Page 4 of The Daring Storm Chaser

Colby has the decency to look guilty. “I’ll be careful.”

“Don’t feed me that bullshit.” I practically spit out the words, tears stinging my eyes. “Your goal is to get closer to the action than Oz, and Oz is downright reckless. He won’t be careful, so neither will you. It’ll be just like the time you broke your arm when he dared you to jump your bike off the porch when we were kids. Or like that time in college—”

“Stop,” he says, his tone icy. He never talks about the incident in college that ended his friendship with Oz. It’s still a sore spot more than a decade later.

I place a hand on his arm. “Don’t go, Colby. Please. You have a good life here. You’re the meteorologist of a nationally syndicated morning show. You don’t need to prove anything to Oz. You’re already the winner.”

He mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like, “Maybe I need to prove something to myself.”

I throw my hands up in defeat. “Fine, but you’re on your own for travel arrangements.” The man hasn’t booked his own flight or car rental in years. It’s a miracle he can still tie his shoes without my help.

He frowns but nods his head. “I’m sure I can manage.”

“Fine,” I say again, storming out of his condo and slamming the door behind me. Stubborn ass.

Then I stalk across the hall to my own place. Normally, I like living next door to my brother. We’ve always been close. Plus, proximity helps with my job. But right now, I want to put as much distance between Colby and myself as possible. I’m itching to punch something, and he’s near the top of this list.

Right behind Oscar Metzer.

“Fucking Oz,” I grumble, pacing the length of my living room. The floor-to-ceiling windows mock me with a crystal-clear view of blue sky as far as the eye can see. “Fucking sunny California.”

Sighing, I plop onto my overstuffed sofa. The rest of the apartment is furnished with trendy, top-of-the-line furniture. The interior designer wanted a couch to match, but I insisted on having one piece of furniture in the room that’s comfortable.

Colby and I really do have a charmed life. We have more money than we ever dreamed of as kids and southern California is beautiful. But that’s the problem. A part of me has always known, deep down, that Colby couldn’t be happy here. He’s a weather geek. He wants to study forecast models and save lives. He doesn’t want to be the pretty weatherman on a morning television show in paradise.

It’s time for a change. But this stupid bet with Oz is not the change we need.

Oz. Always causing problems.

He and Colby were best friends from kindergarten through most of college. The two were thick as thieves. But even when we were kids, Oz loved to push the limits. And he dragged Colby over the line right along with him. They spent so many afternoons in detention that it may as well have been an extracurricular activity. It’s a miracle my mama didn’t go crazy trying to keep them in line.

They were both too smart for their own good, too. By the time high school ended, they’d both secured spots in the meteorology program at the University of Michigan. Then their friendship soured, and Colby went on to be a meteorologist for a news station in Louisville, Kentucky before making it to the national stage on Rise and Shine, Los Angeles. Oz went into research and storm chasing and does consultant work for television, movies, and print.

How can two intelligent and successful men be so ridiculously stupid?

I pop up from the couch and grab my keys from the shelf by the door. If Colby won’t listen to me, I’ll just have to convince Oz to call off the bet.

I’ll put a stop to this. By whatever means necessary.

Chapter 3

Marjorie

It took less than an hour to track Oz down. I have connections throughout L.A. It’s part of my job. And I’m damn good at my job.

Not only did I find out Oz’s hotel and room number, but the concierge also tipped me off that he’d arranged transportation for Oz to attend a private party at the Beverly Hills mansion of an heiress. Ten minutes later, I had the heiress’s publicist on the phone, and five minutes after that, I’d scored an invitation to the party myself.

I may have sort of name-dropped my brother and implied that he’d be attending, but white lies are not only commonplace in this business—they’re expected.

I drive to the mansion, regretting that I didn’t run home for a nicer change of clothes first. Glancing down at my jeans and plain, white tee, I fear I’m underdressed. Oh, well. There’s nothing I can do about that now.

Tilting the rearview mirror down to see my reflection, I reapply my lipstick and add a couple of swipes of mascara to my naked lashes. I do my best to smooth my frizzy curls into a simple ponytail.

I step out of my car and walk up to the mansion. Following the sound of music and laughter, I walk to the back of the house. There’s an Olympic-sized pool and a massive patio. It’s packed with bikini-clad models and actresses.

I realize that I’m not underdressed; I’m overdressed.

I spot Oz quickly. I’ve always been able to find Oz in a crowd. It’s like I’m trained for the task. He’s lounging on a raft in the middle of the pool, surrounded by half-naked women. His expression is bored until he sees me. When his gaze meets mine, his eyes widen, and his face splits into a cheeky grin. He rolls off the raft, carelessly splashing a model on a nearby float, and swims to the side of the pool.

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