Page 10 of Love in the Lab (Delaneys in Love #2)

Chapter eight

Molly

T his is bliss , I think as I sit near the front of the boat.

The wind blowing through my hair, the sea spray hitting my face, the sun warming my skin.

We’ve slowed down as we get closer to our destination.

I’ve felt so settled today out here on the boat.

Everything about this trip has been appealing and stimulating to my senses and my mind, sometimes perhaps a little too much.

The proximity to Jonathan feels both intoxicating and dangerous.

I’m leaning into the weighted, charged moments between us instead of shutting them down like I normally would.

Being attracted to my archnemesis is an inconvenient problem to have, especially when he’s really not a bad guy.

Especially when I have no room in my life or routine for relationships of any kind other than my family. Hating him is safer.

I close my eyes and focus on the sensations of being out on the water. My breathing slows and a content, closed-mouth smile creeps across my face.

“See,” Jonathan shouts from the steering wheel, “it’s not so bad.”

I quickly school my features. “No, it’s fine,” I say as Jonathan kills the engine.

He grins. “We’re here. The glider’s just off the starboard side.”

I stand, trying to remember which side is starboard.

The right? I cross the deck and peer over the right edge of the boat.

Bright yellow, the glider is easy to spot in the water.

Because I haven’t done fieldwork since starting on Dr. Gantt’s team, I haven’t seen a glider up close.

I work with the data they collect all the time—it’s a primary part of my job in the office.

The technology fascinates me. These self-contained vessels use an internal pump to change buoyancy, allowing them to move up and down in the water.

They have propellers and an internal compass that help them move slowly on a pre-set course, and all the while, they collect data about the water and transmit the data back to shore in real time.

“How long has this one been out?” I ask, tossing a glance over my shoulder at Jonathan.

“Two months.”

“What was its mission?”

“Recording pH levels, water temperatures, and oxygen levels, among other things, at varying depths out here in the Gulf.”

I frown, thinking back over the datasets I’ve been working with in the office. “This is glider four?” Jonathan nods his confirmation. “The pH has increased slightly over the last few weeks, especially closer to the surface, but not anywhere near dangerous levels.”

Jonathan rubs his chin. “That makes sense. Pesticide runoff from the Mississippi would be higher right now as the growing season comes to an end.”

I pause. I consider telling him my hypothesis about the effect of storms on the water temperature and pH levels, but it’s been a slow hurricane season, thankfully, and we haven’t had much impact.

A couple of storms in the Gulf skirted up the coast of Florida, but none have come close enough to New Orleans that our data would be affected.

Besides, I’m not sure I can really trust him. I’ve had so many male colleagues over the years who belittle my ideas or even try to take credit for them. It’s best to keep my data model close to the vest until I know more about the findings.

“Water temperatures have stayed about the same since summer even though the water should have started cooling off already,” I add instead. My eyes are drawn back to the glider bobbing in the water. It’s as long as Jonathan is tall. I turn to face him. “How do we get it in the boat?”

Jonathan smiles. “It weighs about 140 pounds, but between the two of us, it won’t be hard to pull it in.”

I watch as he reaches a long pole with a hook on the end into the water and secures it through a handle on one end of the glider. Using the pole, he guides the glider through the water to the platform at the back of the boat.

He snaps open the gate and motions me over. “We can pull it in here, so we don’t have to lift it as high.”

One thing I reluctantly appreciate about working with Jonathan is that he doesn’t overexplain.

He demonstrates the processes we need to follow, gives some commentary, but assumes I’m competent enough to connect the dots.

I’ve worked with a lot of men in this field, and I’m sorry to say that most of them get a little too much pleasure from mansplaining concepts that I understand better than they do.

But not Jonathan. Like now, he positions himself on the edge of the platform to get behind the glider, and without conversation, I take my place near the front to pull. We don’t need to spell it out or belabor the process. We understand each other.

With just a little lifting, we easily slide the glider aboard.

Jonathan is still kneeling at the edge of the platform, so I mimic his position to get a better look at the autonomous vehicle.

The outside is sleek for better hydrodynamics, with the moving parts and scientific instruments safely stored inside the fiberglass hull.

“What happens to a glider when there’s bad weather?” I ask.

Jonathan keeps his eyes on the glider as he inspects it for damage.

“During some of the summer storms we had gliders that went dark for an hour or two. When the storm passed, they surfaced and were able to transmit the missing data, along with their location; they were off course. They adjusted though and were able to course correct on their own.” He looks up at me, his eyes bright.

“If the water’s rough enough or if it’s in shallow water with rocks or other obstacles, a glider could get damaged, but we haven’t had that happen to any in our fleet. ”

I absorb this information, adding it to what I already know about the gliders and the rows of data they transmit that end up on my computer.

Jonathan finishes his inspection and stands, his board shorts and long-sleeve sun-protection shirt splotched with dark spots where water splashed onto him while we were hauling in the glider.

Fat droplets roll down his legs and drip onto his bare feet.

I smirk. “Looks like you got a little wet there, Dr. Stanch.”

He looks down at his clothes and grins. “You call this wet? Nah, this isn’t wet at all.”

He grabs the hem of his shirt with one hand, and before I know what’s happening, his shirt hits the deck as he plunges into the water behind him.

My mouth drops open as I wait for him to resurface.

He bursts back up in a fountain of white spume and sparkling water, his bare chest shimmering in the sunlight before it dips back below the surface.

Not before I ogle the firm ridges and planes of said chest and suddenly find my mouth dry and my brain incoherent.

You know he’s attractive , I remind myself. You’ve always known that. That’s why you keep your distance .

The logical part of my brain must be on break, though, because I can’t tear my eyes away from Jonathan bobbing in the water, his dark curls plastered to his forehead, his broad shoulders glistening, and the green in his hazel eyes electrified against the aquamarine waves.

He turns in the water and starts swimming farther from the boat, tossing me a carefree smile over his shoulder. “Come on, Molly Pop, don’t let me have all the fun by myself,” he goads.

I feel my lips stretch out in a smile of my own.

I try to fight my desire to jump in, but it’s a gorgeous sunny day.

I’m on a boat surrounded by nothing but sparkling water, and a handsome man just invited me to swim with him.

My impulse control is nonexistent in these circumstances. Who could blame me?

I feel Jonathan’s eyes on me as I shimmy off my outer layer of clothes and step onto the platform in my black one-piece bathing suit.

I don’t feel self-conscious, and even less so when I meet his gaze and bask in the raw admiration I see there.

How long has it been since I’ve felt seen like this?

How long since I’ve felt like a desirable woman?

Too long, I realize as I remove my glasses and toss them onto my pile of clothes.

I step off the platform, and the ocean rises up around me.

I’m suspended, floating weightless underwater.

The ocean is cool against my skin—the buoyancy compressing my body and soothing my senses.

Gone are the stressors and distractions that constantly overwhelm my system, gone are my regimented schedule and rules, gone is my anxiety over confining myself in the carefully controlled box that allows me to fit in a world not designed for me.

I surface on a laugh, joy bubbling out of me, crowding out any lingering insistence that Jonathan is my archnemesis, at least for now. Out here, I’m free.

I spin around until I’m facing him. He’s floating a few feet away, his wide eyes unabashedly fixed on me.

He drifts closer. Fighting a grin, I flick my hand across the surface and send a wall of water toward his face.

I stick around long enough to see him splutter and laugh before I swim in the opposite direction.

My limbs feel light, but my muscles are inefficient and out of practice.

Jonathan catches me easily, hooking an arm around my waist. Smirking, he plants his hands on top of my head and dunks me under.

I flap my arms to push the water up and myself down, sinking lower.

I grab Jonathan’s ankle and pull him under with me.

He twists, his hand finding my arm and tugging it toward the surface.

We both come up laughing, sucking air into our oxygen-deprived lungs.

I wipe the saltwater from my eyes. We’re face-to-face, and I still, my breath slowing.

Up close, his eyes are mesmerizing, a ring of brown around his pupils melding seamlessly into the deep green in the outside ring.

My hands float up, settling against his chest. I kick my legs in a circle pattern to stay afloat.

He moves his hands to my waist, his fingers slipping over the slick Lycra of my bathing suit.

My heart is pounding so loud I’m sure he can hear it.

“Molly,” he whispers, leaning toward me.

My lips tingle, and I dart my tongue out to lick them. The taste of salt filling my mouth is enough to jolt my logical brain back into place. Before Jonathan can reach me, I duck under the water, flip around, and start swimming toward the boat.

I don’t dare look back until I’m sitting safely on the platform. When I do, I catch the last glimmer of disappointment on Jonathan’s face before he flicks his head back and forth, spraying droplets from his hair into the water around him and starts toward the boat.

My body’s heavy, a combination of my own chagrin and the need to readjust to the effects of gravity after floating weightlessly for so long.

Kissing Jonathan would have been disastrous.

Kissing Jonathan would have been perfection.

I push myself up to stand, walking to the back of the boat to get my towel and spare clothes from my bag.

As I towel off, I see Jonathan climb aboard from the corner of my eye.

Still shirtless, he pulls the glider farther onto the deck and latches the gate to block off the platform.

When he starts heading my way, I quickly climb below deck to change.