Page 49 of Mutant Mine

“About plants?”

“Yes — but alsoFrankenstein.”

“You have?”

“Yep. Whenever my brain gets too full of facts, I try some fiction.”

“Do you like it?”

“So far, yeah. It’s pretty horrible…”

“Yes. To play with life in that way.”

“Right. But it’s a good story! I want to find out what happened to the poor creature after he was left on his own. Thank you for recommending it.”

“You are welcome. I am glad you are enjoying it.”

“When did you read it, anyway? I can’t imagine you sitting around reading stories.” I really can’t. It seems too… cozy for him. Would he have a blanket and a cup of hot cocoa, too?

“In prison,” Roth says. “I read a great deal there.”

“Oh... Well, I’m glad you got to do that. I don’t think they leave you much free time for reading on Chronus.”

“No. I should think not.”

There is an uncomfortable silence as we both think about what lies ahead of Roth if the ship is recaptured — the outcome that I’ve been rooting for all along.

“Okay, time for me to get out of here before I cook,” I say at last.

Reluctantly, I get to my feet and clamber out of the bath. I wish I could just stay in my warm pink pond forever, like a swamp creature.

I grab a towel and dry off, then start getting dressed. My underclothes are kinda stale — they’re the ones I wore to bed last night. I consider putting them back on anyway, but then think…

“Um, Roth? Are you still there?”

“Yes.”

“I forgot to bring a fresh t-shirt and shorts in here with me. Could you maybe pass me some from the closet?”

“Of course.”

After a minute, he knocks at the door.

I wrap the towel tightly above my breasts, holding it to make doubly sure that it won’t fall, then open the door. It’s so hot in here that a cloud of steam puffs out into the bedroom. Roth stands at the door, closer than he thought he’d be. I have to tilt my neck back to look him in the eye.

He’s staring down at me. I must look crazy: naked, wet, and flushed from the heat — to say nothing of my very fashionable towel dress.

Suddenly feeling self-conscious, I stick my hand out for the clothes.

“Could you…?” I ask.

Roth eyes are a darker blue than I’ve ever seen them. Under his focused gaze, my blush turns hotter. Finally, he presses the folds of cotton into my hand without saying anything. Somewhere in the fabric, our fingertips brush together.

Then I step back and slam the door right in his face.

Jesus, Rory, why?!I hiss to myself, my head in my hands.

When I emerge from the bathroom again, fully dressed, Roth is sat at the table. He’s reading on the tablet, but looks up when I come in.

---