Read Edge of Chaos (Love on the Edge #1) for Free Online

class sat there with giant frosty mugs in front of them.
    “Whoa, who invited the meteorologist?” the dark-haired one asked. He wore an OU T-shirt and jeans, his brown eyes looking me up and down.
    “I did,” Dash said and turned to me. “Blake, this is Paul Whitmore.” He pointed to the dark-haired boy.
    “Hey.” Paul leaned toward me. “What do meteorologists get after a night of tequila and bad tacos?”
    I shrugged. “I don’t know, what?”
    “Rear-flank downdrafts,” Paul said and burst out laughing. He stopped only long enough to take another swig of beer.
    I chuckled. “That’s so corny it’s almost funny.”
    “Don’t mind him, he’s an idiot.” Dash pulled out a barstool for me to sit on. He pointed to the boy sitting next to Paul. “And this is John Langston.”
    “Wondered what took you so long,” John said, eyeing Dash. “Where’d you have to pick this one up?” He had a perfectly mussed natural red faux-hawk and kind blue eyes.
    “I followed him here,” I answered and took a seat.
    “Worried about me, John?” Dash asked and sat next to me.
    I glanced at Dash. “I’m guessing your close friends call you Ringo?”
    The two boys laughed while Dash pressed his lips together to stop his smile.
    “Nice! We should start calling you that,” John said before taking a swig of his beer.
    “No way, man. I’d be Ringo if anyone in this group was Ringo.” Paul shook his head.
    I turned to Dash. “Confession time. I’ve known who you were since the first day of class. I love your site.”
    “Whoa, stalker alert.” Paul arched an eyebrow.
    “I knew we should’ve put our pictures on the site, too! You get too much attention, man.” John punched Dash on the shoulder.
    He rolled his eyes. “Glad you like the site. It’s always a work in progress.”
    “Well, I think it’s great. I have to ask, though, how’d you get such an interesting name?” I shifted in my seat and fiddled with a cardboard coaster.
    “Don’t let it lead you to believe he’s cool or anything. It’s not his real name,” Paul said.
    I glanced at Dash. “What’s your real name?”
    “Ha! You’ll never know, sweetheart. He never tells anyone. Not even us.” John clanked his beer against Dash’s before taking another gulp.
    “Why does everyone call you Dash then?”
    “He’s always making a mad dash for shelter because he stays in the field way too long!” Paul answered before Dash could.
    “I can speak for myself, you know.” Dash shook his head.
    “In the field?”
    “Well, technically it isn’t always a field, though I have had to sprint through several after a tornado changed its course unexpectedly.”
    I couldn’t help but picture Dash running through a wide open field as a movie-worthy tornado chased him, hungry for his life. The image actually sparked a flare of terror in my chest. “How long have you been chasing storms?” I asked.
    “All my life really. When I was eight I stole my dad’s video camera and stood on the back deck in the middle of a severe thunderstorm. A piece of hail ended up cracking the lens. I was grounded for a month.” His eyes shot downward for a moment. “That same year our neighborhood got hit by an F-3.”
    I gasped.
    “We were out grocery shopping when it hit,” he continued. “My parents had no idea what to do. Dad frantically drove toward home, like if he got us there we’d be safe. I remember looking out the back window and seeing nothing but a gray-white beast rotating and flinging debris all over the place. We made it to our street, but our home was destroyed. It took a dozen other’s homes, too.”
    “I’m so sorry,” I said, resisting the urge to reach across the table and squeeze his hand. “Was anyone hurt?”
    “Seven people were killed. Two of them were our neighbors.” Dash didn’t blink for a few moments, as if he wasn’t at the table anymore but in front of his destroyed home. “I knew from that moment on I’d never let another