Tracy and Matt betting on me was one thing, but strangers discussing my personal life on this level is downright humiliating. I start to slip out from under Wes’s arm, but his grip tightens. The way we’re pressed together, I feel each of his muscles lock up.
Wes is generally a friendly and easygoing guy. In all the years we’ve spent snarking back and forth, he’s always done it with a grin and a wink. The Wild Wes nickname comes from the questionable risks he takes more than his temperament—the only time I’ve ever seen him genuinely pissed is when other chasers drive so recklessly they put us all at risk.
And now.
“Hey!” His voice carries easily, shutting everyone up. “Sloane invited me to chase with her, very graciously, after I fucked up my ride. Anything beyond that is none of your goddamned business.”
His sharp words shut down the whispers instantly. There’s a lot of foot-shuffling and mumbled apologies, all directed at the floor or their laps. I hate that the men gathered in this lobby are having the exact reaction I wanted so badly to avoid, even though Wes defending me without hesitation goes a hell of a long way toward soothing the sting.
We stand there for another long moment in silence before Wes turns us toward the exit without another word. “If anyone says anything to you, I want to know,” he says gruffly once we’re outside, guiding me toward the car. “You don’t deserve any of that shit.”
“I know. And I can defend myself, but thank you for what you said.”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
I put my bags in the car and step out of the way so he can do the same. “You realizeNature Shotshas never featured a female photographer on the cover, right? It’s part of why I want to win so badly. It could be a real stepping stone into paid landscape work. And a chance to beat you, of course,” I add, bumping his hip with mine to break some of the tension. I’m not sure it works. “But if it’s being judged blindly and they still pick me? It’s going to be hard for guys like that to bitch that I only won because of some diversity quota. I’d be recognized for my talent.”
Finally.
“Never? That can’t be right.” Wes holds up his palms at myscowl. “Not saying I don’t believe you, just…really? Not once?”
“Not once.”
“Shit.” He fiddles with his hat, taking it off to run his hand through his hair before shoving it back into place. “That’s messed up.”
“It is.” I close the back hatch with a sigh and jingle the keys in my hand. “But the only way I beat them is if I get that shot, so let’s go.”
The storms donot disappoint.
We catch a beast of a storm in midafternoon, the open plain showing off the towering cylinder of rotating clouds tightly stacked together. No tornado, but I’m happy when we find a field full of pink and purple wildflowers.
Matt, who’s on another storm, sends a snap to the group text of a massive mothership that’s been kind enough to loom over a bright red barn and silo. We race south to intercept it, tiny bits of hail pinging off the roof as we skirt the storm before bursting out on the other side. The supercell towers over the farm, just about every chaser we know crowded against the fence line.
Grimacing at the crowd, I pull over on the narrow shoulder and lower my window before hopping out. I glance at Wes, a flicker of unease skating over my skin after what happened this morning, but we’re both in work mode when we grab our cameras and hustle across the road to find a clear shot.
Some storms make it easy on us, hovering over the samearea as they lazily spin ever so slowly off to the east. This monster does no such thing, whirling like a top and marching across the plain like an invading army. We barely get five minutes to shoot before hail starts to pelt down, stinging where it makes contact.
It doesn’t matter. We’re both laughing as we tumble back into the car, quickly slamming the doors shut and raising the windows. I’m shoving my seat belt back into the clip when Wes leans over, sinks his fingers into my braid, and pulls me in for a quick, hard kiss. “Have I told you how much I like chasing with you?”
Blushing, I give him a playful shove back into his seat and shift out of park. “You can butter me up later. Are we staying with this one?”
He nods, once again focused as he taps on his iPad. “It’s kicking out a ton of lightning. If we head east and look for a spot, we should get a clear shot.”
Sunset isn’t far off and the storm shows no sign of slowing. “The low-level jet is going to kick in within a couple of hours.” I point through the windshield where the storm is starting to lose some of its organization despite the amount of lightning still pouring off it. “Might get it back together when that happens.”
“If it keeps lighting up like this, we could get some great shots of the structure.” Wes is quiet for a few minutes, tapping on his phone, and then lets out a triumphant noise. “I’m about to be your favorite person. Take the next left.”
“Why?”
“You’ll see.”
“Wes.”
“Sloane.”
Shooting him a dark look, I take the left. After several miles and even more turns, I’m starting to lose my patience when we come around a large, swooping bend in the road to reveal a half-collapsed windmill, a lone tree, and a rusted-out tractor with the storm looming behind it all. Beneath the clouds, the horizon has taken on a pale orange glow as the sun sinks lower.
“Well, shit,” I breathe out with glee. It’s perfect.
