.