16. Jonah
JONAH
Turns out even with a middle of the night vibrating bed wake up call, I can't sleep past six. Some habits die harder than others.
Max lifts his head the second I move, nails clicking softly against the floor as he walks to the door and plants next to it, oscillating his gaze between me and the door to our room.
Guess we’re going out. I grab my phone from the nightstand before I slip on my shoes, heading to the door where Max is now impatiently waiting.
He starts to whine, but I quietly hush him, praying that he doesn’t wake up Lila.
I carefully open the door, and slip outside with Max hot on my heels. He follows me as we make our way across the motel's gravel parking lot. The parking lot is quiet except for the distant hum of highway traffic.
I glance back at the door to our room, where Lila is sleeping.
Images from last night hit me all over again.
Her sprawled across my chest with half-lidded eyes.
The warmth of her thighs bracketing my hips when I pulled her on top of me.
The exact moment when she settled against me, and realized just how aroused she’d made me.
Shit. Just remembering it sends blood rushing south again. I scrub a hand over my face.
Feeling Lila pressed against me like that had been pure torture in the best and worst possible way.
Every small movement of her hips against mine had my entire body humming.
My cock was so close to her. Only her underwear separated me from her.
God, how I wish my rational portion of my brain had been offline.
Every instinct I had last night screamed for me to pull her closer, and forget about sleep entirely.
To fuck her senseless until we’d both had our fill of each other.
But, she was exhausted. Injured. No matter how badly my body wanted her, rushing into sex while she was barely stitched together would’ve been wrong. Even if my erection spent most of the night lodging formal protests against the decision.
I exhale slowly into the cool morning air knowing that I made the right choice, and in the end, I got to hold her all night. To feel her against me, and that was enough until she was healed. And when she was, all bets were off.
I wander in thought until my phone vibrates in my pocket. Lucas's name flashes across the screen.
“You do know calling this early is breaking at least a dozen social rules, Lucas.”
“You actually answered a phone call? The apocalypse must be nigh,” Lucas jokes. “How’s life in the fast lane with your storm goddess?”
I roll my eyes. “We’ve collected some great data.”
“You’ve been on the road with her for what, nearly a week, and that’s all you’ve got? Come on, Jonah, give me something.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” I reply, even though I know Lucas well enough to expect he won’t drop it. Max freezes when he spots a rabbit at the edge of the parking lot.
“Bullshit. Your tone does that thing when you’re lying—it gets all stiff and formal. You forget I’ve known you since you were an awkward grad student with elbow patches.”
I sigh, watching the sunrise paint the sky in oranges and pinks. “It's complicated.”
“Complicated is code for 'I have feelings, but I'm too emotionally constipated to admit it,'“ Lucas says with obvious glee. “Is she as intense when she’s chasing as she seems?”
“She's brilliant, Lucas. The way she reads the sky, it's like watching someone speak a language I've only studied in textbooks.”
“And?” Lucas prompts.
“And what?”
“And she's gorgeous, and you're into her.”
I run my hand through my hair, glancing back at our door. “Really, Lucas?”
“What, Mr-Stick-Up-His-Ass? Opposites attract. That's like basic physics.”
“That's not how physics works at all.”
“Whatever. Have you kissed her yet?”
The question catches me off guard, and I nearly trip over Max, sending a quiet curse slipping from my mouth.
“You have!”
“I—” I stutter, feeling heat rise to my face. “That's not relevant to this conversation.”
Lucas crows with delight on the other end of the line. “Oh my god, you actually did! I need details. Immediately.”
“I'm hanging up now,” I mutter, watching Max and his staring contest with the rabbit. I pat his head, reminding him that I am, in fact, there next to him.
“No, wait! I'm sorry, I'm just—I've never heard you sound like this about someone since Claire. Not even Patricia from the Atmospheric Sciences conference.”
I wince at the memory. Patricia had been a fellow researcher with a passion for cloud formations and a tendency to quote obscure meteorological journals during dinner.
Lucas had been convinced we were perfect for each other.
He’d even gone so far as to invite her to our shared motel room to discuss data, and promptly bailed the second she arrived.
Turns out, Patricia was not interested in me, but had a huge crush on Lucas.
She left as soon as she realized he wasn’t there.
Max nips at my hand, apparently done with his morning business.
I follow his lead back toward the motel, the golden retriever trotting contentedly ahead of me like he owns the place.
He leads me over to the vending machine and sits.
I look at the selection and punch in the numbers for something for Lila before we resume our walk back.
“So what's the plan?” Lucas asks, pulling me back to our conversation.
“The plan is to do our jobs.”
“That’s so boring.”
“You live your life how you want, and leave me to mine.”
“Oh, don’t get like that. Relax, man.” A muffled voice comes through Lucas’s side of the call. “Look, I got to run. Morning broadcast starts in twenty. But keep me posted, okay? And maybe try using your heart instead of your brain for once.”
I hang up just as Max and I reach the door to our room. I hesitate, my hand on the handle, suddenly aware of what waits on the other side.
Lila and I have entered some new territory—one without maps or predictive models.
As I push the door open, the first thing I notice is the empty bed. The sheets are rumpled where Lila was sleeping, but she's not there. Then I hear the shower running, a soft humming barely audible over the sound of water.
Max trots into the room ahead of me, immediately jumping onto the bed and making himself comfortable in the warm spot Lila left behind. I check my watch. It's early for her to be up, especially given her injury and medication.
I set about making coffee with the cheap in-room coffee maker, knowing Lila will need the caffeine regardless of how terrible it tastes.
As the machine gurgles to life, I pull out my laptop to check the latest weather data.
The system we're tracking has moved east overnight, but another cell is developing to the northwest. Perfect conditions for more data collection.
The bathroom door opens in a rush of steam, and every coherent thought immediately leaves my body.
The bathroom door opens with a cloud of steam.
Lila steps out with her damp hair wrapped in a towel, wearing nothing but the oversized t-shirt she slept in last night.
It hangs off one shoulder because of the sling on her injured arm, exposing the smooth line of her collarbone and just enough skin to make my pulse stumble hard in my chest.
And then there are her legs. Bare. Long. Still faintly damp from the shower as she moves across the motel room toward me. The shirt barely skims the tops of her thighs, and my brain instantly supplies several deeply inappropriate thoughts about wrapping those legs around my waist.
Which would already be a problem without the added complication of her looking soft and sleepy and completely comfortable walking around half-dressed in front of me.
She catches me staring immediately, of course. A slow smile pulls at the corner of her mouth. “ You okay there, Professor?”
“I'm finding it genuinely difficult to look anywhere else,” I say, before the more sensible part of my brain can weigh in.
A faint flush crosses her cheeks, but she looks more pleased than embarrassed as she takes a step toward me.
“You know,” she says lightly, “most people at least try to pretend they’re respectful.”
“I am being respectful.” My eyes drift helplessly down her legs again. “Respectfully struggling.”
The laugh doesn't help. Neither does the scent of my own soap on her skin, which I'm now deeply regretting leaving within her reach because there’s a primal part of me that is happy she smells like my soap.
Happy that she carries my scent. I look back at her legs and then immediately at the middle distance somewhere past her left shoulder. She catches it anyway.
“You're staring.”
“I'm aware.”
“Anything interesting down there?”
“Lila.”
“What?” The innocence in her voice is completely unconvincing.
“I made coffee.” I gesture vaguely toward the machine, where the carafe sits steaming—a small, practical altar to self-control.
She blinks. Just once. Her head tilts a fraction.
“…Coffee.”
“Yes.” I latch onto the topic with the desperation of a man who has just spotted a life raft bobbing in open water. “Fresh coffee. About ten minutes ago. It's not good, but it's hot.”
A grin spreads slowly across her face. “Oh my God.” She laughs softly, pressing her good hand briefly over her mouth. “You're trying to redirect yourself.”
“I'm trying to survive.”
“That bad?”
I look at her—bare legs, oversized shirt, flushed skin from the shower—and decide honesty is probably my only remaining option.
“You walked out of that bathroom looking like every poor decision I’ve ever wanted to make.”
Lila actually stops moving for a second.
A faint rush of color spreads across her cheeks, and satisfaction sparks unexpectedly low in my chest at finally managing to fluster her back.
“Well,” she says after a moment, voice quieter now, “that was alarmingly smooth.”
“I'm operating under significant duress.”