“Sorry,” she whispered.
They sat there, unmoving, clinging to one another, and listened. The touchdown had happened a couple of minutes ago, about a mile outside the town limits. It had lasted a mere forty-seven seconds. Felix’s distraction was so effective they’d both completely missed it.
But the tornado warning wasn’t lifted yet.
“There might be another one?” Jo wailed against his shirt.
“Sounds like it,” he replied into her hair.
“Well. At least you smell good.”
Felix’s hand flexed, involuntarily, against her hip.
Jo really, really didn’t want to let go of Felix. He practically engulfed her, and she still wasn’t close enough to him. Too many clothes in the way. Oh Jesus, was this that thing where people who were about to die got really horny all of a sudden? Some “we might not make it through the night, sweetheart, so let’s make every moment count” bullshit?
That was the only rational explanation for why she’d blurted out how good he smelled, like cloves and coffee with a hint of vanilla sweetness. And for the way her pussy twitched when his large, warm hand tightened on her ass. Because Felix was fully grabbing her ass right now. And she did not care to stop him. She knew it was a great ass. That’s why her “signature look,” as her friend Kim called it, was high-waisted pants and cropped tees.
Just two people with great asses, holding each other in a dim basement, terrified of dying.
Two people who were friends. And colleagues. Fucking hell, they were at Felix’s workplace. He’d been so considerate of her at White Hills last weekend. She owed him the same.
“I think I’m okay now.” Because Jo was only human, she allowed her hands to slide along his taut waist as she released him. One of her fingers snagged on the fabric between his shirt buttons, and she heard his breath hitch. He disentangled from her quickly after that.
They sat on the floor, backs to the wall. Staring dead ahead, not looking at each other. Silently waiting for the all clear.
It came about ten minutes later. No more touchdowns were reported. The skies were clearing, the weatherman said, leaving only a few high, light gray clouds.
Felix got to his feet and offered Jo a hand up. She took it, but they both let go as soon as she was standing. She retrieved her phone from where she’d dropped it in a panic, relieved to see the screen wasn’t cracked and everything worked fine.
“Shall we go see what that sound was?” Felix asked, running his fingers through his hair. Fingers that had just been on her ass.
Stop it, you animal.
Cautiously, they went upstairs.
In the middle of the children’s area, they found the source of the noise that had sent them into each other’s arms. The entire space was situated under a massive glass skylight, which had shattered when a tree branch ten feet long and two feet across landed on it. The branch had hit a bookshelf on the way down, toppling it and scattering books all over. Felix glanced back toward the stairs in the lobby.
“We were right underneath this,” he whispered.
“Shit.”
“I’m so glad that’s all it was.” He raked his hair again. “I-I thought the whole building had come down.” Felix stared at the mess of branch, books, and glass, his eyes slightly unfocused.
“You okay?” Jo asked. He nodded distractedly. “Felix?”
He blinked his eyes back into focus and found her gaze. “I’m sorry.”
She shook her head, stepping closer to him. “Don’t be. This was fucking terrifying.”
“I meant I’m sorry I, um…” He blushed and looked in the general direction of the floor. “I was overly familiar with you.”
Jo hid a smile. She’d never heard a more polite term for feeling someone up. “Hey, I made you listen to my sad little moving-to-Kansas story, so maybe we both overstepped a bit tonight.”
“You didn’t—Jo, I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s all good, Felix, really,” she interrupted. No way could she tell him she actually, kinda, really, really liked it. “If it makes you feel better, I accept your apology, but I’ve gotten a lot worse from guys I’ve liked a lot less. We were both scared. Please don’t worry about it.”
“All right,” he said. “Thank you for understanding.”
“No problem.” She gestured broadly around the children’s area. “What do we do about all of this?”
Felix stood a little straighter, falling back on his professionalism. He almost pulled it off, but Jo could detect the slight flutter in his voice as he took in the destruction. “Right. We have emergency protocols. I need to call Warren and the appropriate response team—likely that’s the fire department. No injuries makes this simpler.” He turned sharply to Jo. “You’re not injured, are you?”
“I’m fine,” she assured him, warmth spreading through her at his concern. “Anything I can do to help?”
“I can handle it. You should go home, make sure Merry is okay. And your car.”
“Oh my God, Felix. What about Tito?”
His eyes went wide, and he scrambled for his phone. He didn’t even turn off the flashlight first, just jabbed at the screen and pressed it to his ear. After only a few seconds, the jovial timbre of Tito’s voice came over the tiny speaker.
“Tito, thank God,” Felix said and continued in rapid-fire Spanish. He gave Jo a relieved nod, and she gave a thumbs-up in return.
She wandered back to the lobby and peered out the windows. If it weren’t for the tree branches, roofing shingles, and other debris scattered around, it would have seemed like a perfectly normal Friday evening. The sky was as big and blue as could be. The sun hadn’t even set yet. Strange. It had felt like the middle of the night somehow, huddled underground with Felix, safe in his embrace.
Jo shook her head at her own flight of fancy and went behind the front desk. Her books, dice, and pencils had scattered when she’d dropped her tote, so she crouched to clean up. It wasn’t long before Felix joined her, no longer on the phone. He pulled a binder out of a drawer and, with trembling hands, flipped to a tab in the middle. He paused when he realized Jo was watching him.