14. Jonah #2
She taps a few keys like she’s really checking. “I could offer you the ice machine.”
“Does it come with a bed?”
“No.”
“Anything else?” I try again, making one last attempt to defy reality.
“Not unless you want to keep driving in that.”
I glance outside at the rain slanting sideways, lightning flashing like the universe is actively mocking me, then look back at her.
“Are there other motels in town that might have two rooms?”
“Honey, there are three motels in this town, and they’re all packed with people running from the storm.” She gestures toward the window as lightning flares on cue. “You’re lucky I’ve got anything left.”
I glance back toward the truck where Lila’s silhouette is visible through the rain-streaked glass. She needs rest. A real bed. Somewhere warm and dry.
“I’ll take it,” I decide, pulling out my university credit card. “How much?”
“Eighty-nine ninety-five.” She eyes the card. “Plus tax. And a twenty-dollar pet deposit.”
I nod, trying not to think about explaining this expense to the university accounting department. 'Dear Financial Services, The honeymoon suite was a necessity.'
“The room has one king bed,” she adds, sliding a registration card toward me. “Heart-shaped jacuzzi tub too, but I wouldn't use it if I were you. Makes strange noises.”
Of course it does.
I fill out the form quickly, acutely aware of Lila waiting in the truck. When the woman hands me the key—an actual metal key attached to a plastic heart-shaped fob—I feel like I'm accepting some sort of cosmic joke at my expense.
“Room 17,” she says, pointing vaguely to the right. “Last door on the end. Parking right in front.”
“Thank you,” I say, tucking the key into my pocket.
The rain has intensified in the few minutes I've been inside, falling in sheets that instantly soak through my new jeans as I sprint back to the truck. By the time I slide into the driver's seat, water is dripping from my hair, obscuring my vision.
“Good news and bad news,” I announce. “Good news, they have a room. Bad news, only one room.”
Lila's eyes open fully for the first time since we left the storm site. “One room?”
“The honeymoon suite, specifically,” I add, feeling heat creep up my neck. “Complete with heart-shaped jacuzzi tub that, and I quote, 'makes strange noises.'“
I expect a witty retort or at least an eye roll, but Lila just stares at me for a long moment before letting out a soft laugh that trails into a wince as the movement jostles her injured shoulder.
“Of course it does because this day couldn't get any more cliché.”
“I can sleep in the truck,” I offer immediately. “Or find somewhere else?—”
“Don't be ridiculous,” she interrupts, her good hand waving dismissively. “It's pouring, and we're both adults. We can handle sharing a bed for one night.”
My mouth goes dry at the thought. One bed. After that kiss.
“Right. Of course,” I manage, putting the truck in drive. I navigate through the flooded parking lot to room 17, pulling up as close to the door as possible to minimize Lila's exposure to the rain. “Stay here. I'll unload first and come back for you.”
“I'm not made of sugar. I won't melt.”
“No, but your bandages might get wet, and I don't have a medical degree to go with my meteorology doctorate.”
This earns me a small smile. “Fair point.”
I grab our bags from the back, along with Max's newly acquired dog supplies, and make a dash for the door. The key sticks in the lock, requiring a particular jiggle before the door finally swings open with a dramatic creak.
The honeymoon suite is exactly as tacky as I feared.
Red and pink dominate the color scheme, with a massive king bed covered in a shiny polyester bedspread as the centerpiece.
Heart-shaped pillows are arranged in a pattern that I suppose someone considered romantic.
The promised jacuzzi tub sits in the corner, surrounded by cracked plastic mirrors.
Despite the garishness of the room, I'm relieved to have found shelter from the storm. I set our bags down and hurry back to the truck, grabbing a raincoat from my duffel to shield Lila from the downpour.
“Your palace awaits,” I say, opening her door and holding the raincoat over her like a makeshift umbrella.
She gives me a look—half amusement, half something I can't quite define—before carefully sliding out of the truck. Max jumps down after her, shaking himself vigorously and spraying water everywhere.
“Some gentleman,” Lila mutters, but she's talking to the dog, not me.
I help her toward the door, one arm around her waist, trying to ignore how perfectly she fits against my side. Her hair smells like rain and hospital antiseptic—not a combination I ever thought I'd find appealing, yet somehow it is.
Once inside, Lila stops short, taking in the full glory of the honeymoon suite.
“Wow. This is...”
“Hideous?” I suggest.
“I was going to say 'special,' but yeah, hideous works too.” She moves toward the bed and sits down gingerly on the edge. “Is that a mirror on the ceiling?”
I look up and, yes, there is indeed a mirror mounted above the bed, spotted with age and surrounded by a frame of plastic cherubs.
“Oh god,” I groan, tearing my gaze away from the mirrored ceiling. “This just keeps getting worse.”
Lila laughs, then immediately clutches her injured shoulder.
“Sorry,” I mutter, setting down the rest of our things. Max circles the room three times, sniffing every corner before settling into a spot near the foot of the bed. His wet fur has left damp patches on the carpet.
“I should take him out quickly before the storm gets worse,” I say, grateful for any excuse to escape the awkwardness of our situation. “He probably needs to...you know.”
“Go potty?” Lila supplies, her eyes twinkling despite her obvious fatigue. “You can say it, Professor.”
“Right.” I feel my face heating up again. “Do you need anything before I go? Water? Pain medication?”
“I'm okay for now.” She leans back against the headboard, wincing as she adjusts her position. “But if you pass a vending machine, I wouldn't say no to something sugary.”
“I'll see what I can find.”
Max seems less than thrilled about venturing back into the storm, but nature calls, and he dutifully trots alongside me.
The rain pummels us as Max reluctantly does his business near a sad-looking shrub. I stand there getting soaked, my thoughts as turbulent as the storm around us. One room. One bed. One kiss I can't stop thinking about.
“Come on, buddy,” I urge as Max takes his time sniffing every inch of wet ground. “Some of us don't have fur coats.”
He gives me a look that clearly communicates his disapproval of the entire situation before finally finishing up. As we hurry back toward the room, I spot a vending machine tucked under the walkway overhang.
I dig in my pocket for loose change, feeding quarters into the machine until I've secured a colorful assortment of sugar that would make any nutritionist weep.
Chocolate bars, gummy bears, and some neon orange cheese puffs that Lila had specifically praised early on in our road trip.
My arms full of junk food, I lead Max back to our room.
When I open the door, the sight of her hits me hard enough to stop me in the doorway.
Lila’s changed into an oversized T-shirt that hangs loose on her frame, the collar slipping off her good shoulder to reveal smooth skin faintly flushed from the storm.
Her injured arm rests carefully in its sling across her chest. She’s leaned back against the headboard with her eyes closed, damp hair falling around her face, breathing slow and steady like she finally let herself relax the second we made it somewhere safe.
And God help me, she’s beautiful.
Desire punches through me instantly, hot and sharp.
My body reacts before my brain can catch up.
A heavy ache settles low in my stomach as heat rushes through me, my cock already hardening at the sight of her in bed looking warm and sleepy and entirely too tempting.
I shift instinctively, jaw tightening as my jeans suddenly feel uncomfortably restrictive.
Fuck.
It’s the combination of everything that destroys me—the oversized shirt slipping down her shoulder, the memory of her kissing me back like she wanted me just as badly, the soft sound she made in the field when I pulled her closer.
My mind turns traitorous immediately.
I think about kneeling between her knees. About dragging my mouth across the bare skin of her shoulder. About how she’d look underneath me if I kissed her like that again.
The thought sends another hard pulse of arousal through me.
I grip the motel key tighter, trying desperately to get myself under control before she opens her eyes and realizes exactly what seeing her like this is doing to me.
Seriously. Get it together.
My dick, apparently having completely abandoned higher reasoning, does not listen.
I stare at Lila for one more disastrous second before dragging my gaze toward the ceiling like that’s somehow going to help. It does not help. Because there, perfectly placed above her is the mirror.
“Oh, fuck.”
The mirror above the bed reflects everything with horrifying clarity.
From this angle, I can see the way Lila’s t-shirt has slipped further down her shoulder, exposing more of that smooth skin.
I can see myself standing awkwardly in the doorway, arms full of vending machine treasures, staring at her.
We are not doing this right now.
We have significantly more important things to deal with. Namely how I ruined our first kiss. I have groundwork to make up. Apologies. Emotional recovery. Rebuilding trust after the “research partnership” comment that will likely haunt me into the grave. Not whatever this is.
I exhale slowly through my nose and shift my weight again, trying to ignore the persistent ache in my jeans.
“Behave,” I mutter under my breath.
My body remains unconvinced.