Page 8 of Love in the Lab
He assesses me, and it suddenly dawns on me thatmy clothes are sticking to me. I quickly move the waders in front of my chest. I swear I see Jonathan blush before he ducks his head.
“I have extra clothes in the truck you can change into.”
Great. More oversized clothes made for giants.
At the truck, Jonathan pulls a thick towel from the back seat and hands it to me. I wrap it around my shoulders and snuggle into it. It’s warm from sitting in the truck and smells subtly of laundry detergent.
As I run the towel across my arms and legs, Jonathan rummages through a duffel bag and produces gray joggers and a red T-shirt.
I look around. We’re on the side of the road, no buildings in any direction as far as I can see. “Where am I going to change?”
He nods toward the backseat of the truck.
My mouth drops open. “I don’t think so.”
“There’s nowhere else. I’ll wait out here.”
“Facing away from the truck.” I glare at him.
“Yes, ma’am. Of course.”
After much wiggling and contorting in the humid truck cab, I manage to peel off my wet clothes and don Jonathan’s dry ones. They have the same fresh laundry smell as the towel, but stale, like they’ve been sitting in his gym bag for a while. Maybe because they have been, they feel warm against my skin.
I keep peeking out the window, and true to his word, Jonathan is turned away from the truck each time I look. I pull the drawstring on the joggers as tight as it will go and tie the ends in a double knot, just in case. I wrap the towel around my wet hair to squeeze it dry.
My shoes are soaked, so I leave them off and climb into the front passenger seat.
“Okay!” I call out the window to Jonathan.
He turns around and, without a glance in my direction, finishes putting the gear away. When he gets everything stowed, he joins me in the truck. He meets my eyes. “We should call it a day. What do you think?”
“I never wanted to come in the first place.”
“Right. Of course.”
My damp hair is starting to irritate me. It clings to my neck and ears, sticky in the humidity. I pull it off my neck with my hand, gathering it together, and then groan in frustration.
“What’s wrong?” Jonathan asks.
“I don’t have a hair tie.”
He looks around the truck. “Would a rubber band work?”
I scowl. “Only if I want knots in my hair.”
Jonathan holds his hands up in apology. He clears his throat. “How about lunch before we go back to the lab?”
“My lunch is in the refrigerator at the lab.”
“We could stop somewhere.”
I pointedly look down at my clothes, which are his clothes, and my bare feet.
He beams. “I know a drive-in place near here. Come on, I’m starving. Aren’t you hungry?”
“No,” I say, and my stomach gurgles loudly.
He chuckles. “I think you are. Come on, please?”
