“Fuck,” he mumbles, dropping his head back. The line of his throat bobs around a swallow, a new five o’clock shadow on his cheeks. Distress—or maybe irritation—brackets his mouth, and when he brings his chin down, gaze meeting mine, it feels like I’ve done something wrong. “Of course you did.”
“Am I … does that mean I’m predictable? I thought it was out of left field for me.”
“Don’t worry about it.” The muscles in his jaw work, tightening then releasing. He steps away. Puts his hands on his hips and squints out at the choppy water. “It’s not important.”
“Sorry to break up whatever is happening here, but what does the data say?” Dave asks. “Data doesn’t lie. Tell us where the new landfall is, Ernie.”
I move away from the men huddling around the laptop and head for my car, digging my own computer out from under a pair of rain boots and connecting to the hot spot on my phone.
Data doesn’t lie, but neither does intuition.
Knowing when to leave and when to stay is one of the most crucial parts of storm chasing. Being patient, navigating weather on the fly, and trying to understand why it acts the way it does is a seemingly impossible task, but I haven’t given up yet.
And I’m not going to today.
Footsteps follow me. I know who it is without looking over my shoulder.
“What are you thinking, Monroe? The wheels are turning.”
Sebastian’s voice makes me shiver. The warmth of his body envelops mine, far too close. I shouldn’t be able to hear the soft exhale of his breath. How he fills his lungs before letting out another puff of air like he’s grateful to be alive.
I shouldn’t be able to smell his cologne: the scent of fresh cut wood with the hint of something spicy and forbidden beneath the surface.
It dredges up the memory of his thigh pressed against mine on the Ferris wheel. The secret I think he was hiding and the inexplicable way I was comfortable with him next to me, even when I was afraid. A stuffed animal that’s now sitting on my dresser at home, a light laugh. The rumble ofyou’re definitely a badass bitchechoing in my ears, a mantra I’ve had on repeat in the days that have passed. The stars reflected in his eyes and the flicker of understanding that there might be more to Sebastian than the cocky, charismatic side he shows to everyone around him.
That night was an anomaly. Too outside our wheelhouse, and it would do us some good to get back to the place where we operate best: bickering. Trying to one-up each other and seeing who comes away victorious.
“That’s a loaded question, Dunn.” I type in a website address to avoid looking at him. “Right now, I’m wondering if I could kick you in the shin and get away with it.”
“Physical touch has always been my love language.” His laughter makes goosebumps sprout on my skin. I feel them at the top of my spine, where my ponytail brushes against my neck. Lower, between my shoulder blades, and I step forward to get him out of my orbit. “I meant about the storm. But we’ll come back to your affinity for violence toward me in a minute.”
I study the satellite imagery of the storm, playing its movement on a loop. Claudia’s eye has become more defined over the lastsix hours, compact with a hurricane-force wind field that extends twenty-five miles. A pretty thing that will pack a punch wherever it hits, regardless of its category.
And I want to be there when it does.
“What is everyone else thinking?” I ask, treading carefully.
“Boca Raton,” Dave says, eavesdropping. “West-northwest movement would put it north of here.”
“West northwest?” I frown, clicking over to a different screen. “That’s not right. It’s moving west.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ernie mumbles. “Look at the picture, sweetheart. It’s going west northwest. You call yourself a meteorologist but don’t know your cardinal directions? That’s pathetic.”
“Fuck no.”
The viciousness in Sebastian’s tone makes everyone stop talking, including me. I’ve never heard him raise his voice, used to the guy who always keeps his cool. Who throws out a joke or two, and I freeze.
It’s so quiet I can hear the slam of a hammer against the head of a nail up the road. The wind rustling the flag tethered to a pole on my right, and I slowly turn to look at what’s unfolding behind me.
“What was that, pretty boy?” Ernie asks.
“Knock it the fuck off,” Sebastian says.
“I’m not doing anything.”
“Drop the condescending shit. Talk to Quincy with the respect she deserves, or we’re going to have a fucking problem.”
“It’s not my fault she can’t read the—”
