6. Jonah #3
After what feels like an eternity, Lila turns off the main highway onto a smaller road.
Through the rain-streaked windshield, I make out a flickering neon sign, “Thunderbird Motel.” The motel is a single-story L-shaped building that's seen better days.
The paint is peeling, and half the letters in the vacancy sign are burned out.
Lila pulls into a parking spot near the office and cuts the engine.
“It's not a five-star motel, but it's a bed with hot water, which is more than we'd have if we kept driving.”
Relief floods through me at the prospect of escaping this cramped truck. My legs feel like they've been folded into unnatural shapes for hours.
“I'll check us in,” Lila says, reaching behind her seat and grabbing a battered duffel bag. “University’s still paying, right?”
I reach into my pocket, pulling my soaking wet wallet out, and take out my university expenses card, handing it to her.
“Thanks.” She takes my card, and heads inside the building. The moment she's out of earshot, I turn to Lucas with what I hope is my most intimidating glare.
“What the hell do you think you're doing?” I hiss, finally able to stretch my cramped limbs now that Lila's gone. “Are you deliberately trying to sabotage me?”
Lucas blinks at me with exaggerated innocence. “What? I'm helping!”
“Helping? You told her I can't handle irregular lunch hours! You made me sound neurotic.”
“Well...” Lucas tilts his head, considering. “If the temperature-controlled lunch container fits...”
I run my hands through my damp hair in frustration. “This is serious, Lucas. This collaboration could make or break my career, and you're in there making jokes about denial and proximity and—” I stop, a horrifying thought occurring to me.
“I'm just saying, the chemistry is obvious,” Lucas says, raising his hands defensively. “You should have seen your face when she said she was going to email you back. Like a kid on Christmas morning. All wide-eyed and breathless.”
“That’s—I wasn’t—” I stumble, heat creeping up my neck again. “This is a working relationship. That’s all.”
“Sure it is,” Lucas grins, leaning back against the passenger door. “And I'm just saying, if you two happen to find yourselves bonding over barometric pressure or whatever, I'll happily accept credit for making it happen.”
“There will be no bonding,” I insist, though my voice lacks conviction even to my own ears.
“Right,” Lucas nods, his smile insufferably knowing. “Care to make a wager on it?”
“We are not making a bet about this research partnership.”
“Aw, come on, Jonah. Afraid you’ll lose?”
Before I can strangle him, the driver's side door opens, and Lila slides back in, rain glistening in her dark curls. She tosses two key cards onto the dashboard.
“Good news, they have rooms. Bad news, they only had two left,” she announces, shaking water from her hair.
Lucas claps his hands together. “Slumber party!”
I close my eyes briefly, wondering what cosmic force I’ve offended to deserve this. “Fine. That’s…fine.”
“Room 14 for you two,” Lila adds, nodding toward a door halfway down the building. “I’m in 8, on the other end.”
We all climb out of the truck, the rain now down to a light drizzle. I stretch, wincing as feeling returns to limbs that went numb during the drive. Lucas immediately starts unloading his camera gear, handling each piece like it’s priceless.
“You guys go ahead,” he adds, cradling a waterproof case. “I need to back up this footage before I do anything else. Emmy Awards wait for no one.”
Lila rolls her eyes but doesn’t comment, slinging her duffel over her shoulder. I grab my backpack, relieved to find my laptop intact thanks to its waterproof case.
We walk toward the motel in awkward silence, our shoes squelching on the wet pavement. The neon sign buzzes overhead, casting everything in an eerie blue glow that makes Lila's damp skin look almost otherworldly.
“Thank you,” I stutter. “For saving me from my own stupidity.”
“Let’s not make that habit, okay? I can’t have a liability riding with me. My insurance barely covers me and the truck.”
“I know.” I realize I'm fidgeting with my backpack strap, a nervous habit I can't seem to break. “I appreciate you taking a chance on this collaboration. I promise my models are worth it.”
She studies me for a moment, her expression unreadable in the blue neon light. “We'll see tomorrow, won't we? I’ll meet you in the lobby at seven tomorrow morning. If your algorithms impress me, we’ll hit the road.”
We reach the point where we need to head in different directions. I hesitate, not quite ready to end our conversation despite the exhaustion settling into my bones.
“For what it's worth,” I say, “I really was going to do field research today. Not that I wasn't hoping to run into you,” I admit, immediately regretting my honesty. “But the primary purpose was data collection.”
Lila tilts her head slightly. “You know what's funny? I actually believe you. You're too earnest to be a good liar.”
I'm not sure if that's a compliment or an insult, so I just nod awkwardly.
“Get some sleep, Dr. Reed,” she says, already turning toward her room. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day, and I need you to be sharp.”
There’s the faintest trace of amusement in her voice when she says it, like she knows exactly what that sentence does to me.
I watch her walk away down the motel walkway, boots echoing softly against the concrete. Her damp hair hangs loose down her back now, and she glances over her shoulder once before reaching her door.
Then she disappears inside. The door clicks shut. I stand there in the drizzle for a moment too long, my shoes squelching.
Lucas materializes beside me with a low whistle. “Buddy.”
“Don't.”
“I have never seen you this gone over someone.” He gestures broadly at my face, as if it is self-evident.
I turn and find our room, shoving the key card into the slot until the little light blinks green.
Inside: two narrow beds with quilts in a faded southwestern pattern, a bolted-down TV, a bathroom with a flickering light.
I drop my backpack on the nearest bed and round on him. “I am not 'gone over' anyone.”
Lucas peels off his ruined jacket and drapes it over the back of the desk chair, where it immediately begins to drip onto the carpet. “You accidentally touched her boob and stopped breathing for ten full seconds. Didn't think I saw that, did you?”
“I hate you so much right now. It was an accident.”
He stares at me for a beat, head tilted. “You genuinely sound like a scientist testifying before Congress after a sex scandal.”
I point at him. “I am one comment away from shoving you out that door and making you sleep in the rain.”
Lucas drops onto his bed, bouncing once, grinning at the ceiling. “Worth it. Besides, I'm sure Lila would share her bed with me.”
I do not like that idea. Not at all. The thought of Lucas and Lila in the same bed sends a jolt of possessiveness through me so visceral I nearly drop my bag.
“Not funny,” I say, my voice tighter than I intend. “She's my research partner.”
Lucas's eyebrows shoot up. “Your research partner,” he repeats slowly, like he's testing how the words sound. “Right. Because that's the primary concern here.”
“I'm serious.”
“You're also bright red right now.” He flops backward onto the bed. “You know, for someone so brilliant, you're remarkably bad at self-awareness.”
I turn away, fumbling with the bathroom doorknob. The conversation has taken a direction I can't handle right now, not while I'm this exhausted, this wet, this discombobulated from being pressed against her for forty minutes.
“Enough, Lucas,” I drag a hand through my wet hair and grab my bag. “I'm taking a shower before I commit a felony.”
“Bring me back a tiny motel shampoo,” Lucas calls after me, but I'm already shutting the bathroom door behind me.
The bathroom is barely bigger than a coffin. The moment I'm alone, I lean against the sink, staring at my reflection in the cracked mirror. Water drips from my hair, and I look like someone who's been thrown into a washing machine and forgotten.
This can't happen. Not with Lila. She's my research partner—or at least, she might be if I don't screw this up. I can't spend the next who-knows-how-long fantasizing about her while trying to run complex atmospheric models.
I turn on the shower, making the water as cold as I can bear. The shock of it helps, briefly, but the moment my mind drifts again, I'm right back there in that truck with her thigh against mine, her breath catching when my hand?—
I brace one hand against the shower wall and close my eyes. Big mistake.
Immediately, my mind replays the entire night in brutal detail.
Lila laughing under her breath. The look she gave me when I agreed to her conditions too fast. Her thigh pressed against mine in the truck.
The split second after I touched her accidentally and the sharp inhale she made before either of us pulled away.
And then—because apparently my subconscious hates me—the image of her standing in some motel bathroom next door with damp hair and flushed cheeks slides into my head.
My hand drifts lower despite myself. I'm not proud of this. In fact, I'm actively appalled by it. But my body apparently doesn't care about professional ethics right now, because the second I close my eyes, all I can see is the way she looked when she told me she was going to email me back.
I take myself in hand and let out a breath that fogs against the tile.
This is a terrible idea.
It is, and yet my brain keeps serving me up memories: the way her freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose when lightning flashed, the way she chewed her bottom lip as she considered my proposal, the exact spot where her jeans rode low on her hip when she reached for something in the back of her truck?—
Stop. You’re going to ruin this partnership before it even gets started.
My research partner who nearly gave me a concussion when I pressed my hand to her chest.
I don't stop. The water is loud enough to cover anything, and the bathroom door is locked, and Lucas is on the other side of it, presumably wrapped up in backing up his footage.
My breathing gets heavier. I slide my fist down slowly, bracing myself against the wall with the other hand.
I imagine what her skin might feel like without the barrier of wet clothing between us.
The way her lips parted slightly when she said my name with that mix of exasperation and something else I can't name.
My grip tightens as I picture her hands running through my hair instead of the water, her voice whispering in my ear instead of?—
“Hey, Jonah!” Lucas's voice cuts through the bathroom door, startling me so badly I nearly slip on the shower floor. “Do you have a phone charger?”
I nearly slip and break my neck, swearing as I try to catch myself. “For the love of God, Lucas?—”
There’s a long pause on the other side of the door. “Then why do you sound so out of breath…” Lucas’s voice trails off. “Are you…”
My face burns so hot I'm surprised steam isn't literally pouring out of my ears. I quickly adjust myself, water cascading over my shoulders as I try to formulate a response that doesn't sound completely incriminating. “You scared me. I almost fell.”
A long silence follows. “You mean your dick fell into your hand?”
I close my eyes and rest my forehead against the shower tile.
Lucas starts laughing through the door. Loudly. “Oh my God, this is incredible. The emotionally constipated weather monk finally snaps because a pretty storm chaser flirted with him.”
“Just grab the charger from my bag!” I call out, trying to keep my voice steady. “It's in the side pocket!”
I hear him rustling through my belongings, and then his voice comes again, closer to the door this time. “Found it. You know, if you need more time in there?—”
“I'm fine,” I snap, turning off the water with perhaps more force than necessary. “I'm getting out now.”
“Take your time,” Lucas says, and I can hear the smirk in his voice even through the door. “Seriously. No rush.” I hear him shuffle away from the bathroom, laughing to himself while I stand there under the spray questioning every life choice that brought me to this exact moment.
I turn the water off and stand there for a second longer, steam curling thick around me while exhaustion finally starts settling into my bones. I drag a towel around my waist, drying off. I grab a pair of sweatpants and t-shirt from my bag, and get dressed before I step out of the bathroom.
Lucas is sprawled across one of the motel beds eating peanut M&Ms. The second he sees me, his grin widens.
“So,” he says. “Were you thinking about when you grabbed her boob or how close you were in the truck with her? Curious minds have to know.”
I throw a motel pillow directly at his face. It misses and he cackles loudly, and doesn’t stop until I drown him out when I put my headphones on, and climb into bed.