Whirlwind

8. Finley

Chapter eight

Finley

I feel as if I got hit by a tornado. Oh wait, I did get hit by a tornado. It’s kind of exciting now that the fear has passed. Not many people live to tell that tale, but I haven’t allowed the fact that I survived something that huge to really settle in. Not with a certain professor on my mind.

I take a large gulp of my second cup of coffee in my travel mug while I wait on the curb of my apartment for said professor to pick me up. Since my car is, in fact, totaled—along with my beautiful camera—I had to accept the ride to Oklahoma that Ryker offered me last night before we parted. There were no cars left to rent on such short notice, but it wouldn’t have made sense for me to waste the money on one, anyway.

I take another large drink of coffee and stare up at the sky. It’s only five-thirty in the morning, and the sun hasn’t risen yet, leaving the sky dark to match my mood. I grumble to myself.

I want to be more excited about this chase—it’s what I’ve been waiting for since not only the first time I saw Ryker and the Tempest Trackers online when I was a teen but also since he told our class that he’d be picking one person for this special chase and the chance to get on the scientific paper. But instead, I feel more trepidation than excitement.

My professor and I had sex—incredible, exhilarating, dirty sex—after we almost died. I squeeze my thighs together, the phantom feeling of his release between my legs making me squirm. Thankfully, I’m on birth control, and before Ryker drove away last night, I told him as much, letting him know there was no need to worry about pregnancy. Or an STD, for that matter, since I was tested at my last physical and haven’t slept with anyone else in over a year.

He’d looked back at me wide-eyed, lips parted to say something, but I’d slammed his truck door and run to my apartment before I could hear if he had a response. It was juvenile, but I was tired, sore, uncomfortable, and pissed.

I understand that we crossed a line together, but it was a dick move to pull a complete one-eighty and say he regretted it, especially when we’ve spent the last year flirting and crossing lines with said flirting. I was lying to myself thinking that what we’d been doing was innocent and didn’t mean anything. Students and professors do not spend hours together outside of the classroom, even if we were doing so under the guise of studying data during office hours.

I sigh to myself and squeeze my eyes shut for a moment. Younger me would’ve left last night with my heart in pieces. But even though I’m hurt and the whole situation has made me cranky, I’m going to do my best to try to not let it ruin my weekend.

This is my career. My life. If Professor West regrets our time together, then so be it. But I’m not going to make him regret picking me for this chase. Because although Ryker has been an inspiration and a mentor, I’m doing this chase for me. Even after one of the very things I love almost killed me yesterday, I still want this. Going on this chase and being part of the research paper only benefits me in the long run.

I’m going to reinstate my promise to Jake and be careful—er, more careful. Professor West can fuck off.

Speak of the devil . Ryker’s red truck rounds the corner, and I suck in a deep breath.

“You can do this, Finley,” I mutter under my breath. “You can do this. ”

The purr of the truck’s engine cuts off in front of me, and I straighten my shoulders while I wait for Ryker to step down from the vehicle. When he rounds the truck and stands in front of me, all of my previous gusto exits my body. He looks how he always looks: rugged, sexy, and swoonworthy.

He’s replaced the red ball cap he lost yesterday with a new black one. It’s backward again, and he’s got on a black T-shirt with the graphic of a tornado and TT for Tempest Trackers on the front. His jaw is still scruffy, but it looks as though he’s trimmed the hair, which only outlines the angles of his masculine jaw more. It doesn’t help that the shallow scratches on his skin from our close call add to the worn and weathered look that makes him so attractive.

“Good morning.” He tips his chin.

I nod back, unable to trust myself with speech right now.

“I’ll take your bag, and you can hop in the front.”

I nod again as he moves to grab my duffel. Once he has it on his shoulder, I step by him to climb into the truck. I think he’s going to put my bag in the back, but instead, he moves to grab the door handle to open it for me at the same time I do. His action causes our hands to brush, and I yank my hand back as if I’ve been burned.

I glare at him. “I can open my own door.” He drops his hand, and I turn my face away from him, pulling open the truck door so he’s forced to step back. Then I hoist myself up into the cab and close the door with a slam.

Out of my periphery, Ryker continues to stand on the curb as if I slapped him. I keep staring forward and wonder if that was too harsh, but then I decide it wasn’t. He set the boundary last night; I’m only maintaining it.

After another second of standing there, he finally puts my bag in the back then makes his way to the driver’s side and gets in. There’s a heavy pause, and I sense his eyes on me, begging me to look at him. Realizing he’s not going to drive until I acquiesce, I turn to meet his gaze .

He stares, anguish clearly written all over his face. Which honestly pisses me right off. He’s not allowed to feel that way when he’s made his own dang bed.

“Finley,” he says on an exhale. “I’m sor—”

“No,” I snap. “Don’t.”

“I—”

“No. I don’t want to hear your apologies or explanations. What’s done is done. You made yourself clear about how you feel after what happened, and I’m here to chase and learn from you. Let’s pretend nothing ever happened.”

“Can you really do that?”

I clench my fists at my sides. “Can you?”

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, and he finally turns his gaze from me to start the engine. Which leads me to believe that, like me, he can’t.

The silent tension in the truck isn’t lightened by Ryker’s choice of seventies and eighties music playing through the speakers. The cheery sound of Kansas singing “The Point of Know Return” only adds to the tightness of my skin and knotted stomach.

Ryker hasn’t made any effort to speak to me since I shut him down over an hour ago. Instead, he sings quietly along with the songs playing, a habit that might’ve been cute under different circumstances but is annoying now. The only words he offered were to mention we’d be picking up a chaser joining us this weekend from across the Kansas-Oklahoma border—and once, he asked if I needed a bathroom break. I just shook my head.

When he finally exits the highway, I exhale a quiet sigh of relief that another person is going to be joining us. Hopefully, the distraction will help ease my anxiety over this entire situation. With Ryker so close to me and the ache of him still between my thighs, it’s hard to forget what we did together. Not that I could, anyway. It’s not only the sex, either. It’s the way he protected me, held me, put his life before mine—and that I actually slept with the man I’ve been crushing on for so long.

I bite the inside of my cheek and wish I could let out a scream or even call Jake. He’d tell me I was an idiot for what I allowed to happen, but then he’d crack a joke to make me feel better. Or threaten to cut off Ryker’s balls. Maybe both. That thought makes me smile and huff a quiet laugh.

“What’s funny?”

I jump at the sound of Ryker’s voice as he comes to a stop at a red light. “Nothing,” I reply. It’s not like I’m going to tell him I was thinking about my cousin cutting his balls off.

He huffs a breath of frustration, and I almost tell him this is his own doing. Had he not said he regretted what happened last night, we could’ve moved forward together and figured things out as we went along—or at least talked about what is or isn’t going on between us and what the future should look like. But it’s too late now. I’m using my rational brain and thinking clearly.

In a way, I should be thanking him. Because he’s reminded me of why “we” can’t happen. Ryker is my professor. He is, for all intents and purposes, my boss. I’ve most likely already screwed my chances (literally) of getting on this team permanently one day, not that it would be a good idea now, anyway. Especially if the last hour is a sneak peek into what’s to come this weekend .

I almost laugh at how quickly I gave in to him yesterday. Yet in the end, despite our attraction and my longtime admiration of him, I’m going to blame the storm for our moment of weakness.

We were both coming down from the fear and adrenaline of the chase and our almost-demise. Everything was heightened, including the sexual tension that has been building between us over the last year. It’s no surprise we both snapped.

Hmm, maybe it’s good we got it out of our systems? I shake my head. No, I should never have touched my professor. I should never have allowed myself to crush on him in the first place.

“We’re almost there,” he says.

I look out the window at the old neighborhood. It’s after seven in the morning now, and the sun is rising, lighting up the row of houses as we turn into a cul-de-sac. We approach a single-story ranch-style home, one that’s in need of a fresh coat of white paint, but it’s charming with its porch swing and red shutters.

“His name is Joseph,” Ryker says. “He’s going to be our drone pilot and help with data analysis this weekend.”

Recognition sparks in the back of my mind; I’ve heard that name before. I know he’s not a usual chaser with TT, but the name sounds familiar.

I don’t have to wait long to find out why, because the door to the home swings open as we come to a stop in the drive. The moment I see the top of a black cowboy hat with bright-gold detailing on the hatband, I’m grinning like the Cheshire cat.

“Do you know him?” Ryker asks.

I ignore his question and unbuckle my seatbelt. I can feel the tension in my stomach lighten as I take in the familiar face of Joey. He sees me through the windshield, and his boyish grin makes my cheeks hurt from smiling wider. I push open the truck door and hop out without turning toward my professor.

“Holy shit! Is that Fin “The Shark” Finley?!” Joey exclaims in a Southern accent so heavy it makes my toes curl. I hasten my steps as he drops the bags he’s holding so I can throw my arms around him.

“I told you not to call me that!” I chuckle in fake annoyance as his arms wrap around me and squeeze so tight I think my lungs collapse.

“Whatever you say, Sharkie.”

I sink into the warmth of his lean muscled body for another second before I pull back to look into his sparkling blue eyes, faintly hearing the slam of a car door closing behind us.

“If you call me Sharkie, I’m calling you Sparkie.”

He cups his hands over his mouth and leans back. “Woof! Woof!”

I laugh. “I haven’t seen you in two years, and you haven’t changed a bit.”

“Why change what’s already perfect?”

I shake my head at him with an indulgent smile as he scans my body up and down.

“Speaking of perfection—you’re looking good, Fin.”

I flush and smack his chest playfully. “Oh, shut it. Your Okie charm doesn’t work on me.” He waggles his dark-blond eyebrows as a throat clears from behind me. It sounds annoyed for whatever reason.

I wink at my friend and step to the side so he can greet the ornery professor. In typical Joey fashion, he proceeds to check him out as shamelessly as he did to me a moment ago. His eyes move up and down Ryker’s toned form, and his roguish grin is obvious—at least to me. I press my lips together to keep a laugh in, remembering all the times he and I used to gush about our love for “The Twister Tamer” together.

Ryker’s hands are shoved in his jean pockets, but by the way his forearms are flexing, causing the corded veins to make an appearance, I know he’s clenching his hands into fists. I think it’s because Joey checked him out, but then I realize his eyes aren’t on Joey—they’re on me.

Is he… jealous?

The corner of my lip twitches, his annoyance a moment ago making sense now. But I don’t have time to think about my discovery, because Joey is rubbing his hands together in excitement and bouncing on the balls of his cowboy-booted feet.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the Tornado Daddy in the flesh!”

My eyes widen at the inappropriate nickname, but Ryker doesn’t get upset. He turns his gaze to Joey and lifts an eyebrow at him. “Seriously, Joseph? It’s not even eight am.”

Joey hoots and steps forward to clap Ryker on the back. They do their man-hug thing before Joey pulls back and grasps him by his upper arms. “It’s never too early to call someone Daddy. Especially when said Daddy has got such great biceps.” He squeezes them for emphasis, and Ryker pushes him off with a groan.

Laughter tickles the back of my throat as I watch the two men interact, and I wonder how they met. The last time I saw Joey, he was only a fan of his like I was.

Joey chuckles as he turns back to me and slings an arm around my shoulders, yanking me into him. “You didn’t tell me that my Finley was going to be on the chase!”

I roll my eyes at his choice of words. Joey loves to claim people as his and give them nicknames. I’ve known that since the first day I met him during undergrad.

Ryker’s features turn serious again, and his jaw flexes. “I didn’t realize you knew Ms. Buckley.”

The way he calls me Ms. Buckley makes my toes curl in my sneakers—and not in a good way. It’s not at all like how it felt to hear him say it when he was buried deep inside me.

“Ooh, Ms. Buckley. I like that!”

I stab my finger into his chest, and he winces. “Don’t you dare.”

“But he gets to call you it.” Joey pouts.

I sneak a glance at Ryker. He’s still tense, and if I’m reading him right, he’s annoyed or jealous again—maybe both .

“He’s my professor,” I clarify. This time, there’s no mistaking Ryker’s flinch, but he recovers quickly.

“Shit! You’re the amazing master’s student he’s gushed to me about?” Joey asks.

I flip my full attention to Professor West now. To my surprise, he doesn’t look embarrassed that he was just outed for talking about me.

“She’s the one,” he says, voice laced with soft admiration. His eyes meet mine, and warmth pools in my stomach, my body forgetting for a moment that we’re mad at him.

“Well, fuck me sideways! I should’ve put the pieces together. But I forgot you were studying at Midland Springs for your master’s program.”

I shove away the warm fuzzy feeling and smile at Joey. “It’s okay, we haven’t checked in for a while now. Last I knew, you were working for your local Channel 5.”

Joey drops his arm from my shoulders. “Decided it wasn’t for me. Just had my last day, actually.”

“Congrats?” I ask.

He chuckles. “Hell yeah. Called up Tornado Daddy a couple of weeks ago and asked if I could come along on a few chases to see where things go. I’ve gotten into drone operating and analyzing storm data from chases in the last year.”

“I didn’t know you chased together—or that you knew each other.”

Joey moves us and throws his arm around Ryker now, too, much to the professor’s annoyance. But I can see a faint smile hiding underneath his glower.

“T-Daddy and I go way back—like a whole year and a half.”

Ryker ducks out from under Joey’s arm and picks up one of his bags for him. “Don’t call me that.”

“Would you rather I call you Twister Tamer?”

“No.” He groans.

“Oh good, because then I’d have to return all my custom T-shirts. ”

My eyes widen, and I look at Joey’s chest. He’s got a brown plaid button-up on with a white T peeking out from underneath.

“You’re joking,” Ryker says.

Joey shrugs. “I guess you’ll have to find out. Or one of you can undress me. But I think we should probably get on the road so we don’t miss any tornadoes.”

Ryker says something under his breath that sounds a lot like “kill me now” before walking off toward the truck with Joey’s bag.

Joey’s arm squeezes my shoulders, and I look up at his boyish face to see sandy-blond hair peeking out from under his hat.

“You really have not changed.” I grin.

“Would you want me to?”

“Not a chance.”