Chase Me If You Can(9)
Tracy and I explode into laughter while Matt lets out a quiet chuckle at what I can only presume is his part in Wes’s handiwork.
“What was that look about?” Tracy asks in a voice too low to be overheard before nudging her shoulder into mine. “You have something to do with why Wes went after them?”
I’m not about to pretend he did this for me. He saw an opening to start shit and took it. That’s nothing new. “Of course not. He’s a five-year-old in a grown man’s body.”
Tracy makes a noncommittal noise, but before I can question it, someone shouts that it’s time to go. Phones whip out, radar apps are checked, and maps are consulted while we all hustle toward our cars. I quickly hand Tracy her snacks before she rushes away with a shouted, “Text me!”
Wes is parked next to me. Of course he is.
I make a point of walking a full circle around my car like it’s a rental I’m inspecting for preexisting damage. “You write anything on my car and I’m slashing those,” I threaten, pointing at his brand-new beefy tires with my entirely harmless keys.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
He’s right—it’s an empty threat, but empty threats are a key part of our interactions. “Fine. I’ll go to every gas station and buy out the entire supply of those Nerds Gummy Clusters you’re addicted to. Just the blue ones.”
“You wouldn’t.” Aghast with exaggerated horror, he folds both hands over his heart. “Everyone knows the red ones are subpar.”
“Try me.” It comes out far more serious than I intend.
Wes steps closer, his chest nearly touching mine. I don’t back down. Not even when he’s so close I can see the flecks of color in his storm-cloud eyes as he leans in. There’s a level of seriousness that can only be mockery in his voice when he says, “One of these days, I’m going to figure out who turned you into the fun police. We need to have a very long talk.”
“Good luck having that conversation with my mother,” I fire back. The second some emotion I don’t want to examine too closely flickers across his expression, I know I’ve made a mistake. I quickly change the subject. “Let’s just get out and chase, all right? We both have the contest to focus on. I don’t have time to play games with you this year.”
“You know what I think?” Wes closes the little remaining distance between us, leaning down so we’re eye to eye. His glint with challenge. “I think you look forward to playing games with me. Admit it. I made your night better last week at that wedding in Houston.”
“It’s a miracle you fit that ego of yours in your shiny new car.”
“Sounds an awful lot like a yes.”
I roll my eyes and absolutely don’t think about the fact that he’s so close I can smell his soap. “Stay out of my way, Wes. I mean it. There are too many new people out here for you to be fucking around.”
“But fucking around is what I do best.” He hooks his thumbs into his belt loops and rocks back. “You should try it sometime. Might help you relax.”
Typical Wes. When outright mockery doesn’t work, he switches tactics and tries to get under my skin another way. And yet, for some stupid reason, the image of him dancing at that wedding flashes through my mind. I shove it away and take a wide step around him, determined not to waste any more time on pointless verbal ping-pong.
“If you need the number to an STD clinic, a couple of my old clients are nurses,” I call over my shoulder before closing my car door. In the rearview, I watch him laugh the dig off before getting into his own car and pulling out behind me.
Chapter Three
While I chase alone these days, I’m never really alone.
A dozen or so cars leave the gas station in a haphazard caravan. Of course when the road narrows into one lane, I end up stuck behind Wes and his ridiculous custom Chase plates. I guess it’s better than some of the elaborate glittering decals some of the tour groups use.
My mood climbs along with the updrafts as we clear the old grain elevators at the edge of town, and the sky opens up in an endless expanse of blue. The base of the storm is almost due east, a darkening oval bruise that stands out against the otherwise clear sky. Without taking my eyes off the road, I reach behind me to grab the ancient Rocky Mountain National Park ball cap that lives in my car, stuff my braid into it, and lower the windows to breathe in the hot, dusty air.
Spring on the plains smells like freedom.
Ahead of me, Wes has his arm resting outside his window as he drives. When a bolt of lightning drops in the distance, his arm is suddenly up in the air, fist raised toward the sky. I can practically hear his loud whoop to match the one I let out as adrenaline floods my system.
We’re all just a bunch of weather and photography nerds racing down country roads in search of the kinds of storms that most people avoid. And sure, we might not be entirely sane, but it’s good to remember that despite making a living by documenting the biggest moments of someone else’s life, these six weeks are about my moments. That there are people who don’t think I’m out of my mind for wanting to be here.
Cars start to peel off as we get closer to the storm. Everyone has a slightly different preference for how they line up their shots. Some go for the awe-inspiring wide angles that capture the towering height of the clouds punching into the upper atmosphere. Some choose the story in the details. Some are shooting time-lapse video, and some people just want to see something cool on the other side of their lens.