Page 6 of Whirlwind

That’s a thought I’d rather not unpack right now…or ever.

Ryker’s strong grip tightens, and he tugs me up with more force than I expected. I knew he was strong—at least he looks like it with his broad shoulders, toned biceps, and the kind of forearms women would pay good money to stare at—but I’m not a tiny person. Yet he lifted me like I weighed less than fiftypounds instead of two hundred plus. Maybe he should have the nickname Superman instead of Twister Tamer.

Once I’m on my feet, our bodies are close enough that I can see a few white hairs in his well-trimmed brown scruff that lines his square jaw. He’s wearing a red ball cap backward over his shaggy hair, hair I’ve spent way too long staring at and fantasizing about touching, and a white T-shirt with “Tempest Trackers” printed in bold letters across it. He must have changed in his office after the final, because he did not look all casual and sexy when I walked out of his lecture hall. If I’m honest, he’s always sexy, but seeing him dressed down in person rather than on social media is doing things to me.

We stare at each other for a few long seconds, an electric charge buzzing between us like a downed power line.

Boom!

I jump ten feet high, the action forcing my hand from his as thunder echoes around us. He smirks, not having moved from his position at all. Like he knew the thunder was going to happen.

“Scared, Finley?” His lip quirks.

I try to ignore the teasing way he said my name and shake my head. “Just surprised.”

He sticks his hands in the pockets of his jeans, still smiling. “I’ve been tracking that storm to the east; she’s a loud one.”

My brow furrows, and then I realize the reason Ryker and I ran into each other is because we were tracking the same storm, and both of us were heading out to chase it. My eyes follow his gaze. In the time we’ve been standing here, the sky has darkened considerably, and the sun is beginning to wink out from the incoming clouds though the air is still muggy and warm. I pull my attention from the sky and scan the ground for my phone to look at the radar, muttering a curse when I don’t see it.

“Looking for this?”

I glance back at Ryker, who still has my backpack slung over his shoulder, his bag at his feet, and my phone in his hand.

I smile sheepishly and take my phone from him. Our fingers brush, and once more, that spark passes between us as if our bodies can’t help themselves when we touch.

“Thanks,” I say.

“Don’t thank me; I’m the reason it went flying.”

“Did you play football in school or something?”

His brow pinches, and he shoots me a funny look as I tuck a strand of windblown hair behind my ear.

“I only ask because you hit me like you were making a dash for the end zone.”

Ryker’s smile falls, and he takes a step until we’re too close again, almost close enough to kiss. His green eyes survey me, and I think he even looks at my boobs.

He’s only concerned, Finley. Stop trying to read into this.

He brings his gaze back to mine. “Again, I’m so sorry,” he says. “I should’ve been paying attention to where I was going. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Without thinking, I rub my butt where I fell. The action draws his eyes downward again, and this time, he blatantly watches my hand with interest. When he licks his lips, the knot in his throat bobbing, my mouth goes dry, and I can’t stop myself from being glad that he’s looking and appears to like what he sees.

His breaths become shorter, and the scent of his cologne—that has a more woodsy scent up close—fills my nostrils again. Suddenly, all the reasons why Ryker and I can’t be more than what we are blow away, hiding in the recesses of my mind.

What were they again?

The wind picks up, bringing with it an earthy smell of soil and incoming rain, lifting me from my trance. I drop my hand from my sore ass. “I’m okay.”

Ryker’s eyes snap back to mine, and I see the moment it dawns on him that not only was he looking at my hand on myass, but also, if someone were to walk by, we would look more like lovers than two people with a professional relationship.

He shifts on his feet but doesn’t take a step back. “I’ll try to be more careful this weekend, Finley. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

My stomach flips at the double meaning in his words. If we hadn’t been dancing around each other all year, I wouldn’t think twice about it, but I hear an undertone of desire I can’t ignore. And if I’m being honest, I’ve seen the same desire in his actions—like the way he kept glancing at me during today’s final or all those times I caught his eyes lingering when he thought I wasn’t looking. I’ve tried to brush off those moments, pretend I didn’t notice even when I knew I was looking at him just as often. But that doesn’t erase them.

It also doesn’t erase all the flirting we’ve done when I’ve volunteered to stay late after labs to go over storm data he collected or how we talked about what kind of food and music we liked during his office hours when I asked him to go over some data I collected on my own—things grad students and professors probably shouldn’t be talking about. I shouldn’t know that he loves bacon cheeseburgers and crispy french fries or that Kansas is one of his favorite bands.

My breath catches in my throat as I stare up at Ryker, the warmth of his body—which has gotten closer—sinking deep into my bones. I want to lean into him, see if his kisses will be soft or hard…maybe both.

---