Page 21 of Chase Me If You Can
It isn’t just a lamp.It’s never just a lamp.
After completing a laundry list of tasks that were far from urgent, I pull back into my driveway and blow out a long, aggravated breath. At least Wes didn’t witness my mom’s theatrics.
Needing a few more minutes to calm down before facing him, I rush through the living room. “Just need to change,” I say quickly over my shoulder without making eye contact.
When I emerge from my bedroom in my normal chasing uniform of leggings and a tank top, dress firmly back in the closet, there’s a brief moment when disappointment flashes across Wes’s face. Refusing to think about what that might mean, I grab my bag and head out to the driveway.
He tosses his duffel haphazardly into the trunk, only to stare at me like I’ve lost my mind when I yank it right back out. “Unless you want to chase with a naked guy, I’m going to need that,” he drawls, propping his hip against the side of mycar and folding his arms across his chest. I absolutely don’t notice the way the muscles in his forearms flex.
Idefinitelydon’t think about Wes naked.
“No one is taking their clothes off in my car,” I say with a pointed look. “We’re also not just chucking stuff in here. I’ve got a system.”
“Of course you do.”
My eyes snap to his. “You don’t have to come with me. Just take your credit card to whatever dealership you want and buy yourself a new car. No one says you have to do this.”
A muscle flexes in his jaw, but Wes doesn’t say another word as I carefully stack our bags so that the camera gear is both accessible and not about to fall on the ground the first time we open the back hatch. If he wants to trash fifteen grand worth of gear, that’s on him, but it’s not so easy for me to replace.
After a quick stop to fuel our raging caffeine addictions, I merge onto I-25 and do my best to settle in for the long drive south. “I’m thinking we stay in Hobbs tonight. Any objections?”
“I’m good with that.” Wes gives me a long look and then asks more quietly, “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine.”
He leans back into his seat and folds his tanned arms across his chest. “Fineusually means anything but.”
I tighten my grip on the steering wheel and focus on the long stretch of road ahead. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Fair enough.” Wes yawns and tips the brim of his baseball hat down over his face. “Mind if I grab a nap?”
“Nope. The music going to bother you?”
“Nah. I can sleep through just about anything.”
Wes doesn’t say another word for the next two hours. Maybe he’s asleep. Maybe he’s just pretending to be because he has even less to say to me than I have to say to him. If I just ignore the bulk of him in the passenger seat, it’s almost like I’m alone.
Almost.
His eyes crack open when I stop for gas just over the New Mexico border, the deep green of spring in the mountains giving way to a long expanse of dry desert scrub. We’re too far west to run into other chasers yet, the parking lot full of truckers and a group of bikers having lunch in the afternoon sun.
“Gas is on me,” Wes says, his voice rough with sleep. “Least I can do.”
“We can just split it,” I insist, the low rasp of his just-woke-up voice making me question if spending days in close quarters together is a good idea. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.” The nap seems to have improved his mood. Wes grins before he grabs the door handle when I pull up to the pump. “But I’m going to do it, so let’s not waste time arguing about it. As long as we’re chasing together, I’ll cover the gas. We both know you’re doing me a huge favor.”
One part irritated at the high-handedness and one part grateful that my budget will stretch further than I planned, I fumble out a “Thank you” just before the passenger door falls shut. I can’t remember the last time someone pumped gas for me, never mind paid for it.
Banging my head back into the headrest, I stare out across the parking lot at the clouds. Off to the east, barely visible at the very edge of the horizon, the telltale profile of a building storm grabs my attention.
While Wes is pumping gas, I scan data on my iPad. A couple of hours ago, the models showed scattered storms that weren’t going to amount to much forming in the area where Texas, New Mexico, and Oklahoma all meet. Now, roughly a hundred miles or so to our east, the picture has changed, the black ovals of supercells dotting the area over the next several hours.
“Look at this,” I say without preamble when Wes gets back in the car. I hand him the iPad and move into a parking spot. “If we detour east now, we can probably catch it.”
He looks up with a smirk. “Let me drive and we’lldefinitelycatch it.”
My hands tighten on the steering wheel reflexively. “You forget I just saw what happens when you’re behind the wheel.”
