The teasing fades from her expression instantly. Her hand slides slowly from my shirt to the side of my neck, fingertips brushing lightly along my skin.
“You won’t,” she says softly.
The certainty in her voice almost undoes me.
Because that’s the problem. I want her enough that restraint feels physically painful right now. But I also want to take care of her. And somehow those two feelings exist side by side every time I touch her.
Lila searches my face for another second before smiling faintly.
“Still kind of hot, though,” she murmurs.
I laugh quietly and lean down until my forehead rests briefly against hers.
“You are unbelievably difficult for my blood pressure.”
“I was about to say the same thing about you.”
Then Max barks loudly from the truck like he’s officially reached the limit of human nonsense he’s willing to tolerate.
Lila laughs softly against my lips while I close my eyes in defeat.
And somehow, standing there in a humid parking lot with coffee going cold in my hand and a dog actively interrupting our moment, I realize I’ve never wanted anyone more in my life.
LILA
Jonah hasn’t budgedin forty-five minutes, unless you count the micro-movements of his jaw or the spastic flick of his finger across the trackpad. He is, at this moment, the world’s most immovable object: one wiry forearm braced atop his modeling notebook, the other hand fisted around his coffee mug, eyes locked so hard on the storm simulation rotating on his laptop screen I half expect it to combust under the pressure of his scientific scrutiny.
I know exactly what he’s doing.
Cooling off via deliberate, obsessive focus. The more intense the task, the more it’s meant to distract from the thing you don’t want to touch. It’s almost flattering, how hard he’s trying. Also a little hilarious, knowing all the places he’s been looking when he thinks I’m not paying attention.
The second we got back, he kissed me like he meant it—really meant it—then stood there with his forehead almost against mine, breathing hard, and then just. Walked away. Sat down. Opened his atmospheric modeling software like it was a cold shower he could take with his eyes.
It isn’t going to work. Not after today.
The dog wash, when I leaned over the tub and the room went silent behind me. The park bench, our thighs pressed together while he found something very interesting to look at on the horizon. Lunch, when my foot found his under the table and he inhaled his drink straight into his lungs.
By the time we got back here, I was almost starting to feel sorry for him.
Almost.
Because here’s the thing about spending a full day pressed against someone with that much self-control: it doesn’t exactly leave you unaffected either. If anything, it leaves you worse off. And, desperate men make very desperate decisions, like reversing their self-imposed sex ban. If me, the injured party is willing, there’s no reason he should continue to punish both of us. But, even after everything I did today, he didn’t waver. If it’s war he wants, I’ll keep trying until he breaks.
My gaze drifts back across the room.
Jonah has one hand pressed to the back of his neck, scrolling through radar output with the other, jaw tight. Concentration, probably.
Frustration, maybe. Both, almost certainly.
His sleeves are pushed up to the elbow now. That shouldn’t be doing anything for me. It is absolutely doing something for me.
Max has been snoring against my leg for the last twenty minutes. The TV is on. Emily has texted me five times. None of it is registering.
What are you and your professor doing right now?
He’s working. I’m watching TV with Max.
Three dots appear instantly.
