Page 20 of Whirlwind

I nod back, unable to trust myself with speech right now.

“I’ll take your bag, and you can hop in the front.”

I nod again as he moves to grab my duffel. Once he has it on his shoulder, I step by him to climb into the truck. I think he’s going to put my bag in the back, but instead, he moves to grab the door handle to open it for me at the same time I do. His action causes our hands to brush, and I yank my hand back as if I’ve been burned.

I glare at him. “I can open my own door.” He drops his hand, and I turn my face away from him, pulling open the truck door so he’s forced to step back. Then I hoist myself up into the cab and close the door with a slam.

Out of my periphery, Ryker continues to stand on the curb as if I slapped him. I keep staring forward and wonder if that was too harsh, but then I decide it wasn’t. He set the boundary last night; I’m only maintaining it.

After another second of standing there, he finally puts my bag in the back then makes his way to the driver’s side and gets in. There’s a heavy pause, and I sense his eyes on me, begging me to look at him. Realizing he’s not going to drive until I acquiesce, I turn to meet his gaze.

He stares, anguish clearly written all over his face. Which honestly pisses me right off. He’s not allowed to feel that way when he’s made his own dang bed.

“Finley,” he says on an exhale. “I’m sor—”

“No,” I snap. “Don’t.”

“I—”

“No. I don’t want to hear your apologies or explanations. What’s done is done. You made yourself clear about how you feel after what happened, and I’m here to chase and learn from you. Let’s pretend nothing ever happened.”

“Can you really do that?”

I clench my fists at my sides. “Can you?”

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, and he finally turns his gaze from me to start the engine. Which leads me to believe that, like me, he can’t.

The silent tension in the truck isn’t lightened by Ryker’s choice of seventies and eighties music playing through the speakers. The cheery sound of Kansas singing “The Point of Know Return” only adds to the tightness of my skin and knotted stomach.

Ryker hasn’t made any effort to speak to me since I shut him down over an hour ago. Instead, he sings quietly along with the songs playing, a habit that might’ve been cute under different circumstances but is annoying now. The only words he offered were to mention we’d be picking up a chaser joining us thisweekend from across the Kansas-Oklahoma border—and once, he asked if I needed a bathroom break. I just shook my head.

When he finally exits the highway, I exhale a quiet sigh of relief that another person is going to be joining us. Hopefully, the distraction will help ease my anxiety over this entire situation. With Ryker so close to me and the ache of him still between my thighs, it’s hard to forget what we did together. Not that I could, anyway. It’s not only the sex, either. It’s the way he protected me, held me, put his life before mine—and that I actually slept with the man I’ve been crushing on for so long.

I bite the inside of my cheek and wish I could let out a scream or even call Jake. He’d tell me I was an idiot for what I allowed to happen, but then he’d crack a joke to make me feel better. Or threaten to cut off Ryker’s balls. Maybe both. That thought makes me smile and huff a quiet laugh.

“What’s funny?”

I jump at the sound of Ryker’s voice as he comes to a stop at a red light. “Nothing,” I reply. It’s not like I’m going to tell him I was thinking about my cousin cutting his balls off.

He huffs a breath of frustration, and I almost tell him this is his own doing. Had he not said he regretted what happened last night, we could’ve moved forward together and figured things out as we went along—or at least talked about what is or isn’t going on between us and what the future should look like. But it’s too late now. I’m using my rational brain and thinking clearly.

In a way, I should be thanking him. Because he’s reminded me of why “we” can’t happen. Ryker is my professor. He is, for all intents and purposes, my boss. I’ve most likely already screwed my chances (literally) of getting on this team permanently one day, not that it would be a good idea now, anyway. Especially if the last hour is a sneak peek into what’s to come this weekend.

I almost laugh at how quickly I gave in to him yesterday. Yet in the end, despite our attraction and my longtime admiration of him, I’m going to blame the storm for our moment of weakness.

We were both coming down from the fear and adrenaline of the chase and our almost-demise. Everything was heightened, including the sexual tension that has been building between us over the last year. It’s no surprise we both snapped.

Hmm, maybe it’s good we got it out of our systems? I shake my head. No, I should never have touched my professor. I should never have allowed myself to crush on him in the first place.

“We’re almost there,” he says.

I look out the window at the old neighborhood. It’s after seven in the morning now, and the sun is rising, lighting up the row of houses as we turn into a cul-de-sac. We approach a single-story ranch-style home, one that’s in need of a fresh coat of white paint, but it’s charming with its porch swing and red shutters.

“His name is Joseph,” Ryker says. “He’s going to be our drone pilot and help with data analysis this weekend.”

Recognition sparks in the back of my mind; I’ve heard that name before. I know he’s not a usual chaser with TT, but the name sounds familiar.

I don’t have to wait long to find out why, because the door to the home swings open as we come to a stop in the drive. The moment I see the top of a black cowboy hat with bright-gold detailing on the hatband, I’m grinning like the Cheshire cat.

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