Page 54 of Love in the Lab
I … have never heard anything so thoughtful in my life. But that’s business as usual for Jonathan Stanch—accommodating, empowering, and bolstering me at every turn.
Before I can react or think of a response, the boat bobs again, pitching Jonathan toward me. With impressive reflexes, he puts his arm up in time to catch himself against the roofline of the control area so we don’t collide. It does mean that I’m boxed in between the wall and Jonathan’s body, which is mere inches from mine. My eyes are aligned with his life vest, his shirt dripping and sticking against his shoulders and biceps.
When the deck steadies, I expect him to move away, but he doesn’t. I lift my head, and he’s staring down at me, fire in his eyes.
Blame the adrenaline, or his proximity, or even the motion of the boat—I feel that fire down to my very core. I don’t know who leans into whom, but the next thing I know, our mouths are fused together. Our lips, slick from the rain and ocean spray, slip against each other as we struggle to gain purchase.
Jonathan moves his free arm behind me, settling it between my shoulder blades and pushing me closer to his chest. Our bulky life vests bump, but I hardly notice, save the annoyance of not being as close to him as I’d like.
As I link my hands behind his neck, my vision narrows. All I see is Jonathan. All I hear is his heavy breathing. All I smell is his clean, citrus scent. All I taste are his lips. And all I feel is his skin sliding against mine.
Then the sky flashes, and our surroundings funnel back into my consciousness. Water sluices down my back. The waves crash against the side of the boat.
A laugh bubbles up inside my chest. What starts as a soft giggle against Jonathan’s lips intensifies until I’m laughing so hard, I can barely breathe.
Jonathan cocks his head, still inches from my own. “Something funny?” he asks into my ear.
With my hand, I gesture wildly around at the rain pelting us, the crashing waves, and the deck pitching beneath our feet.
“I can’t control any of this,” I shout. I also mean my feelings for Jonathan—the unrestrained way my body craves his nearness, and my heart demands his attention.
He raises his eyebrows. “No, you can’t,” he agrees.
I laugh again. “And I’m okay!”
I have no control over any variables right now. I’m out of the lab. I haven’t had a consistent schedule in days. And while Iamfocused on work, I’m also allowing myself to enjoy a bit of distraction in the form of one very handsome, very drenched co-researcher. The story I’ve built up in my mind for years, the “truth” I’ve held onto, would suggest I should feel overwhelmed and dysregulated, but I’ve never felt stronger in my life. I’ve never felt so powerful.
It’s no small part because of Jonathan.
He grins at my epiphany. “Yeah, you’re doing great.”
He brings his mouth back down to mine and kisses me slowly and deeply, like he’s drinking me in, savoring the taste of my lips. When he pulls away, he hugs me to his life vest and wipes the water from my face with the sides of his hands.
“You’re amazing, you know that?” he yells above the commotion around us.
I don’t know that, but I’m beginning to hope it’s true.
After deploying the gliders, it takes us twice as long as normal to get back to the marina. Jonathan pilots thePulselike a pro, but I’m sure he must be exhausted, battling the wind and waves like he is.
He radios ahead to let the marina worker know when we’re close. As we near the shore, the rain lets up, though the wavesbecome more intense in the shallower water. Finally, we reach the dock.
I stand under an awning while Jonathan helps the marina worker get thePulselifted into its dry dock, strapped down, and covered. Jonathan promises to come back in a few days to check on it and dry it out properly.
It’s a relief when we make it back to Jonathan’s truck in the marina parking garage, the roof overhead a respite from the steady deluge of rain now falling as Hernando’s outer bands come ashore.
Standing next to the truck, Jonathan peels off his shirt. I couldn’t move my eyes away even if I wanted to. “What?” He shrugs. “It’s soaked.”
I look down at myself and, using my thumb and pointer finger, pluck the wet shirt away from my skin. “Wish it were that easy for me,” I mutter.
“Hey,” Jonathan smirks. “I wouldn’t complain.” I scoff and shake my head.
He opens his truck door and pulls out two towels, handing one to me. After dabbing it across my body to absorb as much of the water as possible, I wrap the towel around my shoulders, reveling in the soft warmth. Opening the passenger side door to the truck, I move to spread the towel on the seat, but Jonathan stops me.
“I have a couple more towels for the seats,” he says. “Keep that one.”
I nod, and he lays a giant striped beach towel on the passenger seat. I climb into the truck and settle into the seat. Jonathan does the same. We’re cocooned in the cab of the truck, the air warm around us.
“Where to now?” Jonathan asks.
