Page 23 of Love in the Lab
I feel my lips stretch out in a smile of my own. I try to fight my desire to jump in, but it’s a gorgeous sunny day. I’m on a boat surrounded by nothing but sparkling water, and a handsome man just invited me to swim with him. My impulse control is nonexistent in these circumstances. Who could blame me?
I feel Jonathan’s eyes on me as I shimmy off my outer layer of clothes and step onto the platform in my black one-piece bathing suit. I don’t feel self-conscious, and even less so when I meet his gaze and bask in the raw admiration I see there. How long has it been since I’ve felt seen like this? How long since I’ve felt like a desirable woman? Too long, I realize as I remove my glasses and toss them onto my pile of clothes.
I step off the platform, and the ocean rises up around me. I’m suspended, floating weightless underwater. The ocean is cool against my skin—the buoyancy compressing my body andsoothing my senses. Gone are the stressors and distractions that constantly overwhelm my system, gone are my regimented schedule and rules, gone is my anxiety over confining myself in the carefully controlled box that allows me to fit in a world not designed for me.
I surface on a laugh, joy bubbling out of me, crowding out any lingering insistence that Jonathan is my archnemesis, at least for now. Out here, I’m free.
I spin around until I’m facing him. He’s floating a few feet away, his wide eyes unabashedly fixed on me. He drifts closer. Fighting a grin, I flick my hand across the surface and send a wall of water toward his face. I stick around long enough to see him splutter and laugh before I swim in the opposite direction. My limbs feel light, but my muscles are inefficient and out of practice.
Jonathan catches me easily, hooking an arm around my waist. Smirking, he plants his hands on top of my head and dunks me under. I flap my arms to push the water up and myself down, sinking lower. I grab Jonathan’s ankle and pull him under with me. He twists, his hand finding my arm and tugging it toward the surface. We both come up laughing, sucking air into our oxygen-deprived lungs.
I wipe the saltwater from my eyes. We’re face-to-face, and I still, my breath slowing. Up close, his eyes are mesmerizing, a ring of brown around his pupils melding seamlessly into the deep green in the outside ring. My hands float up, settling against his chest. I kick my legs in a circle pattern to stay afloat. He moves his hands to my waist, his fingers slipping over the slick Lycra of my bathing suit. My heart is pounding so loud I’m sure he can hear it.
“Molly,” he whispers, leaning toward me.
My lips tingle, and I dart my tongue out to lick them. The taste of salt filling my mouth is enough to jolt my logical brainback into place. Before Jonathan can reach me, I duck under the water, flip around, and start swimming toward the boat.
I don’t dare look back until I’m sitting safely on the platform. When I do, I catch the last glimmer of disappointment on Jonathan’s face before he flicks his head back and forth, spraying droplets from his hair into the water around him and starts toward the boat.
My body’s heavy, a combination of my own chagrin and the need to readjust to the effects of gravity after floating weightlessly for so long.
Kissing Jonathan would have been disastrous.
Kissing Jonathan would have been perfection.
I push myself up to stand, walking to the back of the boat to get my towel and spare clothes from my bag. As I towel off, I see Jonathan climb aboard from the corner of my eye. Still shirtless, he pulls the glider farther onto the deck and latches the gate to block off the platform. When he starts heading my way, I quickly climb below deck to change.
Chapter nine
Molly
When I come back up on deck, Jonathan has his shirt on and is pulling up the anchor. I settle on the bench seat near the helm of the boat to wait.
It takes only a few minutes for Jonathan to finish prepping the boat. When he’s done, he comes to the helm.
“We’ve got a few more samples to collect on our way in,” he says, eyes directed at my forehead.
I nod and clear my throat. “Okay.”
He fiddles with some switches on the console and presses a red button. I hear a clicking noise.
Jonathan scratches his chin. “Huh.” He presses the red button again, and this time, nothing happens at all.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Okay, don’t freak out—”
I stiffen. “Always a reassuring way to start a sentence—”
“—but the boat won’t start.”
I stand up, peering at the console as if I can offer a second opinion. “Why not?”
Jonathan shrugs. “I’m not sure. I’d guess a dead battery.”
“Like in a car?” I’m not an expert, but my parents made sure my sisters and I know the basics of car maintenance. If my car’s battery dies, I have jumper cables in the trunk, and I know how to hook them up to another battery to start mine.
“Sort of.”
