Getting Hotter
Page 12

After Dylan and Jackson made it to shore, the foursome stared at each other for a long moment, then tipped their gazes up at the sky while the rain soaked them to the bone.
“Holy shit balls,” Dylan exclaimed. “It’s the f**king Apocalypse.”
“Let’s get the f**k outta here,” Cash shouted over the wind.
Getting back to their cars proved to be a whole other workout. The rain fell harder and the wind blew faster, providing a wall of resistance each time Seth took a step. The thunder was so loud he couldn’t hear his own thoughts, and each time a bolt of lightning sizzled over the furious ocean, it was easy to see that the waves were gathering in size and speed.
When he finally stumbled up to his Jeep, he let out a breath heavy with relief.
Cash and Jackson raced to the SUV in the neighboring space. As Cash unlocked the driver’s door, he glanced over at Seth. “Text when you get home so I know you made it there alive,” he called.
“Same goes for you two,” Seth called back.
He and Dylan practically dove into the Jeep. Fortunately, the top was up, so they were spared having to drive home in a torrential downpour. Still, they were both soaking wet and cursing up a blue streak as Seth started the engine.
“That came out of nowhere,” he said, shaking his head in amazement.
“Looks like that annoying weatherman was actually right for the first time in his life.” Dylan paused. “He’s probably at the studio, gloating up a storm…ha. Get it? Gloating up a storm… You know, kind of like the storm that’s raging outside this Jeep?”
Seth stared at his friend. “Yeah, I got it the first time you said it, and it wasn’t funny then either.”
He reversed out of the parking space and turned onto the main road, the windshield wipers working so furiously he was surprised they didn’t fly away. Raindrops battered the roof of the car, so loud it was like the Jeep was being hit with an unending stream of golf balls. Luckily, he and Dylan only lived five minutes away. Visibility was totally shot, and the vehicle must have hydroplaned half a dozen times on the short trip home, but Seth got them there in one piece.
He parked in the driveway and killed the engine, then gazed at the scary black chaos beyond the windshield before shooting Dylan a sidelong look. “Ready?”
Dylan sighed. “Yup.”
Seth reached for the door handle. “See you on the other side, brother.”
They both hopped out of the Jeep like their asses were on fire.
The second he was out in the open, Seth was hit by a gust of wind that almost knocked him right off his feet—and for a man who stood at six-three and boasted two hundred pounds of solid muscle, that spoke volumes about the intensity of the wind.
By the time he and Dylan made it through the front door of the house, he was exhausted again. When he took a step, water spilled out of his sneakers and formed a huge puddle on the hardwood floor.
“You think we should board up the windows?” Dylan winced as the wall behind him rattled from the storm’s assault.
“Naah, I think we’ll be fine.” He kicked off his wet shoes. “I’m hopping in the shower.”
He headed for the bathroom, where he stripped off his trunks and turned on the faucet. His shower was quick, just a few minutes under the spray to warm up and wash the salt water off, and then he toweled off and headed to his bedroom. He threw on a pair of gray sweatpants and a black wifebeater, listening to the whine of the wind and the pounding of the rain. Outside his window, the sky had grown even darker, nearly black now. And it was only ten thirty in the morning.
As he stared at the rain streaking the windowpane, a pang of worry tugged on his gut. Shit. It was Sunday. That meant Miranda was teaching at the dance school today. Hopefully she’d looked out the window when she’d woken up this morning and had the sense to cancel the day’s classes.
Maybe he ought to check in, though. Just in case.
Without allowing himself to question his actions, he grabbed his cell phone and dialed Miranda’s number.
He immediately got bumped over to voice mail.
“Miranda, it’s Seth,” he said gruffly. “The weather’s shitty. Call me back.”
Not the most articulate message, but it got the job done. Too bad it didn’t guarantee a speedy response—it took three hours for her to get back to him, and when her voice came over the line, she sounded harried and annoyed.
“I saw your number on my phone,” she snapped. “What do you want, Seth?”
“Wow, remind me never to be concerned about you,” he said sarcastically. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
She had the decency to sound ashamed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped like that. Things are ridiculously crazy here.”
“Where are you?”
“The school.”
Another wave of worry washed over him. “Have you taken a look outside, Miranda? There’s a f**king tropical storm out there. Go home.”
“Trust me, I’m trying,” she said irritably. “I already cancelled the afternoon lessons, but a lot of the kids that were here for the morning classes can’t get in touch with their parents, so I’m trying to organize a carpool.”
“You need help?” He was already marching to the door. “I can be there in fifteen.”
“No, it’s fine. Really, Seth, don’t come here. The other teachers and I can handle it. We just need to bundle up the kids, pack up their stuff, and then we’re getting everyone home. I just can’t leave until Jase gets here.”