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The wind roared around the shed, rain pelted down, thunder was a constant rumble and bang, and lightning cracked all around us.
Jeremiah ran back to his recording gear, then leaned in, squinting at the screen. “Shit,” he said. “The anemometer must be down on the station.”
Then, like an idiot with zero thought for self-preservation, he ducked out under the other side wall and disappeared into the storm.
“Are you crazy?” I yelled out after him, but it was no use. He was halfway across the clearing.
Thunder clapped hard, right above us, and a bolt of lightning struck ahead of us. Maybe a hundred metres in the trees. But that sonofabitch never stopped running. He didn’t even flinch. Surely, he saw it. It was right fucking there! He just kept running right toward it.
“Jeremiah! The fuck are you doing?”
There was no point. There was no way he could hear me over the rain and the thunder.
He reached the tripod station, skidding to a stop. He grabbed the arms with the small wind cups and fixed it.
Yes, please run out into a lightning storm to wrap your hands around the metal instrument in the middle of a clearing.
It was like sending lightning a freaking invitation to strike him down.
The man was fucking insane.
He came running back, the wind was wild, spraying rain in all directions. A sonic crack of thunder with lightning that felt like a direct hit, lit up our entire camp.
I expected Jeremiah to get knocked off his feet. I expected him to get blowback, or a side blast. I expected to see him take a direct fucking hit.
But he didn’t. He just kept running toward me, his hair plastered to his face, his entire body soaked.
And grinning.
He ducked under the side wall like in the movies where they run for a closing roller door. Just like that. And he clambered to his feet, panting and dripping water, and then that fucker laughed.
He laughed.
Whereas I, on the other hand, was really fucking pissed.
I shoved his chest. “Are you insane?”
His smile died. “What?”
I pointed to the outside. “Do you know how close that was? Do you know how fuckin’ close that was? I’m glad you got that on video so I could have shown the coroner that you died for being a fucking idiot.”
His chest was heaving, he was drenched from head to foot. His eyes narrowed at me. He grabbed my face, hard and rough, and for a second I thought he was going to hit me, or shove me backwards for calling him an idiot... but he pulled me toward him and crushed his mouth to mine. He held my face and plunged his tongue into my mouth, totally dominating. Totally fucking hot.
I took his tongue willingly and gave him mine. He sucked on it, then pulled my bottom lip in between his, kissing me one last time before pulling back. My god, he could kiss.
He grinned, lips red and swollen, still drenched from head to foot. “That was a rush.”
It took my brain a second to catch up but I couldn’t put words together. My head was still spinning while he was already at the table checking his screens for data. I put my hand to my forehead and focused on what he’d said. “What was a rush? The storm? Or the kiss?”
“The storm.” He gave me a look that said, ‘what kiss?’ like he hadn’t just had his tongue down my throat.
Like he hadn’t just given me the best kiss of my life.
Something on the table beeped and he picked it up, then went to his laptop, double checking something... I don’t fucking know. I was too busy watching rivulets of water run down his back, how his wet shorts clung to him.
Without underwear.
“Holy fuck,” I breathed.
