They were an instant success.
I watched their videos on repeat, virtually riding along and experiencing every chase they’d gone on the previous year, looking for a reason. They chased the same storms my team chased, and we got better results.
What the Wind Riders had going for them wasn’t skill—they never got within a mile of a tornado, something my team did often. No, what the Wind Riders had was charisma and a leader with a pretty face.
Olivia Windrow was only girl-next-door pretty. She was by no means a knockout, but something about her was fucking mesmerizing. Gun to my head, I couldn’t have told anyone what exactly captured my attention, but it was in every video. Her energy. Her confidence. Her assertiveness. I didn’t often crush on girls—I was about a seventy-thirty in favor of guys in the bi department—but this one had hijacked my hypothalamus for the better part of eleven fucking months, and I hated her.
“Jesus Christ, do you ever answer your phone?”
The crash of the door against the inner wall and the booming voice made me jump. I scrambled to darken the iPad screen as my best friend Vern marched to the booth and dropped into the seat across from me.
“Hey. I was just—”
“Drooling over Liv again? Yeah, I saw. You ever gonna do something about that?” He wiggled his brows.
“Not interested.”
“Sure. Whatever. I don’t have the energy to fight with you.”
A sleek ball of black fur landed on the table and meowed in my face. “Slick!”
“Shit,” Vern hissed, dashing a glance at the bar. “You stupid cat. You can’t sneak in like that. You’ll get me in trouble.”
As Vern spoke, Bobby hollered, “Hey, she can’t be in here. You want me shut down? Get that fucking animal out of my bar.”
“Come here, pretty girl.” I cradled the cat in my arms and kissed her furry face.
Oil Slick was a stray who followed me everywhere. She earned her name not only because of her glossy black coat but also for her ability to sneak into places she wasn’t supposed to be.
Nuzzling her, I returned her outside, knowing she wouldn’t venture far. She was my shadow. Whenever I decided to leave, she would be there waiting. Wherever I went, she would follow. I would adopt and take her home if I wasn’t convinced my mother would have a coronary.
As I dropped back into my seat, Vern rapped the table and raised his voice, “Hey, Bobby. Pint of your finest IPA, and put it on Oz’s tab.”
“I’m not buying your beer.”
“You are, you cheap motherfucker, because we’ve got shit to discuss that’s going to put you in a fabulous mood.”
“Doubtful.”
“Why are you ignoring my texts?”
“I’m ignoringalltexts. I’ll give you two guesses why, and the second one doesn’t count.”
With an all-knowing smirk, Vern picked up my abandoned phone. “Stella, I presume?”
Since I was the only person on the planet without password protection, he got his answer the instant he hit the power button and the screen lit up.
Vern let out a low whistle as he shook his head, eyes glimmering with humor. “Duuude. Call Guinness. I think this is a record.” He glanced out the Salty Orange’s deeply tinted front window, scanning the parking lot. “I’m surprised the sheriff hasn’t hunted you down yet.”
Bobby delivered Vern’s drink as I wearily scrubbed my face. “Is it that bad?”
“Twenty-seven, my friend.”
“Fuck my life. I’ve only been here an hour.”
“Try three and forty-five,” Bobby corrected. “If the sheriff chips my front window again, you’re paying for damages.” To Vern, he said, “You want food? Chucky’s cooking.”
“Not today, brother.”
