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“What?” He smirks.
“That’s just so…” I shake my head as I try to articulate my words. “Frigging hot.”
His face falls. “And being a criminal on a shipping container isn’t hot to you?”
“Well.” Oh crap, that came out wrong. “I just meant…”
He cuts me off. “I know what you meant.” He keeps looking through the dresses.
He moves to the other rack along the window and concentrates on his task. I, however, have a million questions and follow him around like the annoying person I am.
“What did you do in the Marines?”
“I was a nautical engineer and a chopper pilot.”
I get a vision of him in his grey uniform flying a helicopter, and a thrill of excitement runs through my deviant bloodstream. He would have been a fucking hot chopper pilot.
“A pilot,” I gasp.
“Of choppers.” He frowns.
“Choppers, planes, same thing.”
“No, not really. Different aircraft.” He smirks over at me and I beam a broad smile back at him.
He continues to flick through the rack, distracted at his task at hand as he pulls out a little black dress. “I like this one.”
I take it from him without even looking at it. I am too busy with my Top Gun fantasy.
“How long were you in the Marines?” I ask.
“Six years.”
I bite my bottom lip as I think. He hands me another two dresses.
“Why did you leave?”
“I missed home.”
I frown. “But you are not home now, anyway.”
He raises his eyebrows at me and my ten thousand questions.
Damn it, this is the most interesting story I have heard, and just when he is about to leave, he tells me about it. I want to hear it all.
“Do they know this on the boat?”
“Ship,” he corrects.
“Ah, yes, ship.” I roll my eyes.
“No. Why would I tell them anything personal about me? They are not my friends.”
I smile as a warm, fuzzy feeling runs through me. “Am I your friend?”
He smiles and puts his arm around my shoulder. “I would like to think so.” He pulls me toward him and gently kisses my temple. What a sweet gesture. He instantly goes back to looking at his dresses and I stand and watch him with my mind going crazy.
I don’t want him to go.
