Edge of Chaos (Love on the Edge #1) (14 page)

“Point and shoot. You’ve got the better vantage point,” he said.

I took the camera from him and rolled down my window. I’d never captured a storm on film before and was surprised Dash even wanted me to since he was the expert.

“Why don’t you ever ride with John so you can film while he drives?” I asked, keeping the lens focused on the dark wall cloud as Dash took a hard right turn down a graveled road.

“I used to.”

“What changed?”

“He always wanted to book it when I wanted to stay. I drive myself now so they can bolt if they want.”

“Is that safe? Staying behind by yourself?”

“I always manage,” he said and winked at me.

Dash picked up the radio again and clicked the button down. “Pulling off about a mile ahead.”

“Right behind you,” John answered.

Dash pulled the truck off the road next to a freshly plowed piece of land. Rolling green pasture bordered a few acres of upturned red earth, which was sectioned in evenly spaced rows. He threw the truck in park, grabbed the camera from me, and hopped out. I followed him, John and Paul meeting us in the middle of a patch of flat packed dirt separating the road from farmland.

The sky was light behind the dark-gray storm cloud, which made the green grass and red dirt below it seem more vibrant. Dash’s eyes fixated on the storm before us, their green shining with an intensity I now realized he only held when a storm was in sight.

“It’s got potential,” he said with a wicked grin on his face. “Maybe you’ll see one touch down today, Blake.”

I swallowed hard, both excited and scared of the prospect.

“I wish it was more organized,” John said, letting his camera hang against his chest.

“Me, too,” Dash said, pointing at the northeast portion of the wall cloud. “Look, there’s a little rotation.”

I focused on where he pointed and saw the slightest bit of movement within the cloud, shocked he’d spotted it so quickly. Nothing as extreme as last time, but I knew it would only take seconds for a tornado to develop out of a rotating wall cloud. My nerves stood on end waiting in eager anticipation.

A crack of lightning bolted from the sky and thunder rumbled a few seconds later. The wind speed around us increased, enough to whip my ponytail back and forth and spray our jeans with red dust. My heart rate spiked with the wind and an excited but terrified sensation shot throughout my body.

“Tighten up!” Dash hollered as if commanding the sky. His eyebrows were drawn as he watched the too-slow churning rotation in the cloud.

The light broken-wisps stemming from the edges of the cloud made me think it was losing steam, but I didn’t want to say anything to jinx it.

Chill bumps erupted across my arms, the air turning a few degrees colder. The excited and hopeful energy coursing between the four of us instantly deflated.

Cold air killed the chances for a tornado.

“Damn it,” Dash snapped, his shoulders dropping. “It’s fading.”

Paul booked it back to the Tracker Jacker and leaned over his laptop.

The wall cloud still hung low and was ominous enough with its dark broken sections looking like jagged claws reaching to tear up the earth, but it wouldn’t produce anything more than a thunderstorm. The sky rumbled once again as if to prove to us it held all the power. Lightning flashed several moments later, the wicked zigzag bolt striking only a few hundred yards away.

“Shit!” Paul yelled and slammed his fist on the hood of the Tracker Jacker.

“What?” John jogged over to him, took one look at the laptop screen, and dropped his head.

“Don’t tell me . . .” Dash’s eyes jumped back and forth between them.

“Yep,” Paul answered through clenched teeth.

“Damn it.” Dash jerked the camera to his side and stomped to his truck, shoving the camera in its case.

I walked slowly toward him, completely baffled.

He read my utterly confused face. “Where at, Paul?”

“Twenty-five miles east of here.” Paul shut his laptop with an audible click. “It’s weakening like crazy, though. No chance of catching it now, and there will probably only be scattered thunderstorms for the rest of the night.”

Dash sighed. All his previous intensity and excitement completely vanished. He looked at me, his eyes completely defeated. “Tornado touched down at the other location east of here. We missed it because I thought this cell’s chances of producing were higher.” He eyed the clouds behind me like they’d played a cruel trick on him and slid behind the wheel of his truck.

“You know where we’re headed,” Dash hollered at John before motioning for me to get in.

I gave the underdeveloped storm one last look and sank into the passenger seat. Dash spun the truck around and headed toward the highway. The energy was completely different from minutes ago, our spirits crashing from the high hopes we’d had to capture the storm. The sensation was sickening, knowing a tornado had touched down so close and we’d missed it, knowing the last two chases had technically been busts. The sheer disappointment resembled how I’d felt the day I’d given up my dream of going to the University of Tulsa and went home with Justin instead.

And this was only my second chase. I couldn’t imagine how Dash felt, who did this regularly throughout the season.

“Sorry, Dash,” I said, even though I knew it wouldn’t help.

He shrugged. “It’s part of it. Sometimes you get lucky, others not. I should’ve had you look at the images before we chose a location. I won’t make that mistake again. You probably would’ve told us to go to the other site.”

“Maybe not. It really looked like it would tighten up there for a second.”

He smiled. “You’re starting to sound like me.”

“When it comes to storms, you’re the expert, so I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“You should.”

“Where are we headed now?”

“The only place that can make a bust better.”

Dash led me inside a bar three times the size of Bailey’s. It was after seven p.m. by the time we made it back to town—thanks to the late start on the chase day and the dinner we stopped for on the trip back. Loud top-40 music blared from massive speakers stationed against the walls, and a huge dance floor took up the entire right half of the place, a bunch of college kids moving to the beat of the music underneath a flash of colored lights. The rest of the place was darkened, only lit by low-hanging lights covered in red-colored glass. A huge bar made up the center, and over a dozen pool tables occupied the left half of the room.

John and Paul headed straight to the tables while Dash pulled a stool out for me at the bar. I took the seat with a thank-you and grabbed the drink trifold that rested against a small container of cardboard coasters.

A beautiful red-headed bartender walked over to us. She wore a tightly cinched black vest with only a bra underneath, a small strip of her flat stomach exposed above her tight red jeans. She smiled brightly, and I tried not to hate her for making me feel plain in my dust-covered pants and wind-warped ponytail. Sure, my snug tee showed off my nicely sized breasts, but the bartender’s vest made hers look like they were on their way to a red-carpet event.

I hadn’t even contemplated asking Dash to take me home so I could change once we rolled into town. I sighed and reminded myself it didn’t matter. Dash had seen me in the same clothes all day, and Justin wouldn’t be caught dead in this place. Luckily I had no guilt about not telling him where I’d been all day. He’d picked the awful fight last night so I didn’t owe him any explanation today, and could rest easy until he decided he was ready to talk.

“What can I get you two?” Her voice had a husky quality, and the same sexual prowess radiated from her skin. She reminded me of Lindsay, not in looks—except they were both equally gorgeous—but they had a sexual spark that buzzed around them. Every time I met a girl like them I wondered how they did it. Did they learn something I didn’t in school, or were they born with it?

My shoulders sank a fraction remembering the many times Justin had told me I lacked that sexual bombshell edge, but he always backed it up by saying he loved me regardless.

“I’ll take a Briar Patch Ale,” I answered after scanning the micro-brew section of the menu.

Dash grinned at me, and I wondered why he wasn’t using that charm on the bartender to get us free drinks. “I’ll take a 405 Oklahoma Lager,” he said without looking at the girl. I glanced down at the list in my hand.

“Copycat,” I said. He’d chosen a beer made by the same brewery as mine.

“Please, woman. You wouldn’t even know what a micro-brew was if it wasn’t for me.”

“Touché.” Before he came along, the extent of my alcoholic adventures had been cheap champagne and Keystone Light.

The Megan Fox-worthy bartender hurried back, placing our brightly labeled bottles in front of us before rushing off to tend to other patrons. I took a fast drink, the taste of pear and apple bursting on my tongue and zinging me in a sweet way. A few more swallows and I didn’t worry about my attire anymore. Red dirt covered Dash’s clothes, too, though it made him look more rugged than worn out.

Halfway through our beers, bombshell bartender smacked two shot glasses full of an amber liquid in front of us.

“We didn’t order these,” I said.

She motioned toward the pool tables. “Those two did.”

Dash and I followed her gaze to where Paul and John stood in front of a pool table, cues in one hand and raised shot glasses in the other. They nudged their shots in the air before swigging them down and returning to their game.

Dash scooped up his shot and held it toward me. “To the next chase.”

I tentatively picked up mine. I’d never taken a shot before, but I’d done a lot of things I’d never done before because of Dash.

“We’ll catch it next time!” I said.

Dash clinked his tiny glass against mine before throwing it back.

I did the same, filling my mouth with the entire contents of the glass and swallowing a few seconds later. The burn was instant, but not unpleasant. A sweet and near smoky taste hung on the back of my tongue and made my jaw tingle. The liquid warmed my belly, and I hissed once I could breathe again.

Dash chuckled, adding to my already unwinding state. The tension that my muscles had held like a live grenade since we started the chase melted away with each deep breath.

“Got to love bottom-shelf whiskey.” He set his glass back on the bar.

My head instantly buzzed. “I think I do. Let’s get another one.”

His eyebrows rose for a spilt second before returning to his normal relaxed expression. “Whatever you want.” He motioned at the bombshell, and she sauntered over to refill our glasses.

I lifted mine and turned toward him, my knee brushing against his leg. “What should we toast to now?”

“How much fun lightweights are?” He raised his glass.

“Ha, ha,” I snarked back. “How about to a night with no drama besides a missed storm?”

He nodded and we threw the drinks back. I didn’t hiss as loud this time.

“He hasn’t apologized yet, I take it?”

“Nope,” I said, setting the glass down with a smack. “But it’s only been a day. He’ll most likely call tomorrow and all will go back to normal.”

“Just like that, huh?”

I shrugged. “It’s the pattern.”

“That’s”—Dash sucked in a breath and let it out slowly—“understandable after so many years, I guess.” He said the words through clenched teeth. I could tell it had taken a huge effort to bite his tongue.

My tummy simmered with a whiskey warmth and my head buzzed with bursting bubbles. I blissfully slipped into a sweet place where worry didn’t exist, and I
so
didn’t want another fight with Dash over how I let Justin off too easy—especially since every time he pointed out the flaws in my relationship, I questioned it more and more.

I quickly finished the rest of my beer.

Paul put his hand on my shoulder, materializing directly behind us and startling me so much I nearly fell off my seat. “Whoa,” he said, steadying me. “Someone cut the meteorologist off.”

“Oh, please.” I rolled my eyes but thought about ordering a water before my next beer.

“What happens when a male meteorologist forgets his anniversary?”

“Nothing,” I said, thinking of all the times Justin had missed our anniversary. Not that he was a meteorologist, though.

“Wrong,” Paul said. “An approaching cold front with explosive storm development.”

I smacked him on the shoulder. “Clever, as always.”

“Can’t help it. Anyway, I lost so John could play a sophomore chick. Want to dance?” He offered his hand to me.

I reached out to take it happily, but Dash stood up and stepped between us. “I’m not leaving her in your incapable hands. You have near nonexistent rhythm.”

Paul pretended to look offended while Dash grabbed my hand. “Why don’t you save our spots and talk to the redhead,” Dash suggested, waggling his eyebrows from Paul to the bombshell serving bright green drinks to a group of girls a few seats down.

“Nice. Thanks, bro,” Paul said and took a seat.

I stifled a giggle at the thought of him stealing her heart away with bad weather jokes as Dash tugged me toward the dance floor.