6. Jonah #2
“Oh my God,” he breathes. “Did the temperature just go up in here or is it just me?”
I glare at him, and he grins back at me, unrepentant for his remark.
Lila keeps her face forward. “Just so we’re clear.
If this is anything other than research for you, the door is right there.
” She nods towards the passenger side door.
“Feel free to see your way out and take Weather Boy with you.” It’s not lost on me that she has no intention of stopping the vehicle should that be the direction I would take.
“I am here for the data. That’s it.”
Lucas snorts so hard he fogs up the passenger window. “You know what they say about denial,” he stage-whispers to me.
I drive my elbow directly into his ribs. He wheezes dramatically. Lila shakes her head, trying to ignore the both of us.
“I’ll need to see your algorithms in detail before I fully commit.”
“I can show you the simulations as soon as we get back to civilization,” I offer, trying not to sound as desperate as I suddenly feel. “My laptop’s in my bag. Assuming it survived the downpour.”
She steers around another fallen branch, headlights cutting across flooded ditches and twisted debris.
“I work on my own schedule. Sometimes that means getting up at three in the morning and driving across state lines on no sleep.” She glances at me briefly. “Do you think you can handle that?”
“I can be flexible,” I assure her. Which sounds much more convincing in my head than it does out loud.
Beside me, Lucas makes a strangled noise that suspiciously resembles laughter. “He can’t even handle irregular lunch hours.”
I close my eyes briefly. “Lucas,” I say calmly, “there are moments when I genuinely question why we’ve remained friends this long.”
“Remember when they changed the cafeteria layout last semester?” he continues gleefully. “This man nearly had a fit because the salad bar moved locations.”
“They moved it without warning,” I mutter defensively. “Who in their right mind puts salad next to the meat station? It’s offensive to those who eat plant-based diets.”
Lila actually laughs this time. Not the quiet little breath of amusement from before. A real laugh. I glance toward her before I can stop myself, and the lightning flash outside catches the curve of her smile for half a second. Beautiful.
“Look,” I say, attempting to reclaim what remains of my dignity while pressed thigh-to-thigh against her in this absurdly cramped truck, “I understand field research requires flexibility. I’m prepared for that.”
“Are you?” she asks skeptically.
“I can handle it.”
“He really can’t,” Lucas cuts in immediately. “This man packs his lunch in a temperature-controlled container with separate compartments for each food group. It’s color-coded.”
Lila is visibly fighting another smile now. God, maybe Lucas has been right. I really do need to get out of the lab more if a smile is enough to unnerve me.
“Why are you trying so hard to convince her I can’t do this?” I ask Lucas. “This entire partnership was your idea.”
Lucas grins without an ounce of shame. “She deserves full disclosure about your idiosyncrasies. You two are about to spend a lot of time together in very close quarters.”
I’m acutely aware, again, of exactly how close Lila is. How close she could be once Lucas goes away. My body reacts instantly and unhelpfully. Again. Unbelievable. I shift subtly in the seat, praying neither of them notices.
Lila glances sideways at the exact wrong moment. Her eyes flick downward, briefly. Then back up. A tiny pause that lasts approximately one geological era. A slow, knowing smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth before she looks back at the road while my soul physically leaves my body.
I stare determinedly through the windshield, trying very hard to think about literally anything else besides the fact she saw my physical reaction to her, and how to not make that situation any worse.
Lucas, mercifully oblivious, keeps talking. “Honestly, this is either going to end in groundbreaking scientific advancement or unresolved sexual tension-induced homicide. I’m excited either way.
“Does he ever shut up?” Lila asks me directly.
“Not even when he sleeps.”
“Hey, uncool. Don’t talk about me like I am not here?”
“I’d prefer it if you weren’t.” Lucas scoffs as if he’s offended, crossing his arms, all the while elbowing me in the back like he’s trying to push me closer to Lila.
“Rude.”
“Annoying,” Lila fires back at him. “You really need to find better friends.”
“Trust me, I am very well aware of that fact.”
Beside me, Lucas has finally gone quiet for once, likely because he’s exhausted or because the universe has briefly taken pity on me.
“So,” I say eventually, mostly because the silence is becoming psychologically dangerous, “when would we start?”
“There’s another system moving in from the southwest,” Lila replies, eyes fixed on the road. “Should hit the Texas Panhandle the day after tomorrow. If your algorithms are as good as you claim, that gives you one day to convince me they’re worth the trouble of dragging you along.”
“One day?” I blink rapidly. “I can show you the simulations, but to properly demonstrate their predictive capabilities?—”
“One day,” she repeats firmly.
The slight edge in her voice says she’s testing me now. Not just the research. Me.
“We’ll find a motel for the night. Get a few hours of sleep, return Weather Boy to his adoring fans, and then we can actually get to work.”
“You’re ditching me?” Lucas asks.
Neither of us pays attention to him. Unfortunately, my brain latches onto the phrase a few hours of sleep and immediately turns traitor.
Not because I think we’re sharing a room.
I’m not completely delusional. But the thought of being alone with her tomorrow—just the two of us without Lucas acting as a human smoke alarm for sexual tension both terrifies and arouses me.
My erection tightens painfully against my jeans. I want to shift again, but stop myself. She’s already noticed, drawing more attention to myself is only going to make matters worse. Can dicks explode? Maybe I should have paid more attention in that human anatomy class I took as an elective.
Lucas's phone chirps with an incoming call, the ringtone some peppy news jingle that makes me cringe. He fumbles to answer it, pressing himself against the door to create what little space he can in our cramped arrangement.
“Hey Rick!” he announces with theatrical enthusiasm. “Yes, sir. About that...” He pauses, his expression shifting to something more serious. “Actually, there's been a bit of a situation with the van.”
I watch his face as he explains the tornado encounter to what must be his station manager. His animated gestures repeatedly invade my personal space, forcing me to duck and dodge his flailing arms.
“Completely destroyed,” he confirms. “But—and this is the important part—I got incredible footage! We're talking ratings gold. Viewers will forget all about the van when they see this tornado footage.” Another pause. “Well, technically it was my life on the line, but yes, the equipment too.”
Lila catches my eye with a look that I interpret as equal parts amusement and exasperation. The corner of her mouth twitches almost imperceptibly.
“We're getting a ride back to the closest town now. I’ll need a lift in the morning if you can arrange that,” Lucas continues.
“From Lila Brooks, actually. Yes, the Lila Brooks.” He beams at her like he's expecting a thank-you or something.
He listens for another moment before nodding vigorously.
“Yes, sir. Absolutely. I'll get that footage to you as soon as we're back.” Another pause. “Right. Understood.”
He hangs up and lets out a dramatic sigh. “Well, that went better than expected. They're more excited about the footage than mad about the van.”
“Shocking,” Lila mutters, focusing on the road ahead.
The conversation dies after that. For once, Lucas seems content to stare out the window at the storm damage while scrolling through footage on his camera.
Which leaves me trapped with my own thoughts. The last place I want to be right now with a raging erection.
Then the truck slams hard into a pothole hidden beneath a sheet floodwater.
The whole cab lurches sideways, a violent, instantaneous shift.
Lila curses under her breath as the wheel jerks in her hands, and my arm shoots out on pure reflex, like the same stupid instinct that makes you grab falling glass, and my hand lands squarely on her chest. More specifically, her breast.
Lila’s breath catches sharply beside me.
“Jesus—sorry,” I choke out. “That was not intentional.”
I yank my hand back immediately like I’ve been burned, pressing it flat against my own thigh like I can quarantine it there.
Lucas’s focus shifts from his camera, and onto me again.
“Not a word,” I warn him.
He saying nothing. At first.
Lila doesn’t look up at me. Her jaw is set, but there is color rising up from her collar up the side of her neck. It tells me everything that her expression won’t.
The worst part isn’t the embarrassment, which is already catastrophic.
The worst part is that I can feel the soft weight of her against my palm.
How the curve of her breast fit perfectly in my large hands, as if they were made for me.
I resist the urge to shake my fist at the universe for putting me into this position.
It would only find a way to make this worse.
Instead, I do my best to ignore it, but even I know that it’s a lost cause.
My hand, pressed so uselessly against my own leg, has no interest in forgetting it.