When I discovered the Jeep on the other side of the flooded road, I was drawn to it, to him, in the same way I’d been drawn to investigate his presence at the cemetery the previous day. It was the same pull that made me want to strike up a conversation and keep him talking the night I’d dropped him off at his house a week ago.
I felt a powerful attraction to the guy, which was odd since nothing about him seemed to stand out. I was typically and shamefully superficial when it came to hookups. I flocked toward men or women who were vibrant, hot as shit, and fun ashell. Since I wasn’t out to bond or form relationships, I usually relied on superficial details when selecting bed partners. I didn’t want permanence. I wanted a good time.
Gale was none of these things. Not vibrant, not verbose, and not even physically stunning, yet since the day in the bathroom at CineVision, I couldn’t help being drawn into his orbit. There was something incredibly wholesome and innocent about Gale. Vulnerable. I sensed that not many people took the time to understand him, and there seemed to be a lot more under the surface.
He felt it too. The last five minutes had proved it.
We stared at one another in the confines of the Jeep. Gale’s discomfort was written all over his face. He’d struggled to maintain eye contact since the day we met. He hadn’t said much since I announced we were stuck waiting until the road was cleared and a tow truck could get through, and that silence opened a gulf.
I might have been a storm chaser to my bones, but in that moment, whatever was happening outside the windows was insignificant. Charles could stick his demands for coverage up his ass. Hopefully, the guys got enough earlier to satisfy the producer’s itch because I had other things on my mind.
Namely, Gale Windrow and his flaming cheeks and obvious embarrassment.
I couldn’t take my eyes off him and searched for clues or signs that I wasn’t imagining things. The guy was wound tighter than a spring.
Minutes ago, as I’d made a clumsy attempt to exit the Jeep by going over him, I’d accidentally landed in his lap, where his prominent erection dug into my ass. The horror on his face stopped me from drawing too much attention to it at the time.
His utter discomfort remained. Gale was a man who’d been caught out, but it was hard to feel bad when it confirmed something I’d been wondering.
I couldn’t help looking at him differently, and the burning attraction that lived under my skin had only gotten worse since my failed escape. I wasn’t sure what to do or say.
I knew nothing about Gale except that he was Olivia’s twin brother, but that didn’t mean much since I didn’t know Olivia outside a handful of YouTube videos.
“You’re twenty-six, right?”
“What? Oh, um, yes.” His voice came out reedy and thin. “T-twenty-six. Why?”
“Just curious. Making conversation since we’re stuck here for a bit.” So, he was two years older than me, yet he seemed younger. “Did you go to Elk City High School? I don’t remember you.”
“Merritt.”
“Ah.” That explained why he wasn’t familiar. “You must know Elliott. He went to Merritt.”
“Vaguely. He’s older than me.”
“Yeah. He’s married with a kid and another on the way. Can you believe that?”
“Oh.” Gale didn’t seem to know how to respond, so I kept talking.
“I don’t feel like a grown-up most days, never mind entering the family era.”
Gale said nothing, and the moment swelled until the air in the Jeep felt depleted of oxygen. Talking was my forte, but for whatever reason, the tension between us had me floundering.
“Where did you go to college? I mean, after the seminary stuff.” The way he’d abruptly shut me down the other day, I assumed that topic was off limits, but I had so many questions.
Gale seemed to consider for a long time before answering. “I got my degree at the University of Oklahoma.”
“Cool. I suppose you lived there while you studied?”
“For a time.”
“On campus?”
“No.”
The pressing urge to ask why he’d left the seminary was hard to resist. If Gale was gay, and landing on his lap seemed to confirm he was at least bi, then maybe his departure made sense, depending on the denomination. Some religions ordain queer clergy, didn’t they? I wasn’t sure how to ask without relying on assumptions about his orientation.
So, I angled my query elsewhere. For now. “So, why did you choose meteorolo—No. Wait. Don’t correct me. Why did you choose to study atmospheric science? See, I pay attention.”
