Page 1 of Love in the Lab
Chapter one
Molly
Ihate Jonathan Stanch’s stupidly handsome face, with his smug smile, dark sexy curls, and mischievous hazel eyes. I glare at him from over my computer screen as he walks into the office, disrupting my focus. It’s Sunday evening, for crying out loud. Why is he here? Why is healwayshere?
When Jonathan passes my cubicle, I bob my head at him icily. “Dr. Stanch,” I say.
His eyes twinkle, and I hate that it always feels like he’s making fun of me, but I never quite get the joke. “Dr. Delaney,” he responds, and he bows. BOWS. The audacity.
This guy is my archnemesis. Okay, I’m being dramatic. I don’t have an archnemesis, but Jonathan gets on my nerves. It’s like his entire existence rubs me the wrong way, though I’m not sure I can articulate exactly why.
He always seems to be around, bothering me and distracting me from my work. It doesn’t even make sense because he’s primarily in charge of fieldwork, so why is he in my lab instead of out by the shore or on a boat where he belongs?
Jonathan and I work on the same coastal environmental science research team at New Orleans State University. We both came up through the ranks at NOSU together as graduate students and lab assistants, then full-fledged members of the team once we finished our PhDs in coastal and marine science. Like I said, he always seems to be around, always my competition for grades, positions, and grants. We traded off being ranked first and second in the class all through grad school. He won some scholarships I applied for. I won some scholarships he applied for.
Fortunately, in this lab Jonathan focuses on fieldwork and collecting samples out on the water, while I have a more behind-the-scenes lab and office role, so we don’t often have to work together directly.
I check my watch and my eyes widen. I’ve been analyzing the data on my computer screen longer than I thought. When did it get so late? As I’m stretching in my chair, my stomach gurgles, and I realize I worked right through dinner.
I stand and put my hands on my hips, rotating to stretch out my back. Our lab takes up the entire second floor of an environmental sciences building on the outskirts of NOSU’s downtown New Orleans campus. Entering in from the elevator or stairs is our office area with cubicles, a few enclosed offices, and a decently sized breakroom with a refrigerator, microwave, and tables and chairs. Through the office area, the lab area is aseparate section with workbenches, equipment, and a couple of large storage closets.
As I head to the refrigerator in the breakroom to get my lunchbox, I hear my phone ping from somewhere inside the pocket of my sweater. I frown, patting my sides and feeling nothing.Maybe it’s in the pocket of my pants? Ah, yep. Here it is.
I have a text from one of my sisters in our group thread. I smile, anticipating news from my favorite people.
Nicole:
Classes start in one week and I’m nowhere near ready
Nicole is a librarian at a small college in Florida. At twenty-six, she’s a little more than three years younger than me. She’s usually totally on top of her work, which she’s passionate about, so her text is surprising. Well, sort of surprising. Nicole also started dating her boyfriend, Adam, earlier this year, and it seems to have done wonders for her work-life balance. Not something I can particularly relate to, either the dating or the balance part.
My phone pings again.
Olivia:
well stop sucking face and do your job
I laugh out loud. Only Olivia would be so blunt.
She’s our baby sister, seven years younger than me and almost four years younger than Nicole. She graduated from college this past spring and lives with our parents in Austin, Texas, until she figures out her next step.
I start typing a response to my sisters when I’m startled by a voice directly in front of me.
“What’s funny?”
I look up to see Jonathan standing a smidge too close for comfort. I take a step back and scowl at him. “None of your business.”
Jonathan continues standing in front of me, arms crossed and that pompous smile on his face.
I narrow my eyes. “Did you need something?”
His smile widens as he gestures behind me. “Just to get into the breakroom.”
With his words, I realize with surprise that I’m blocking the doorway. I’m a little concerned that I can’t remember if I was already standing here when the group chat started pinging, or if I mindlessly walked over while staring at my phone.
I jump out of the way, and Jonathan makes a beeline for the refrigerator. He opens it, pulling out a bottle of root beer and my lunchbox, which he hands to me. I take it reluctantly, watching him with narrowed eyes.
“Having a late dinner?” he asks. “How long have you been here today?”
