The twister changed course again.
“The tornado has zigzagged slightly. It’s moving east now, rather than due south,” Guthrie said, remembering he was still being transmitted to viewers at home. “It’s a few hundred yards from the Canadian River.”
Luke pulled to the other side of the road and angled the truck so the dashcam could track the tornado as it continued on.
Guthrie kept talking because it was his job to fill the silence on the broadcast. “The tornado is pulling away from us. Like I said, it will be crossing the Canadian River momentarily.”
Sarah prompted Seth to go back to the chopper. Seth said, “Thank you for that harrowing report, Guthrie. That was much closer than many of us prefer to get to a tornado, but we appreciate you being out there keeping us forewarned. And a big shout-out to Luke Masters, Guthrie’s chase partner, for that incredible driving.”
“Uh-huh,” Guthrie said dumbly. Once he was sure he wasn’t on-air, he turned to Luke and said, “Seth commended you for your fancy driving.”
“That’s nice.” Luke was watching him closely, which was when Guthrie realized he was shivering. He tried to rub some feeling back into his arms, running his palms up and down the gooseflesh covering his skin.
“What now?” Guthrie asked.
The sun was starting to sink below the horizon, painting the sky to the west in vivid pinks and oranges among the gray storm clouds. It was as beautiful as a watercolor painting. Guthrie stared at it, rather than the tornado wreaking havoc in the other direction.
Luke didn’t respond but threw the car back into drive. He pulled forward until they reached the spot where the tornado had crossed Roedown Road. There was a power line down in the street.
“We can’t drive over that,” Guthrie said. “It’s live.” He pointed at the barbwire fence. The power line was caught on a post and each gust of wind made it scrape back and forth, sending a shower of sparks to the ground.
“We’ll need to backtrack. Let’s figure out our new route. Will you do that for me?” Luke asked.
Guthrie nodded, thankful to have a task.
“I’m going to call in the downed line in the meantime,” Luke said. He pulled out his phone and called 911.
Guthrie focused on the map for a few minutes, studying the radar and watching the location reported from both Johanna and Delilah in the chopper. Luke got off the phone with the dispatcher.
“We should head west on Roedown Road,” Guthrie said. “Then we can get on a road going south in about a mile. From there we can either head east here or here, depending on where the tornado is.” He pointed out the roads to Luke on the map.
“Good plan.” Luke took a deep breath, like he was trying to center himself before taking off again.
Guthrie couldn’t help it. He lifted a palm to Luke’s jaw. “You did good.”
A wry smile crossed Luke’s face, and he nuzzled into Guthrie’s hand. “Let’s do this. We’ve worked too hard to lose the tornado now.”
“Okay.”
Luke wasn’t hyped-up and excitable. He was focused. Adept. Maybe a little competitive. It was obvious that Luke took this seriously. It wasn’t a game to him. He wasn’t treating it like a roller coaster ride but with the seriousness it deserved. Guthrie appreciated that more than he could put into words.
Maybe being Luke’s partner this whole season wouldn’t be that horrible. Maybe he could take a breath.
Guthrie dropped his hand from Luke’s face. Luke winked at him, which caused a mini-detonation behind Guthrie’s breastbone. He’d always thought winks were cheesy. This wink wasn’t cheesy. It was sexy. Like they had a secret.
Which they did.
Luke whipped the car around, and Guthrie took a moment to will himself back into a state of calm. It wasn’t easy.
They made their way toward the tornado as the sky darkened. It was that weird twilight hour where it was light enough to see, but the sun had set. It wouldn’t be long before visibility would be reduced to nothing.
Luke turned the headlights on. “I hate storm chasing at night.”
“You said that in the video. Our viral interview.”
“I know. It creeps me out.”
A burst of lightning corkscrewed high up in the clouds, and it illuminated the tornado in the distance.
“It’s a rope tornado again. Maybe it’s weakening,” Guthrie said.
“God, I hope so.”
They were too far from the tornado to get a usable shot, but Guthrie kept everyone updated on its location and size.
Luke sped up. He seemed determined to get to it before night settled completely.
He succeeded. They approached it from the southwest again, and Guthrie was punched by déjà vu. Hadn’t they just done this?
There were some major differences this time. Houses for one. Houses were scattered all over as the landscape turned suburban.
And the tornado, for another. It was weaker.
Seth pitched back to Guthrie for hopefully the final time that night. Guthrie described the tornado’s location, and they all watched as it wisped out, lifting from the ground before scattering into nothing.
“It’s gone,” Guthrie said into his headset. “It’s died out before reaching the outskirts of Mustang. There is rotation in the wall cloud and a small funnel, but to the naked eye, it seems to be flagging.”
They followed the supercell until Oklahoma City, where the storm flickered out like a birthday candle. The continuous coverage on KTTY ended, and Guthrie took off his headset. It was almost anticlimactic. He would take anticlimactic over climactic any day of the week, even if the energy and adrenaline in his body had nowhere to go. He felt like a live wire.
“Do you need to go back to the station?” Luke asked. “Or can we get food?”
Guthrie checked the time. If they could make it back to the station prior to the ten o’clock newscast, he’d be able to complete the package story that summed up their chase day for that show. If not, he’d do it first thing tomorrow for the morning broadcasts.
“Food.” It was nine thirty. There was no way they’d be able to make it to the other side of the city before ten. Plus neither of them had eaten in hours. “You pick the place.”
“Can I pick my place?”
Guthrie glanced at him sharply.
Luke shrugged. “What? I can make a killer sandwich.”
“I have to be back at the station by three in the morning for the four o’clock show.”
Silence filled the car, and Guthrie wanted to smack himself. Why exactly did he think his morning schedule relevant to this conversation? Luke hadn’t explicitly asked him to stay the night. Guthrie had assumed.
“Never mind,” Guthrie said.
Luke braked at a stoplight and turned toward him. “Your place, then. If we’re at yours, you won’t have to worry about making it back to your house in the middle of the night to shower and get ready for work. You’ll already be there.”
“So we’re doing this?” Guthrie asked.
Luke sucked in a shaky breath. “We can do whatever you want. If we talk, then I leave at eleven, that’s fine. If we don’t talk at all, that’s fine too. Or we can find a twenty-four-hour diner. Or a bar. Evidently I owe you a drink because I said ‘dude ranch’ one time.”
Laughter bubbled through Guthrie. “Finally caught that, did you? You lost by a lot. Not one point.”
“And you didn’t say y’all once. It was dumb of me to make the wager. Why would you say y’all when you’re only speaking to me and I’m a singular person? It’s basically a plural pronoun. Grammar got the best of me. We’re adding yup to your list next time.”
Guthrie wanted more of this. More flirting. More banter. It was a bad idea. He knew it was, but he was fired up. He wouldn’t be able to fall asleep. He was too amped. Why not spend the adrenaline drop with Luke?
“My place.”
Luke grinned as he resumed driving. Guthrie couldn’t look away.
Chapter Eleve
n
Luke tried to focus on making a sandwich but couldn’t. He was too excited about being alone in Guthrie’s south Edmond townhome with him. The townhome was nice—nicer than Luke’s apartment in Moore, at least—with high ceilings, a spiral staircase, and a cedar plank wall around the fireplace. It wasn’t a new home, the 1980s shined through, but it’d been updated. Guthrie had made it cozy with personal touches—a rustic quilt over the back of his sofa, colorful prints on the walls, real flowers on the kitchen table.
Speaking of Guthrie, the man had disappeared immediately after arriving. He’d claimed he needed a shower. Storm chasing was sweaty work, but Luke felt abandoned.
At least Guthrie had pulled out two beers and the sandwich fixings before vanishing. Luke finished building his sandwich, loaded down with roast beef, fresh veggies, and topped with crusty bread from the farmer’s market. Then he made one for Guthrie and waited.
When Guthrie reappeared, wearing a T-shirt and sexy gray sweatpants, he seemed almost shocked that Luke was still there. “You could have eaten without me.”
“Kind of defeats the purpose of eating with you, don’t you think?”
“I thought a shower would level me out.” Guthrie placed his hands on the counter, his shoulders and arms tense.
“Did it?”
Guthrie shook his head. It was hard to mellow after a chase, and today had been the closest call Luke had ever had. His blood was pumping fast, all his senses too sharp. In the past, he’d work out after a chase to burn off the energy. Guthrie needed an outlet like that—one to help him forget every horrible and exciting moment of the day. Make it disappear.
Luke crossed the small galley kitchen and wrapped Guthrie in his arms from behind. They were the same height, though Luke was bulkier. He pressed his mouth to the side of Guthrie’s neck and rubbed his hands up and down Guthrie’s torso, trying to soothe, his hands flowing over the soft cotton T-shirt.
“Luke, I don’t know if this is a good idea, but please don’t stop.”
“I won’t. Eat your sandwich. Drink your beer.”
Guthrie picked his sandwich up, took a small bite, and swallowed. “What about you?”
“Hand me mine.”
They ate and sipped their beers, Luke pressed against Guthrie’s back, holding him fast with one arm around his chest, standing at the kitchen counter. Guthrie finished his sandwich first. He leaned harder into Luke.
“What do you want to talk about?” Guthrie asked.
“Nothing. Everything. But we don’t have to talk tonight if you don’t want to. We can just relax.”
“Honestly, you don’t make me feel particularly relaxed.” Guthrie bumped back into him in a slow grind, obviously trying to prove a point. Luke wasn’t relaxed either. At least parts of him weren’t, and Guthrie was having the same issue, his erection apparent. God bless gray sweatpants.
Luke finished his sandwich—the best sandwich he’d ever had—and licked the mustard off his thumb. Then he kissed Guthrie’s ear.
“I want to know what this means. Me being here. Us kissing. Maybe you don’t know what it means either, and that’s okay. We can figure it out tomorrow,” Luke said.
Guthrie scratched his cheek and said, “I haven’t had a boyfriend since I was twenty, and he chose storm chasing over me at Slim’s insistence, so—”
“Whoa, what?”
“Right. I shouldn’t have mentioned that, but my last serious relationship was a guy on my dad’s crew. His name is Hoyt.”
“The driver?”
Guthrie nodded. “Do you think less of me now?”
Luke spun him around. “Of course not.”
Guthrie pressed their lips together lightly, but it was fleeting. Luke wanted a chance to really kiss him. To lavish him in kisses. A plan formed in Luke’s mind. He was going to help Guthrie relax tonight, one way or another.
“What happened with Hoyt? I promise I won’t judge.”
Guthrie rolled his eyes, a bit of his prickliness fighting back to the surface. Which was good. Luke liked him prickly.
“Slim found out about us and was pissed, not because of our age difference but because he couldn’t stand split loyalties. He told Hoyt to choose. Hoyt did.”
“And you kept storm chasing with them?”
“Yes, until the EF5 in Kansas. I was embarrassingly committed to him.” Guthrie shook his head. “None of that matters anymore.”
“What does?”
“You. But I’m not good at the dating thing, Luke. I’ve tried. I screw it up or I get insecure or my job gets too busy. It never works. And maybe that won’t even matter. Hell, I could suck in bed and where does that put us?”
“You’re rambling.”
“I’m sorry. My skin feels alive. Like ants are crawling all over me. My brain is cooking, and I want to calm down but I can’t catch my breath, and—”
“I can help with that,” Luke said. He kissed Guthrie like this kiss was the answer to a question. Luke loved the scrape of Guthrie’s dark stubble against his lips, the scritch of their facial hair catching. Guthrie’s lips were soft and lush, a contrast to the hard angles of the rest of his face. When Luke delved inside, he tasted heat and bread and beer on Guthrie’s tongue.
Guthrie pushed closer and closer, his hands a whirlwind on Luke’s body. Those hands traveled up Luke’s back and into his hair, knocking the baseball hat off his head. Guthrie fisted Luke’s hair and grinded against him hard.
Luke lightly slapped Guthrie’s ass. “Slow down.” If he didn’t get a handle on this, Guthrie was going to have them both naked in his kitchen, and Luke had plans.
Guthrie’s body jerked, and he stuttered out a confused moan, a sound that practically brought Luke to his knees.
“Bedroom?” Luke choked out.
After a deep breath and a good five seconds of blinking, Guthrie said, “Follow me.”
He led Luke back into the living room and to the spiral staircase. At the top of the stairs was a loft bedroom and en suite. Guthrie stopped by the bed, and Luke kissed him again. This time the kiss was slow and Guthrie let him lead, which was exactly what Luke wanted. Luke didn’t mind giving up control. He’d dated a woman last year who’d had some femdom tendencies, and he’d been all for it. But tonight he wanted to help Guthrie relax. He wanted to leach all the energy and anxiety and adrenaline from Guthrie’s body until he felt nothing but soft, dreamy pleasure.
“What do you like?” Luke asked.
“Kissing.” Guthrie latched his mouth onto Luke’s jaw.
“I mean—”
“I know what you mean.” Guthrie pulled back. “I’m versatile. I’m down for whatever.”
That would normally be music to Luke’s ears, but the flatness of Guthrie’s voice was suspicious. Luke wondered if Guthrie was saying what he thought Luke wanted to hear, rather than what he actually desired.
Luke massaged his shoulders and back, finding a particularly tender knot at the base of Guthrie’s neck. When Luke dug in with his thumbs, Guthrie gasped and clutched at Luke’s shirt.
“Did that hurt?” Luke asked, running his fingers through Guthrie’s damp hair.
“Felt good.”
“Take off your clothes and lie down. I’m gonna take care of you.”
Guthrie froze. “I thought I was the bossy one.”
Luke grinned. “If that’s what you want.”
“Uh, I don’t—” Guthrie shook his head. “I like you being bossy too, but I don’t want to be undressed while you’re dressed.”
“Even playing field. Got it.” Luke whipped his shirt off.
“Oh my God!” Guthrie reached for Luke’s abdomen, tracing the designs there. Luke shimmied his shorts off but kept his briefs on.
Luke laughed at Guthrie’s surprise.
“You’re covered in them,” Guthrie said. Luke was, in fact, covered in tattoos. A mix of geometric patterns, animals, and plants flowed up his leg, under his briefs, and over his back, stomach, and chest. Guthrie had gotten a p
eek at the snake that wrapped up Luke’s leg earlier but obviously hadn’t been expecting that snake to lead to a larger canvas of ink. “This must have taken hours.”
“Plus tons of separate sessions. And lots of money. I have plans for the rest of my leg but needed to use my tattoo savings during the move to Oklahoma. You think I’m an adrenaline junkie. You’re not wrong, but tattoos are usually how I curb the thrill-seeking impulse.”
“Tattoos and tornadoes. That sounds like a red dirt country album.”
Luke grinned and wrapped Guthrie back into his arms. Guthrie’s hands moved fast, his touch frantic again. He opened his mouth over the California poppy on Luke’s heart. Luke groaned and shuffled Guthrie back and onto the bed before tugging his T-shirt off.
“Oh.” Luke stared down at Guthrie, face-to-face with his own surprise. “You’re hairy. I love that.”
Guthrie fell onto his back, lifting his hips to push his sweats down, leaving boxer briefs behind. “I’m too lazy to wax my chest. Used to, though. Then I realized how weird I looked with a waxed chest and hairy arms and legs. Waxing everything was too much work.”
Luke nodded, but his brain spun away from him. He was absolutely going to bury his face in all that dark chest hair before the night was over. He caught Guthrie’s foot with one hand and nuzzled into his calf, brushing his lips over leg hair and skin that was warm and soap-scented from the shower.
“I want to make you feel good. Help you burn off some of the chasing adrenaline. Will you let me do that?”
They’d been spinning out of control up to this point, riding high on emotions and fear, but Luke didn’t want to continue on that way. He wanted it to be a deliberate choice for both of them.
Guthrie’s breath hitched, but he nodded. “Please.”
With a grin, Luke lifted Guthrie’s leg and nipped at his big toe. Guthrie groaned.
“Close your eyes and relax,” Luke whispered.
This was met with another eye roll. “Easier said than done. You’re touching the most ticklish part of my body.” Guthrie wiggled his toes.
Luke placed a soft kiss on the arch of Guthrie’s foot. “Can you trust me? I’ll stop if you tell me to stop, but please trust me.” Luke slid his lips to the hollow under Guthrie’s ankle and massaged his calf muscle. Guthrie didn’t answer. His eyes were squeezed shut and his mouth pinched. “Guthrie?”
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