We have significantly more important things to deal with. Namely how I ruined our first kiss. I have groundwork to make up. Apologies. Emotional recovery. Rebuilding trust after the “research partnership” comment that will likely haunt me into the grave. Not whatever this is.
I exhale slowly through my nose and shift my weight again, trying to ignore the persistent ache in my jeans.
“Behave,” I mutter under my breath.
My body remains unconvinced.
Because unfortunately Lila chooses that exact moment to stir in the bed, the oversized shirt slipping even farther down her shoulder as she adjusts against the pillows.
Oh, come on.
I close my eyes briefly.
This is fine. Totally manageable.
I can absolutely survive one night sharing a motel room with the woman I’m catastrophically attracted to without losing my mind.
Who am I kidding? I am screwed.
I try to come in quietly, but Max has other plans. He bounds over, pressing his wet nose into her hand. She stirs, lashes lifting.
“Did you buy out the entire vending machine?” she asks, still groggy, taking in the pile of snacks in my arms.
“I wasn’t sure what you’d want,” I admit, dropping the colorful packages onto the bed beside her. “So I got options.”
Lila brightens when she spots the cheese puffs. “You remembered.”
I busy myself with drying Max with one of the motel's threadbare towels while Lila tears into the cheese puffs with her good hand. The rain pounds against the windows, creating a soundtrack to our awkward domesticity. Thunder crashes overhead, and Max whimpers, pressing himself against my legs.
“I don’t know if that paper thin towel is going to be enough to get him dried off.”
“I know. But it's all we've got.” I continue rubbing Max down, his golden fur sticking up in damp spikes under my ministrations. He looks ridiculous, but at least he's drier.
“There should be a blow dryer in the bathroom,” Lila suggests, orange dust coating her fingers. “Every motel has one of those cheap wall-mounted ones.”
“Good idea.” I finish toweling Max as best I can, then disappear into the bathroom. Sure enough, a yellowed plastic hair dryer is mounted next to a mirror spotted with age. When I return to the main room, Lila has shifted position, wincing as she tries to get comfortable.
“Need help?” I ask
“I'm fine,” she insists, but her face tells a different story. The pain medication must be wearing off. “Just stiff.”
I check my watch. “It's been almost six hours since your last dose. You're due for another.”
“Are you keeping track of my medication schedule now, Professor?”
“Someone has to.” I dig through the pharmacy bag until I find the orange prescription bottle and grab a bottle of water from my bag. “Here. The nurse said two every six hours.”
Lila accepts the pills without argument. A true testament to the amount of pain she’s in.
“You should try to get some sleep,” I say, gesturing toward the bed. “I can work on analyzing today's data for a while.”
“In a minute,” she mumbles, already starting to fade as the medication kicks in. “Just need to rest for a second.”
While I'm figuring out what to do next, Max solves the problem for both of us. With a decisive leap, he jumps onto the bed beside Lila, turning in three tight circles before settling himself squarely in the middle of the mattress. His substantial weight creates a golden furry island between us.
“Hey, that's not—” I start to protest, but Max is already snoring, his rhythmic doggy breaths punctuated by occasional twitches of his paws.
Lila laughs softly. “I think he's made his sleeping arrangements clear.”
