But we don’t float far. We just bob with the waves. Up and down. I let her gaze down, but I don’t let her dive alone. No one dives alone out here. Ever. Not even me. That’s why we keep a stash of food out here. Because fishing by myself is a risk Maart won’t let me take.
Soon though. Soon, Anya and I will run out of protein and we will have to fish this reef. It’s gonna suck, but it’s at least ten days away, so I push that thought aside when she turns over on her back and floats face up with me, her fingers twisted up in the loose fabric of my shorts, mine still holding fast to her t-shirt.
And it’s nice, I think. To float with her. To be with her. Just two people gazing up at a low, hot sun.
I turn my head and look at her. She’s got her eyes closed. But her skin is getting cold and she’s starting to shiver. So I grab her hand and we call it a day.
We have to climb a slimy ladder to get back up to the long, metal landing. I make her go first, just in case she slips. Also so I can look at her ass through the thin, wet fabric of her shorts, but mostly to keep her safe. She’s sustained enough injuries over the past week.
We both have. It’s time to settle into this now.
Once on the landing she begins to shiver for real, wrapping her arms around herself in an attempt to keep warm. The sun is on the other side of the rig, so we’re in the shade and there’s no hope of getting warm down here. But once we climb all the way up to the helipad, the heat of the sun is a relief.
She stands in the middle, face tipped towards the final rays of the day.
But I grab her hand and lead her over to a ladder on the side of the mechanical building. This one is not coated with algae, but the paint is pitted and flaking from decades of salt water and sun.
Once we’re on top of the roof the wind is free to whip past us, blowing her t-shirt up like a balloon and making her scramble to keep it from flipping up. I shrug when she looks at me, embarrassed after partially flashing me her tits, and she sucks in a deep breath and points her face back at the sun.
I do the same, closing my eyes and opening my arms wide, letting the hot wind flow past me. I crack one eye open when Anya walks up next to me and smile when she does the same.
I’m not exactly tired. I would not call this a particularly strenuous training day. Most of the time I was distracted by Anya. But I’m tired in other ways, the way I was that day we spent inside. Weary. So I drop down to the roof and lie back, hissing a little when my back touches the sun-baked concrete.
Anya drops down beside me, sighing when she realizes how warm the roof is. I peek at her again. Her eyes are closed and her shirt drying from the wind. Less than a week on the Rock and her hair is already a tangle of unruly, blonde-streaked waves and her skin is already losing the too-pale look she had when I first saw her back on the ship. Her cheeks are pink, but her arms and legs are starting to turn a nice shade of golden brown.
I look back up at the sun and close my eyes, letting the yellow orb stain the back of my eyelids. This feels nice. The way yesterday felt in the game room. Comfortable.
Anya flips over on her stomach, hands under her cheek like a pillow, her head turned away from me. She looks like she’s ready to fall asleep.
I turn over as well. Then my fingertips are pulling up her t-shirt, exposing the small of her back.
She goes stiff and sucks in a breath.
I drag the tips of my fingers lightly over her skin, tracing a pattern and making it prickle up in goosebumps.
She doesn’t move.
I know what she thinks. She thinks I want sex. And maybe I do. But mostly I don’t.
I have decided that I will not use sex to get her secret. It’s not fair. I would be one of them if I did that, and I’m not one of them. I might kill for them on command, but I am not one of them.
So no, I’m really not thinking about fucking her. I’m thinking about knowing her.
And that is a far, far more dangerous thing. Because once I know her, I won’t be able to unknow her, will I?