“He can't just—” I begin, but Max's snores grow louder, as if to drown out my objection. His paws twitch as he dreams, probably chasing phantom rabbits through fields far away from tornadoes and destruction.
There's no point in arguing with an unconscious dog. I shake my head, grabbing my overnight bag from the floor. In the bathroom, I stare at my reflection in the mirror, barelyrecognizing the man looking back at me. My hair is disheveled from the wind and rain, my new jeans damp at the cuffs.
I splash cold water on my face, trying to clear my head. The events of the day replay in my mind. The storm. The kiss. The awkward drive to this gaudy motel room with its mirrored ceiling and heart-shaped everything.
After brushing my teeth and changing into a clean T-shirt and sweatpants, I gather my courage to face whatever is waiting on the other side of the door. I take a deep breath and step back into the room.
The sight that greets me stops me cold. Lila has shifted in my absence, curled protectively around Max’s golden form. Her injured arm rests in its sling across his belly, rising and falling with his deep, rumbling breaths. Both of them are snoring. Max, with his thunderous dog snuffles, Lila with something softer, almost rhythmic, like she somehow found a way to match him.
They look peaceful. This strange, unlikely pair brought together by disaster and bad timing. I stand there longer than I mean to, watching them, struck by how quickly Max attached himself to us. How quickly we somehow became a group of three.
My laptop sits on the small table by the window, practically calling to me. I should be working. I should be analyzing the data we collected today. The supercell’s unexpected rotation pattern needs to be documented while it is fresh in my mind. Those deviations could matter. They probably do.
I pull out the chair and open the laptop, but as the screen lights up the room, exhaustion crashes over me. The adrenaline that carried me through Lila’s injury is gone, leaving everything heavy and slow. My vision burns, and the numbers and charts blur almost immediately.
I didn’t sleep much last night. Not really. Every time I drifted off, it replayed—the moment she got hurt, how much worseit could’ve been. I know she would’ve been out there with or without me. That’s who she is. But that doesn’t make it easier to shake.
This whole setup—this research—put me right there when it happened. Close enough to see it. Close enough to feel responsible, even if I can’t quite explain why.
Now, after everything, the storm, the kiss, whatever this is between us, my body is done.
I stare at the screen for another second, then sigh and close the laptop. There is no point fighting it.
I hesitate at the edge of the mattress. Maybe I should just sleep on the floor. Just as I'm about to grab a pillow, Max lifts his head. He watches me for a few seconds, frozen in silent prayer that he is not about to alert and wake her up, but jumps off the bed.
“This is a terrible idea,” I whisper to him.
Max responds with a soft huff that sounds remarkably judgmental for a dog.
With a resigned sigh, I carefully lower myself onto the mattress, keeping as much distance between us as physically possible. I cling to the very edge of the bed like a man trying not to fall off a cliff. Mostly because if I get any closer to Lila, I may actually lose my mind.
The mattress dips beneath my weight, and I immediately freeze in place when she shifts in her sleep beside me.
“Jonah,” she murmurs softly, voice thick with exhaustion.
My heart nearly stops.
Her face turns toward me against the pillow, brows faintly pulling together like she’s dreaming. “Don’t talk about tornadoes right now.”
I stare at her in disbelief for half a second before a helpless laugh escapes quietly through my nose. Even unconscious, she’s annoyed with me.
Fair enough.
Then she sighs softly and settles again, one leg shifting beneath the blankets until it brushes dangerously close to mine.
Every muscle in my body locks instantly.
Oh, this is going to be a very long night.
Because sharing a bed with Lila is already wrecking me far more than it should. The room smells faintly like rain and her shampoo, and every few seconds I catch another glimpse of bare shoulder where that oversized T-shirt slipped down again. My body reacts to every tiny movement she makes like it’s personally trying to ruin my life.
Case in point: my persistent, throbbing cock that has not gone away once since I walked into this room.
My dick, in particular, seems absolutely thrilled about the shared bed situation.
Traitor.
I exhale slowly, staring at the dark ceiling and willing myself to think literally any thought that isn’t about rolling closer to her.
