Read Online Hover by Anne A. Wilson - Free Book Online

something. They do sell the flip-flops and I bought the smallest size they had.”
    â€œYou bought all this? Eric, I don’t have any money with me, but I’ll pay you back. I feel terrible. I didn’t think you were going to buy stuff.”
    â€œSara, it’s nothing.”
    â€œAnd you’re lending me your clothes. Are you sure?”
    â€œOf course. I’m just worried you’ll be freaked out about wearing my gym stuff. They’re clean. I mean they’re washed and everything.”
    â€œNo, no, it’s not that. I just hate that I’m putting you out. You’re giving me your clothes. Spending your money. You gave up your evening to write stupid award nominations.”
    â€œThey weren’t stupid and I haven’t given up anything tonight.”
    His gaze doesn’t waver and I’m held there, stunned by the current that just shot through my body.
    â€œI … well, thanks … for all this.”
    â€œYou’re welcome,” he says.
    I pry my eyes away. “So, where are the showers?”
    â€œI’ll show you. I’ll have to stand guard, though. There’s only one place to take showers in Officer Country.”
    â€œOh. Well, I’ll be quick about it.”
    I take my pile and follow him down the passageway. When he checks the shower room, it’s being used, so we stand outside and wait. Two guys walk out, towels around their waists, but I don’t dwell on it. Eric then gives the okay.
    I’m in, shampooed, conditioned, soaped, and washed in about three minutes. And I am so glad he brought me some flip-flops. The shower floor was just … well, I’m not going to dwell on that either.
    I look at my rumpled, sweaty flight suit on the floor. Along with it lie sweaty shorts, a sweaty T-shirt, sweaty underwear, a sweaty bra, and sweaty socks. I wonder if they have the ability to do their laundry individually on this ship like we do on the Kansas City.
    Well, there’s no way I’m putting on my gross underwear. I know Eric probably won’t appreciate it, but then again, he’ll never know. I put on his shorts without underwear. But the bra, shoot. I’m going to have to endure that one. Yuck. It’s still damp. His maroon shirt goes on after that. I do a super-quick brush of the hair and I’m done. If I were timing, I’d bet six minutes, tops.
    I thought I was pretty fast. I mean, I was really fast. But when I emerge from the shower room, there’s a line of three guys waiting to go in. I hate that I’ve made them wait.
    â€œI feel a thousand times better,” I say as we duck back into Brian’s room. “Thank you.”
    I busy myself putting things away, but then, I realize he hasn’t responded. I turn and find him leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, just watching.
    I grab my hair and self-consciously twist it up, securing it into a ponytail with the rubber band he gave me earlier.
    â€œIt’s longer than I thought,” he says, inclining his head slightly, indicating my hair.
    â€œOh, I, um … yeah,” I say.
    When it’s wet, I guess my hair is pretty long, falling mid-back.
    â€œSo, uh … how about your dirty stuff?” he says. “Did you want to throw that in the laundry?”
    â€œYou have one?”
    â€œYeah. It’s down two decks.”
    â€œOh.” I’m imagining myself running belowdecks in flip-flops.
    â€œI’ll take it for you. That’s not a problem. I have detergent, too.”
    I so desperately want to wash my bra and underwear, but oh man. This guy is entirely too good-looking to wash my underwear.
    â€œReally, I’m okay with it.”
    â€œOkay, just a second.” Before I’ve really thought it through, I’m taking off my bra the clandestine way. It’s easy in a big, draped shirt like I’m wearing now. Hands behind back to unhook clasp, pull arm toward body