But I don’t leave people behind just because they made bad choices.
Especially not ones that have somehow already started mattering to me more than they should.
JONAH
I've never fully appreciatedhow the human body can become both a shield and a torture device until this exact moment.
“You know, most people would be devastated about their vehicle getting pancaked by a tornado,” I say as Lucas bounds toward us through the mud, grinning like he's just won the lottery instead of losing thousands of dollars of Channel 8 equipment.
“Are you kidding? This is the best thing that could've happened!” Lucas gestures wildly at the mangled remains of thenews van. “The footage I got is career-making! Emmy-worthy! Plus, now the station has to give me a new van with better equipment!”
Lila shoots me a look that clearly translates to, Is he actually insane? Well, I think it does. Maybe it’s more of a how can you be friends with that kind of idiot? At the moment, I am questioning that myself.
Lucas spots Lila leaning against her truck. His expression brightens even further, which I wouldn't have thought possible. “Ms. Brooks! The savior once again! First you rescue that family in Woodward County, and now you've saved my colleague from certain death!”
I wince at his dramatic phrasing. “I wasn't in 'certain death'—”
“You absolutely were,” Lila interrupts flatly. “And I'm giving both of you a ride back to the civilization to figure out how you’re getting home,” she adds, pushing off her truck and heading for the driver's side door. “Let's go before I change my mind and leave you both out here with your stupidity.”
I trudge through the mud toward Lila's truck, painfully aware that my shoes—formerly pristine leather oxfords that cost more than I care to admit—are now permanently ruined. Lucas bounces alongside me like an excited puppy, clutching his camera bag to his chest.
“Isn’t it ironic how the universe keeps throwing us all together?” he whispers, loudly enough that Lila can definitely hear him.
“The universe threw a tornado at us,” I hiss back. “That's not the same thing.”
When we reach the truck, I realize with dawning horror that her entire backseat is full of the equipment I salvaged from the weather van. Maybe if I just shoved it over a bit more, there would be room for me in the back seat. I study the spacerealizing that unless I possess the ability to shrink in half, no one was sitting back there. That leaves only the front bench seat open.
“I call window!” Lucas chirps, holding the door out for me, which means I'll be sitting in the middle.
I hesitate, one foot on the running board, calculating the physics of three adults on this bench seat. It's going to be tight. Very tight.
“Problem?” Lila asks, one eyebrow raised as she watches me from the driver's side.
“No, no problem,” I mumble, hauling myself into the middle position, my knees awkwardly bent as I try to fit my frame into a space clearly not designed for someone my height.
“Cozy!” Lucas declares with entirely too much enthusiasm as he shoves in next to me.
I’m immediately trapped in what feels like the world’s most uncomfortable sandwich.
My shoulders are too broad for the bench seat, forcing me to angle inward slightly, which only makes the situation catastrophically worse because now I’m partially facing Lila. The damp fabric of my shirt clings to my skin, cold and restrictive, while my knees are jammed awkwardly against the dashboard at an angle that’s going to require medical intervention if this drive lasts longer than twenty minutes.
“How far is the closest town?” I manage, trying to position my arms somewhere neutral that doesn’t involve elbowing Lucas or having to drape it around the back of Lila’s seat.
“About forty minutes,” Lila replies, shifting the truck into gear. “Unless another funnel drops.”
Forty minutes. In this position? Excellent. I’m going to die here.
As Lila navigates the muddy road, I become acutely aware of several facts simultaneously: Lucas is still soaking wet andsmells like a Golden Retriever that lost a fight with a lake. I am pressed close enough to Lila that I can feel the warmth of her body through our damp clothes every time the truck shifts over uneven pavement. By far most dangerously, she smells incredible. Not perfume. Nothing overly feminine or artificial. Rain-soaked denim. Wind. The faint scent of storm air tangled with warm skin. Like summer heat on asphalt right before rainfall.
My entire body tightens instinctively. Jesus Christ.
The thing about near-death experiences, apparently, is that they have absolutely no respect for timing. I shift against the seat, angling my knee towards Lucas under the present of finding a more comfortable position, and stare very deliberately at a water stain on the dashboard. Doing everything that is within my power to fight off my growing erection while trapped shoulder-to-shoulder with the woman causing it and my best friend is literally six inches away. This may actually be the most humiliating experience of my adult life.
Lila glances sideways briefly, one hand steady on the wheel.
“You okay over there, Professor?”
“Perfectly fine,” I say immediately, which is the least convincing thing I’ve ever said in my life.
