Whirlwind

2. Finley

Chapter two

Finley

I hold my phone to my ear—my cousin Jake’s on the other end—as I stare at the wind chime blowing in the breeze outside of the science building. The metal clangs together to create a symphony of tinkling and jingling. It’s a song I’ve come to associate with a shift in the weather—and a warning.

My hand grips the arm of the bench I’m sitting on, a nervous excitement sparking in my stomach. I’ve been watching a cluster of storms on the radar app on my phone, one the Storm Prediction Center issued a moderate risk for, with a fifteen-percent chance of tornadoes and a hatched area indicating a ten-percent probability of significant tornadoes—EF2 or stronger—within twenty-five miles of any point. It’s east of the school, making it a forty-minute drive to intercept—a storm I could chase on my own, no problem. The only issue is that I need to pack before I leave tomorrow for Oklahoma, but I bet I could get some fantastic shots—

“Are you there, Fin?” Jake’s voice calls through the phone.

I blink, bringing myself out of my thoughts and back to the present moment. “Yeah, sorry.”

My cousin sighs. Since I go to school in Kansas and he lives in a small town in Texas, we hardly ever see each other except for on Christmas, when I make the trip with my dad to see him and my uncle. That’s why we have our weekly check-ins.

“Where’s your head at? ”

I want to say something along the lines of “Where’s yours?” because I know his head is somewhere else, too. He’s zoned out a few times during our conversation. But I know his answer, even if he won’t say it.

He’s tired and overworked. Partly because my uncle’s bar, Night Hawk—which Jake runs—is booming due to Jake’s genius marketing on social media, but also because my uncle hasn’t been doing well health-wise.

“Just thinking about storms,” I say. “I leave tomorrow for that storm chase I told you about.”

“Oh, shit, Fin! That’s huge. I’m an asshole cousin for forgetting.”

“It’s fine. I told you it could happen, not that it was. But this weekend, the tornado outbreaks are supposed to be record-breaking in Oklahoma, so the chase was only confirmed the other day. And you’ve got a lot on your plate.”

He sighs. “Still. I can’t believe I forgot. This is your first professional one, right?”

“Yep. Since the school’s meteorology department is funding this particular chase, my professor was able to pick a student to come along with his team for the long weekend. We’ve got a powerful low-pressure system coming in that’s going to combine with moist and unstable air—it should be an insane weekend. And if we collect good data from any tornadoes we intercept, I’ll get my name on the scientific paper we submit. I’d tell you more, but it would get boring.”

He laughs. “I’ll admit, I only understood part of what you said, but hell yeah! That’s amazing.”

I smile at Jake’s giddiness. “Thanks. I’m excited about it.”

“You promise you’ll be careful?”

“Yeah, yeah. You sound like my dad.”

“We care about you, Fin. We don’t want you to get sucked up by some tornado.”

I hold my breath, wondering if I should tell him the next part. But I know I’m going to, because for as long as I can remember, Jake and I tell each other nearly everything. He may be my cousin, but he’s also my best friend.

“Well, you see…” I take a big inhale.

“Finley,” Jake admonishes.

“The main reason for this chase is to collect data with rockets from inside a tornado.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

I pause briefly to make sure I word this in a way that will help him freak out less before continuing. “While the special rockets we’re using are launched into the inflow band, we’ll also be gathering data from inside the tornado as well by…well, actually being in the tornado.”

“Fin—”

“Before you completely go ballistic, we’ll be in a special vehicle that was built for this purpose. They call it Thor. The team has used it before to intercept other tornadoes, and they’ve lived to tell the tale. I’ll send you a picture of it. It’s safe.”

“I call bullshit.”

I stop myself from rolling my eyes. “Okay, as safe as it can be. But they’ve never lost a chaser, not in the twenty years Ryker—Professor West—has been doing it.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and I think I lost connection. Then I hear the intake of his breath. “ Ryker , huh?” he asks, his tone implying what he’s thinking.

My cheeks heat, and my hand tightens around the phone. It’s not uncommon for people to call their professors by their first names, I know that, but Jake and I are from small towns and families that address people of authority and strangers by Sir and Ma’am —sometimes even when we have a close relationship with them. I was hoping my cousin wouldn’t point out my slipup, but I should’ve known he would.

“It’s not like that, Jake. He’s my professor. And you know I’ve been watching him chase storms on social media since I was a teenager. It was an accident. ”

“Then why didn’t you call him ‘The Twister Tamer’ like you did when you were sixteen?”

That makes me flush harder, embarrassed about how much of a fangirl I was back then—and if I’m being honest, still am. It’s hard not to be when he’s the best of the best: “The Twister Tamer” as the internet calls him. He’s not hard on the eyes, either. He’s also funny, charming, tall…

I shake my head and clear my thoughts that obviously go rogue when I think of Ryker and instead allow annoyance to settle in my stomach from being called out by my cousin. “Please don’t go all brother bear on me now,” I say.

“I’m not. This is me being your friend. A friend who wants to know why you call your professor by his first name.”

Said annoyance rises at Jake and his dang spidey-sense—and at myself for being so obvious about my inappropriate feelings toward Ryker, even though we’ve kept things professional all year. Well, mostly professional. Maybe a little too flirty at times.

Okay, maybe a lot too flirty.

My shoulders slump. “I told you. It was an accidental slipup.”

“Finley,” he chides. “Be honest with me.”

“I am.”

“You’re not.”

The annoyance turns into fear, and I snap. “Says the man who won’t be honest about how much it hurt you that Blake dated Gavin instead of you.”

There’s a heavy pause before his deep voice comes over the line. “Ouch, Fin.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, angry at myself for saying that. His high school crush choosing one of his best friends over him is still fresh and painful. Even if he denies it, I know it is.

“I’m sorry, that was screwed up. It’s no excuse for what I said, but I think the nerves of going on such a big chase tomorrow are getting to me a bit.” Which is true. Even though I’m mostly excited, I’m nervous, too. He’s also hitting too close to home with the Ryker questions, but I won’t admit that .

“Why are you nervous?” he asks.

I pick at the fabric of my jeans. “I want to do well and prove I can be a good asset. If the rocket launch is successful, Ry—Professor West should be able to expand his team and get more funding from the school for future research. I could maybe even get a permanent spot after I graduate with my master’s next school year.”

There’s a beat of silence. “Just tell me you’re being smart and safe.”

“Ew, Jake. What the hell?”

He barks a laugh then gags through the phone. “Gross, Fin. I didn’t mean it like that.”

I screw up my nose. “Then how did you mean it?”

“I don’t want you to get in trouble with your school if there is something going on between you two.”

My skin flames at my awkward misunderstanding, and I start to sweat. Crap, now Jake is definitely thinking that something untoward is going on with me and Ryker—and that’s definitely my fault.

I sit straighter on the bench and shift my shoulders back. “Nothing is going on. Professor West is just that: my professor.”

“That sounded like you were trying to convince yourself.”

I groan, tilting my head toward the sky. I hate that my cousin can see right through me, even over the phone. Because while Ryker and I have only flirted, I can’t deny there’s an attraction there, one that I know we can’t act on. Because not only is he my professor, he’s also seventeen years older than me and a man I hope to work with one day beyond this weekend’s chase. That means we must remain professional.

Nothing can happen.

“Jake, please, let it go. Nothing is going on,” I reiterate.

He blows out a breath through his lips. “Fine, if you say so.” He pauses. “Just promise me you’ll be careful. I don’t want Ryker to jeopardize anything for you. You’ve worked too hard to get where you are. ”

The way he says “Ryker” makes me smirk—like a dad who wants to threaten a boyfriend with a shotgun. “Professor West won’t do anything to jeopardize my future; he’s a professional.”

“He’s also a man.”

“You can’t see it, but I’m rolling my eyes at you.”

I get Jake’s concern for my future. But even if Ryker and I were to cross a line, my professor isn’t the kind of person who, if things went south between us, would bad-mouth me to prevent me from getting a job after I graduate. And besides, the worst thing I think could happen is he’d lose his job, and we’d be hot gossip in Midland Springs for a while. Or I’d have to find another college to go to, since Ryker is the only professor who teaches the classes I need to graduate with my Master’s in Atmospheric and Oceanic Sciences.

Then there’s the hope I have of us working together in the future. Something happening between us now—then later going south—could make things awkward or prevent that from ever happening.

I rub my forehead as if it will help me clear out my spiraling thoughts. I shouldn’t even be thinking of this, anyway—because nothing can or is going to happen between me and my professor. We’re just friends .

“Please say you’ll be careful, for my sake?” Jake’s voice breaks through the silence. “I need to hear you say it.”

I groan. “Fine, I’ll be careful.”

“With the storms, too?”

I cackle. “With everything. I’ll be the picture of careful. I’ll even wear a helmet.”

Jake snorts. “Please send me a picture of that.”

“Not a chance.”

We chat for another few minutes so I can catch him up on my boring life. Which until now has mostly consisted of studying, lab hours, writing papers, and the occasional solo storm chase to take some photos to sell on my website—a hobby of mine that started when I found some of my late mom’s old storm photos in the attic as a teen.

A warm wind blows strands of hair in my face, and I stand to look at my surroundings. When I survey the sky to the east, I see dark clouds in the distance, and a feeling that’s been in the pit of my stomach since I last looked at the radar grows.

My intuition is telling me to chase it. That this is going to be a storm that I’ll want to capture with my camera. I’ll have plenty of time to pack for Oklahoma when I get home, or I’ll sacrifice sleep to do it.

“You disappear again?” Jake asks.

“Sorry, there’s a storm,” I say quickly. “My eyeballs got distracted by the wall cloud.”

Jake chuckles. “I’ll let you go then.”

I sling my backpack over my shoulder and start walking toward campus parking, my steps hurried. “I love you, Jake.”

“I love you, too. And please don’t die. I need my bestie-slash-cousin in my life.”

I laugh as my eyes look to the sky again, a sky that’s turning more ominous with steely clouds that remind me of a smoldering gray monster getting ready to hunt. Where I am is sunny, a beautiful May day turning into evening, but my eyes won’t leave the swirling storm cell in the distance.

“I promise I won’t die. Cross my heart.” Even though he can’t see it, I make an X over my chest to complete our little tradition, one we’ve had since we were kids. If we make a promise we intend to keep, we have to do it.

“Good.”

After we say our goodbyes, I continue walking, my pace picking up as I open my radar app on my phone. Once I’m in my car, if I drive fast, I think I can make it. Right now, the conditions aren’t exactly right for a tornado, but I’ll still get some amazing pictures. Lightning strikes are always a bestseller, especially when they’re across the open plains .

I zoom in closer on the storm as I consider which route to take. My mind is so consumed with my thoughts that I don’t see another person until I’m taking a direct hit to my side. I fall like I’ve been sacked, my phone flying from my hands as I cry out, ass hitting the concrete.

“Shit! I’m so sorry, Finley,” a Southern male voice drawls.

I blink a few times, pain radiating from my butt as I register that whoever hit me like a linebacker knows my name. I suck in a breath and look up as Professor West kneels in front of me, his stupidly attractive bearded face invading my vision.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

The full-bodied timbre of his voice soothes the ache I’m feeling in my butt, but it also makes my already racing heart thump like I’m running a marathon. My palms sweat as I look up into his pale green eyes. “I’m okay.”

He studies me up and down, concern and apology etched on his features. “Are you sure? I ran into you really hard.”

I shut my eyes, still regaining my bearings. Not because of the hit, but because he’s so close to me I can smell his cologne. Or maybe it’s the way he smells? Like sandalwood and citrus: woodsy and crisp.

“Finley?” he asks again as I open my eyes. “I’m so sorry—I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“That makes two of us,” I mutter under my breath.

With my jaw clenched to avoid smelling Ryker, I move to get up. Sadly for me, the weight of my backpack has me falling backward.

“Whoa there, just sit for a minute,” he says, placing a hand on my shoulder. He thinks I fell back because I’m injured, not because I’m carrying too many books in my bag along with my laptop—which, thank god, I put in a padded case.

I swallow, the heat from his hand not helping to settle the butterflies in my stomach at him being so close.

“I’m fine, really.” I try to get up again, but his hand grips me firm.

“Track my finger.” He holds up his pointer finger from his other hand.

I huff a small laugh. “I’m fine, Ryker—Professor West.”

The slipup has his pupils widening slightly in surprise, but he quickly follows it up with a panty-dropping smirk. The action has my cheeks turning red, just like that smile of his always has me doing. Jeez Louise, how am I going to survive storm chasing with him if I can’t be this close without acting like an idiot? Jake’s right—I do need to be careful.

“Just follow my finger.” His voice is amused but edged with the type of command that would make anyone stop and listen. It’s why he makes a good professor and team leader.

With a sigh of acquiescence, I do as he asks. My eyes follow the digit back and forth and up and down until he’s satisfied.

“I think you’re concussion free.” He stands, but instead of holding out his hand, he moves behind me. Before I can ask what he’s doing, he pulls at the straps of my backpack and slides them from my arms.

When he stands to his full height again—which must be at least six feet, probably more—he frowns down at me.

“What’s in here, bricks?”

“Close enough,” I mumble.

He chuckles and moves back to my front, backpack slung over his shoulder as he holds out his hand. I take the offered help, my palm sliding into his. The hair on my arms stands on end, and I try to ignore the zinging sensation zipping through my body. It’s one I feel whenever our skin happens to touch—which isn’t often, but I remember all the times it has.

That’s a thought I’d rather not unpack right now…or ever.

Ryker’s strong grip tightens, and he tugs me up with more force than I expected. I knew he was strong—at least he looks like it with his broad shoulders, toned biceps, and the kind of forearms women would pay good money to stare at—but I’m not a tiny person. Yet he lifted me like I weighed less than fifty pounds instead of two hundred plus. Maybe he should have the nickname Superman instead of Twister Tamer.

Once I’m on my feet, our bodies are close enough that I can see a few white hairs in his well-trimmed brown scruff that lines his square jaw. He’s wearing a red ball cap backward over his shaggy hair, hair I’ve spent way too long staring at and fantasizing about touching, and a white T-shirt with “Tempest Trackers” printed in bold letters across it. He must have changed in his office after the final, because he did not look all casual and sexy when I walked out of his lecture hall. If I’m honest, he’s always sexy, but seeing him dressed down in person rather than on social media is doing things to me.

We stare at each other for a few long seconds, an electric charge buzzing between us like a downed power line.

Boom!

I jump ten feet high, the action forcing my hand from his as thunder echoes around us. He smirks, not having moved from his position at all. Like he knew the thunder was going to happen.

“Scared, Finley?” His lip quirks.

I try to ignore the teasing way he said my name and shake my head. “Just surprised.”

He sticks his hands in the pockets of his jeans, still smiling. “I’ve been tracking that storm to the east; she’s a loud one.”

My brow furrows, and then I realize the reason Ryker and I ran into each other is because we were tracking the same storm, and both of us were heading out to chase it. My eyes follow his gaze. In the time we’ve been standing here, the sky has darkened considerably, and the sun is beginning to wink out from the incoming clouds though the air is still muggy and warm. I pull my attention from the sky and scan the ground for my phone to look at the radar, muttering a curse when I don’t see it.

“Looking for this?”

I glance back at Ryker, who still has my backpack slung over his shoulder, his bag at his feet, and my phone in his hand .

I smile sheepishly and take my phone from him. Our fingers brush, and once more, that spark passes between us as if our bodies can’t help themselves when we touch.

“Thanks,” I say.

“Don’t thank me; I’m the reason it went flying.”

“Did you play football in school or something?”

His brow pinches, and he shoots me a funny look as I tuck a strand of windblown hair behind my ear.

“I only ask because you hit me like you were making a dash for the end zone.”

Ryker’s smile falls, and he takes a step until we’re too close again, almost close enough to kiss. His green eyes survey me, and I think he even looks at my boobs.

He’s only concerned, Finley. Stop trying to read into this.

He brings his gaze back to mine. “Again, I’m so sorry,” he says. “I should’ve been paying attention to where I was going. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Without thinking, I rub my butt where I fell. The action draws his eyes downward again, and this time, he blatantly watches my hand with interest. When he licks his lips, the knot in his throat bobbing, my mouth goes dry, and I can’t stop myself from being glad that he’s looking and appears to like what he sees.

His breaths become shorter, and the scent of his cologne—that has a more woodsy scent up close—fills my nostrils again. Suddenly, all the reasons why Ryker and I can’t be more than what we are blow away, hiding in the recesses of my mind.

What were they again?

The wind picks up, bringing with it an earthy smell of soil and incoming rain, lifting me from my trance. I drop my hand from my sore ass. “I’m okay.”

Ryker’s eyes snap back to mine, and I see the moment it dawns on him that not only was he looking at my hand on my ass, but also, if someone were to walk by, we would look more like lovers than two people with a professional relationship.

He shifts on his feet but doesn’t take a step back. “I’ll try to be more careful this weekend, Finley. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

My stomach flips at the double meaning in his words. If we hadn’t been dancing around each other all year, I wouldn’t think twice about it, but I hear an undertone of desire I can’t ignore. And if I’m being honest, I’ve seen the same desire in his actions—like the way he kept glancing at me during today’s final or all those times I caught his eyes lingering when he thought I wasn’t looking. I’ve tried to brush off those moments, pretend I didn’t notice even when I knew I was looking at him just as often. But that doesn’t erase them.

It also doesn’t erase all the flirting we’ve done when I’ve volunteered to stay late after labs to go over storm data he collected or how we talked about what kind of food and music we liked during his office hours when I asked him to go over some data I collected on my own—things grad students and professors probably shouldn’t be talking about. I shouldn’t know that he loves bacon cheeseburgers and crispy french fries or that Kansas is one of his favorite bands.

My breath catches in my throat as I stare up at Ryker, the warmth of his body—which has gotten closer—sinking deep into my bones. I want to lean into him, see if his kisses will be soft or hard…maybe both.

My lips part, the question “What if I don’t want you to be careful?” on the tip of my tongue, but nothing comes out.

Ryker’s attention moves to my lips, and his own mouth parts. He shifts on his feet again, his now phone-free hand moving as if he’s going to cup my cheek. My eyes start to flutter shut, his intense and alluring presence clouding my judgment. I feel the ghost of his fingertips on my jaw as a loud boom of thunder claps in the distance .

The spell between us breaks, and Ryker steps back. I blink a few times, trying to regain my bearings after being so close to him.

I open my mouth to speak, but Ryker takes out his phone from his back pocket and studies it. If I didn’t know him well, I’d think what just happened between us didn’t faze him, but I see the way his jaw clenches, and the veins in his neck are taut. He’s going to pretend like he didn’t nearly come within a breath of kissing his student.

The thought is a grounding reminder, and my rational brain comes back online. If I’m going to get through this weekend with him—and the next school year, for that matter—I need to pretend that didn’t happen. Even if it hurts my heart to do so.

To clear my head, I open up the radar on my phone and consider my route for chasing. I’m not going to let this interaction get in the way of taking my photos tonight—if anything, I’m more fueled to go now.

“The supercell to the east shows strong signs of rotation,” Ryker says, making me look back at him. “And the lifted condensation level is low enough for tornado formation. The—” He’s cut off by a phone alert. “Tornado warning right over Cattle Creek.”

He grins like he was before we almost kissed and shifts my backpack over his shoulder, the one he’s made no move to give me.

“I had the same thought,” I say. “I’m going to head out so I don’t miss it.” I hold my hand out, pointing to my backpack. He gives me a strange look before simply adjusting the heavy strap over his shoulder.

“Are you chasing solo?” he asks.

“If I can get my backpack with my car keys in it from you, then yes.”

That makes him smile, and his body relaxes a bit as he chuckles. “I was on my way to chase, too, if you hadn’t put that together. ”

I nod at him, having already guessed that.

“My team is already in Oklahoma, so it’s just me. We could go together?” he asks. His tone is so hopeful, it makes my stomach flip-flop.

I blink at him. After what just happened between us, I figured the last thing he’d want is to be in a car with me—it should probably be the last thing I want, too. But the thought of chasing with him alone has me too excited. And it’s not only because of my attraction to him, it’s because he’s The Twister Tamer. Both teenage and current-adult Finley are freaking out at his offer.

“Really?”

“Safety in numbers,” he says matter-of-factly. But the glimmer in his eye tells me it’s more than that. Lots of people chase solo; it’s not uncommon.

“Right. Always good to be safe.”

We both smirk at each other, my stomach filling with more butterflies as another clap of thunder echoes overhead.

Ryker glances at his phone. “Are you in? Because we gotta go now.”

I don’t debate my options, because there is no debate. “I’m in.”

“Then let’s go, Ms. Buckley. We’ve got a twister to tame.”