(no subject)
There was no real rhyme or reason as to why he was standing outside Fred's door in the compound, except that he wanted to be there. It was the middle of the night, and the sand had been lit up bright by the full moon and the turning of unfamiliar stars the whole way there. He'd been laying flat on his back in the semi-darkness of his dome, and too much time alone with his thoughts had worked out about as well as anything else.
Usually he had a pretty good repertoire of images to float across his closed eyelids. The island was full of gorgeous women, and he'd seen some of them naked, or been clutched to their bosoms. It was just that since that day in the kitchen, those pictures kept getting pushed aside for one in particular.
Like every woman on this island he'd ever laid thoughts on, she was too good for him.
But just maybe, he could be a work in progress.
He'd put his clothes back on-- jeans, a well-worn flannel, and it wasn't too long afterward that he found himself standing at her door.
"Jesus," he muttered, "what kind of crazy stalker am I turnin' into here?"
Jason knocked anyway, low and gentle so he didn't startle her if she was asleep.
Usually he had a pretty good repertoire of images to float across his closed eyelids. The island was full of gorgeous women, and he'd seen some of them naked, or been clutched to their bosoms. It was just that since that day in the kitchen, those pictures kept getting pushed aside for one in particular.
Like every woman on this island he'd ever laid thoughts on, she was too good for him.
But just maybe, he could be a work in progress.
He'd put his clothes back on-- jeans, a well-worn flannel, and it wasn't too long afterward that he found himself standing at her door.
"Jesus," he muttered, "what kind of crazy stalker am I turnin' into here?"
Jason knocked anyway, low and gentle so he didn't startle her if she was asleep.