The Daring Storm Chaser - Page 6

“Be that as it may, he has a nice job,” I argue. “A safe job. And it’s not worth risking it for a stupid dare.”

Oz scoffs. “He has a desk job, you mean. Colby Raynes wasn’t made for that kind of life. He needs to be where the weather is. Just like me.”

I clench my teeth. “I’ll pay you to call it off, Oz. Name your price.”

Oz shakes his head slowly. “There’s no calling it off at this point. Colby’s not going to pass up the opportunity to see the storm of a century.”

I sigh, realizing that he’s right. The wheels in my head spin, trying to come up with a solution to the mess.

“Take me with you,” I blurt.

Oz’s eyes shoot up to meet mine. “What?”

“I want to go with you to chase the storm.”

“Why?”

I shrug. “I’ve never seen a tornado in person. I want to see what the big deal is.”

An idea has started to take root. Colby’s doing this, whether I like it or not. I see that now. But if he loses, he’ll be devastated and embarrassed. And I do trust him to be far more careful than Oz, which means he won’t get as close to the action as Oz.

But if Oz takes me, maybe he’ll be a bit more cautious, too.

Plus, I can sabotage him. Maybe I can offer to navigate and give the wrong directions. Or “accidentally” break his video camera…

Oz purses his lips, looking skeptical. Then his eyes drift to my wet shirt again, and he nods. “Okay.”

What have I gotten myself into?

Chapter 4

Oz

I usually make it a rule to bring two men with me when I chase storms. When it comes to watching a storm shift and move, there’s safety in numbers. But the thought of being alone with little Jori Raynes is too intoxicating.

I’ve wanted her since we were in high school. She’s gorgeous in an uncomplicated way, with her big, brown eyes and curly hair. And those curves… Jesus. She’s the kind of a woman that men fight wars over. A modern-day Helen of Troy. Best of all? She has absolutely no idea, so she doesn’t abuse her power.

After spending time with actresses on movie sets, Jori’s a breath of fresh air. I’m tempted to suggest we fly to Cancun instead of North Carolina, where I’ve predicted the worst of the weather will be. We could skip the storms and spend a few days tangled in the sheets somewhere with an ocean view. But she’s far too sensible to be tempted by an idiot like me.

On the plane, I try to make small talk, but she clutches the arms of her seat like she’s afraid she’ll be sucked out of the airplane if she lets go.

“Nervous flyer?” I ask.

She scowls at me. “I’m fine.”

I gently rub her back, and to my surprise, she allows it. “How’s your ankle?”

Her scowl deepens. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought up her fall yesterday. It’s clearly a sore subject.

“It’s tender to the touch,” she says, “but otherwise fine.”

I keep rubbing circles around her back, over and over, hoping that it’s soothing her. I’m dying to talk about something—anything—but I’m afraid I’ll just stick my foot in my mouth.

Finally, she breaks the silence. “Why aren’t you Colby’s friend anymore?”

“Colby’s still my best friend. He always will be.” Though it’s been a decade since the two of us have been friendly, my words are one hundred percent true.

“You two haven’t been friends in years!” she protests.