17. Lila
LILA
Jonah hasn’t budged in forty-five minutes, unless you count the micro-movements of his jaw or the spastic flick of his finger across the trackpad.
He is, at this moment, the world’s most immovable object: one wiry forearm braced atop his modeling notebook, the other hand fisted around his coffee mug, eyes locked so hard on the storm simulation rotating on his laptop screen I half expect it to combust under the pressure of his scientific scrutiny.
I know exactly what he’s doing.
Cooling off via deliberate, obsessive focus. The more intense the task, the more it’s meant to distract from the thing you don’t want to touch. It’s almost flattering, how hard he’s trying. Also a little hilarious, knowing all the places he’s been looking when he thinks I’m not paying attention.
The second we got back, he kissed me like he meant it—really meant it—then stood there with his forehead almost against mine, breathing hard, and then just. Walked away. Sat down. Opened his atmospheric modeling software like it was a cold shower he could take with his eyes.
It isn’t going to work. Not after today.
The dog wash, when I leaned over the tub and the room went silent behind me. The park bench, our thighs pressed together while he found something very interesting to look at on the horizon. Lunch, when my foot found his under the table and he inhaled his drink straight into his lungs.
By the time we got back here, I was almost starting to feel sorry for him.
Almost.
Because here’s the thing about spending a full day pressed against someone with that much self-control: it doesn’t exactly leave you unaffected either.
If anything, it leaves you worse off. And, desperate men make very desperate decisions, like reversing their self-imposed sex ban.
If me, the injured party is willing, there’s no reason he should continue to punish both of us.
But, even after everything I did today, he didn’t waver.
If it’s war he wants, I’ll keep trying until he breaks.
My gaze drifts back across the room.
Jonah has one hand pressed to the back of his neck, scrolling through radar output with the other, jaw tight. Concentration, probably.
Frustration, maybe. Both, almost certainly.
His sleeves are pushed up to the elbow now. That shouldn’t be doing anything for me. It is absolutely doing something for me.
Max has been snoring against my leg for the last twenty minutes. The TV is on. Emily has texted me five times. None of it is registering.
What are you and your professor doing right now?
He’s working. I’m watching TV with Max.
Three dots appear instantly.
Max who? Don’t tell me this has become a threesome already.
I snap a picture of Max’s prone body nestled against my leg.
Meet Max.
Let me get this straight. You’ve picked up a man and a dog in less than a week. Who are you and what have you done with my sister?
I stifle a laugh and sink deeper into the sagging mattress of my bed. The cheap motel comforter scratches against my bare legs as I shift positions.
I promise I am your sister. I just have two stowaways riding with me.
Why are you sitting there with a dog and trash TV when you have a man sitting feet away from you?
She wastes zero time in responding.
Um, hello, do I need to explain it to you? How long has it been since you got laid, Lil?
I roll my eyes so hard they might fall out of my head. If Emily only knew just how close I was to getting what I wanted. Jonah has put up the good fight, but his resolve is cracking.
Send me a pic. I want to see this guy.
No.
How am I supposed to help you if I don’t know what we’re working with?
I sigh and shift on the bed, angling my phone so I can capture Jonah without being too obvious. I try to make it look like I’m just checking something on my screen while sneakily snapping a photo. The result is a blurry but clear enough image of him in profile.
I hesitate before sending it, feeling strangely guilty, but hit the button anyway.
Three dots appear immediately, then:
You said he was a professor not a freaking model. Those CHEEKBONES.
Is that what professors look like now?
Maybe I should go back and finish my Master’s Degree.
If you don’t want him, I’ll take your place.
The second my sister’s I’ll take your place lands, something hot and immediate moves through me.
No. The thought arrives before I’ve finished reading the words. Just—no.
He’s mine to be infuriating at. Mine to watch go pink around the ears when I lean too close. Mine to slowly, methodically dismantle.
I glance across the room at him. He’s shifted in his chair, one knee bouncing now, jaw tight. He’s been like that all day—doing everything in his power not to look at me and failing at it constantly.
Emily can find her own scientist. This one is mine.
As if on cue, he glances up and catches me staring.
“Everything okay?”
“Just my sister.” I set the phone face-down on the comforter. “Being Emily.”
“Ah.” He nods, returning to his work, but not before I catch the hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. Does he know? Can he somehow sense Emily’s thirst-texts from across the room?
I flip my phone back over to find three more messages.
Hello?? Did he catch you taking his picture?? OMG LILA ANSWER ME
I quickly type.
He just asked what I was doing. I think he noticed. I’m mortified. Thanks a lot.
Worth it. Does he have a brother?
My fingers hover over the keyboard, tempted to add something—anything—to downplay it. That we barely know each other. That I’m not drawn in by the way he focuses, or how he gets when he’s deep in thought. But that would be overcompensating. And lying.
And if there’s one thing I’m not, it’s a liar.
My middle-of-the-night confession already proved that. I want to bury myself under a pillow for even going there with him.
Am I attracted to him? Yes. I’d have to be blind not to be.
But attraction doesn’t change reality. When this experiment ends, so do we. Our lives were never meant to run parallel for long—just cross briefly, like intersecting storm paths before pulling apart again.
“So,” Jonah’s voice cuts through my thoughts again. “I’ve been analyzing the data from yesterday’s formation, and there’s something interesting here.”
I set my phone down, grateful for the distraction. “Yeah?”
“Come see.” He gestures to the space beside him.
I hesitate for a second before crossing the invisible boundary between our sides of the room.
I shift from the bed and make my way over to the desk.
He scoots over, giving me space. The motel desk chair creaks as I perch on its edge, trying to keep a respectable distance while being able to see his screen.
It’s not working. His cologne fills my nostrils as I lean in, and I’m suddenly hyperaware of how close our shoulders are.
“See these patterns?” He points to colorful swirls on the screen, his finger tracing along a particular formation.
I nod, focusing on the data instead of the warmth radiating from his body.
“This is fascinating,” I say, and I mean it, despite the distraction of his proximity.
I lean closer to the screen, trying to focus on the data instead of the fact that our arms are nearly touching.
“The rotation is much more intense than what your model predicted. That could explain why it escalated so quickly.”
“Exactly.” His voice has that excited edge it gets when science is happening. “And look at these temperature differences.” He points to another part of the screen, his finger tracing a line that makes absolutely no sense to me but clearly means everything to him.
I nod, watching his profile instead of the screen. The light from the laptop highlights the stubble along his jaw, which has grown more pronounced throughout the day. I should not be noticing this.
“So what does this mean for your research?” I ask, pulling my attention back to the actual work.
“It means we need more data. If this pattern holds with other formations...” He trails off, looking at me with those eyes that seem to see straight through my carefully constructed walls. “It could change everything about how we predict rapid intensification.”
My phone buzzes again from across the room, and I’m grateful for the excuse to put some distance between us. I retreat to the bed where Max has stretched out, taking up more than his fair share of space.
So??? What’s happening now? Is he mad? DETAILS.
I ignore her and flip my phone over, focusing on scratching behind Max’s ears.
My phone buzzes again. I groan.
“She’s persistent,” Jonah notes without looking up.
“It’s her superpower.” I reluctantly check the message.
ARE YOU IGNORING ME? I’m sending a search party if you don’t answer in 5 minutes.
I’m fine. We’re working. Talk later.
Three dots appear immediately.
Working or “working”?
I feel my face heat up and toss the phone aside. Max lifts his head at the sudden movement, gives me a reproachful look, then settles back down with a sigh.
“So,” I say, desperate to change the subject in my own head, “what’s the plan for tomorrow? That cell moving in from the west looks promising.”
Jonah swivels in his chair to face me. “I think it will develop into something significant by mid-afternoon. If we leave early, we can position ourselves near Oakley and wait for it to come to us.” He pauses, rubbing his jaw. “But there’s something else I’d like to try tomorrow, if you’re willing.”
“I’m listening.” I sit up a little straighter, intrigued by the hesitation in his tone.
“I want to get closer than we have been.” He meets my gaze directly. “The data we’re collecting is good, but it could be better. I need readings from inside the circulation zone.”
My pulse picks up. “You want to punch the core. Didn’t think you’d be the type to suggest something that risky.”
He shrugs, and the movement draws my attention to his shoulders. “Sometimes the only way to get the data you need is to go where others won’t.”