Page 7 of Love in the Lab (Delaneys in Love #2)

Chapter five

Molly

I ’m not sure if it’s the antihistamine cream or if I took too much Benadryl, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about pranks since Jonathan came to my apartment this morning.

Juvenile pranks. Stupid pranks. Funny pranks.

No. I need to redirect my brain. Think about work instead.

I hate missing work today. Before I had to step out with Jonathan for our little fieldwork adventure, I was working on a model that would collate all the data we’ve collected from our sample sites over the last two years and find patterns that could help us better predict harmful algal blooms.

Standard stuff, right? Except my model also incorporates weather data, specifically hurricanes and other tropical storms.

Harmful algal blooms, more commonly called red tide, are absolutely devastating to beach tourism and the seafood industry on the Gulf coast. Red tide tends to get particularly bad during or following an active hurricane season.

Though it’s widely believed that this is because of chemical runoff from pesticides and the like from the land as flood waters recede, I have a half-baked hypothesis that it may also be partly caused by how the water temperature and pH levels change during the storms themselves.

I’m not sure yet how to test that, but my data model will at least set the foundation.

Did you know that in Hitchcock’s The Birds , the birds’ crazed behavior was likely due to them ingesting toxins from fish poisoned by harmful algal blooms in Monterey Bay?

Ooh, maybe it would be a funny prank to have Jonathan unknowingly eat fish with toxins from algal bloom in it and then record his erratic behavior.

Wait, what? No, Molly, that would not be funny. It would be dangerous and potentially result in assault and battery charges . Calm down, Prank Sinatra .

The character Winston in the show New Girl called himself Prank Sinatra even though all the pranks he came up with were either way too big, like releasing a badger into the air ducts at a friend’s wedding, or way too small, like putting a feather in someone’s shoe.

Ugh, my arms are itching again. Okay, mind over matter. I’ll help my brain stop focusing on the itching by instead brainstorming what pranks would be appropriate to play on Jonathan. Not that I’m actually going to. Just brainstorming here.

Let’s see. I could put a taxidermy seagull in his locker at the lab.

It would scare him to death when he opened the door.

I could put tape over the sensor on the bottom of his computer mouse, so it doesn't work. I could cover his cubicle in sticky notes. I could switch out his shoes to much larger ones, so he has to flop around the lab. That’s dumb.

When does he ever take his shoes off at the lab?

Wait. Instead of shoes, what if I switch out his lab coat? And instead of larger, I go smaller. It’s simple, easy to pull off, and effective. The perfect inaugural prank of the prank war. If I were participating in a prank war, which I’m absolutely not.

But I can’t get it out of my head. I’m fixated now on this idea for pranking Jonathan.

For the next week, whenever I see Jonathan take off his lab coat and hang it on the back of his desk chair, which he does often, my fingers twitch, begging for permission to grab it and make the switch.

Somehow, I end up with a medium-sized lab coat tucked into the bottom drawer of my desk. It was in the lost and found. Almost unintentionally, I took it home, washed it, and folded it neatly into the drawer.

I’m not sure what I’m doing. I hate pranks. I hate myself for even thinking about playing a prank, especially at work. But I can’t stop.

The day I hit my breaking point is an otherwise normal Tuesday at the lab.

After coming out of the lab, Jonathan hangs his coat on the back of his desk chair, badge included, and then leaves to have lunch off-site.

I watch him walk out the door. I spring to the window and watch for him to appear on the sidewalk downstairs.

I watch him get in his truck. I watch him drive away.

I can’t fight the impulse anymore. It’s too strong. I slip the medium lab coat out of my desk drawer and slink toward Jonathan’s cubicle. I shift my eyes around the room. Most people are at lunch or on the other side of the lab working with water samples. No one’s paying attention to me.

Quickly, I unclip Jonathan’s badge from his lab coat and reclip it in the exact same spot on the smaller coat. I take his coat off the chair and replace it with the prank coat. Then, I scurry back to my own cubicle and shove Jonathan’s coat into my desk drawer.

Now, I wait.

I can’t focus on my work; instead I keep running to the window to check if he’s back yet.

Finally, I see his truck in the lot and watch as he walks through the front door.

I estimate how long it will take him to come up the elevator—or stairs, he seems like a stairs guy—and enter the office, based on how long I observed it took him to exit before lunch.

My calculations are only thirty seconds off. He’s quicker than I expected.

I lean back in my desk chair just enough to see Jonathan approach his cubicle.

He lifts the lab coat from the back of his chair and starts putting an arm through one of the sleeves.

He stops and frowns. Pulls his arm back out.

Looks at the lab coat. Checks the badge on the pocket.

And tries again to slide his arm into the sleeve.

The look of raw confusion on his face is thrilling.

I feel a surge of adrenaline, mixed with giddiness and pride.

I know I’m smiling like an idiot, but I can’t help it.

I keep watching Jonathan and can tell the very moment when understanding dawns.

He lifts his head, a half-smile on his lips, and looks directly at me.

I quickly snap my chair upright and focus my attention on my computer screen, clicking around like I’m in the middle of something important.

A beat or two later, I hear a throat clearing behind me.

I swivel in my seat to see a smirking Jonathan, stuffed into the too-small coat.

It hangs open in the front; he couldn’t button it if he tried.

The cuffs are halfway up his forearms, the fabric pulled so tight around his biceps that it reminds me of sausages. Sexy sausages. Wait, what?

“Good afternoon, Dr. Delaney.” Jonathan bobs his head. He lifts his elbow and tries to lean it against the cubicle wall but can’t get his arm high enough.

I hold back a laugh, but I know he can hear it in my voice when I respond, “Dr. Stanch.”

His eyes twinkle as he asks, “Is this how it’s going to be?”

I shrug and shake my head but don’t say anything.

“Okay, then.” The twinkle in his eyes turns to a glint of challenge. “Good,” he says with a nod, then turns and walks away.

He wears the damn coat the rest of the day.

Jonathan’s retribution is swift, and though not unexpected, it still catches me by surprise. Two days later I’m at my desk when Lila, one of the grad students, hands me a napkin with a jelly-filled donut perched on top.

“There’s donuts in the breakroom,” she says with a smile. “I brought you one.”

My stomach growls, and I realize all I’ve had so far this morning is coffee. I accept the donut from her with a grateful sigh.

I take a large bite and realize my mistake instantly.

It’s not jelly inside this donut. It’s toothpaste.

The sharp mint flavor mixes jarringly with the saccharine frosting and flaky pastry.

Without thinking, I spit it onto my desk, dropping the rest of the donut onto my lap, and use the napkin to scrub the taste from my tongue.

“Lila,” I say through a gag. “Where did you get this donut?”

Her eyes are wide. “Um, I was in the breakroom and saw the box of donuts, and Dr. Stanch handed me this one and said it was your favorite.”

Of course he did. I stand up and whirl around looking for Jonathan, oblivious to the donut tumbling onto the floor. I find him leaning smugly against the wall outside the breakroom, arms crossed over his chest, dark curls flopped across his forehead.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Delaney,” Lila trills, her tone panicked. “I don’t know what happened.”

The nerve of this guy! Using a poor, unsuspecting grad student as a pawn in his nefarious scheme!

I pat Lila’s arm reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Lila. You’re not the one in trouble here.”

I use the napkin to clean up the mess of donut on my desk and floor. I walk past Jonathan on my way to the garbage can.

“Good morning, Dr. Stanch,” I say primly.

He nods, hazel eyes glittering. “Dr. Delaney.”

When I get back to my desk, I grab my phone and open the text chain with my sisters. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Molly:

Code Red, ladies. I need prank ideas.