And promised himself that he’d keep things innocent with Cassian. Somehow.
Chapter Nine
Cassian
“Where are you taking me?” Cassian asked as they neared one of the first-class elevators.
His heart was pitter-pattering excitedly as his mind worked to figure out James’s surprise. Despite the three or so fingers of brandy he’d had in the Smoking Room, he still thought that he could manage it.
“You’ll see,” James replied in a singsong tone.
Cassian let out a fast breath, close to a scoff. James’s smug smile was a little infuriating, though mostly because it was cute. Cassian wished that he could pinch the man’s cheeks some more. Maybe later.
When they reached the elevator, James requested that they be taken to E-Deck.
“E-Deck?” Cassian asked.
“Actually, we’ll be taking the stairs from there. Down to F-Deck.”
F-Deck. What was on F-Deck? Cassian pursed his lips, his brows furrowing. Nothing interesting, besides the squash court, perhaps, and the—
Cassian’s eyes flew wide. He leaned over towhisper to James.
“Are we visiting the swimming bath?”
His voice came out a little louder than intended, and the man running the elevator cocked an eyebrow at them. James reeled back in what was obviously fake offense.
“Cassian, the swimming bath is closed,” James chided. “You know that.”
As soon as the elevator steward’s back was turned, James threw Cassian a vaguely threatening look (though he still looked plenty sweet while making such a supposedly menacing face). Cassian clamped his mouth shut to keep himself from laughing and inadvertently let out a snort. Immediately, the elevator man looked back at him. In his slightly inebriated state of mind, Cassian pretended to sniffle.
“I have a sensitivity to . . . oak.”
“Aren’t these panels pine?” James said mischievously, though he likely had no idea what kind of wood the panels were made of.
“And pine,” Cassian said. “All kinds of wood, really. Freshly lacquered ones.”
“Interesting.” James hummed. “Don’t you have one of those large, B-Deck staterooms? What a nightmare that must be for someone with your condition. How ever do you sleep?”
Bleary-eyed, Cassian leveled a look of his own. “Poorly.”
James pressed his lips together, very clearly trying not to laugh now, too. Shaking his head, Cassian rolled his eyes as the elevator came to a stop, and then the two exited together. Descending the stairs afterward, James began to chuckle. Cassian fought back the immature urge to reach out and shove him as they made it to the bottom.
“Aren’t you worried about your employment?” Cassian asked instead.
“Only a little.” James shrugged. “Even if we’re caught, though, I thought maybe I’d say that you paid for some private pool time.”
“Hmm...” Cassian narrowed his eyes as he thought it over. It was a believable enough excuse, he supposed. “How did you even procure the key to the swimming area? I’d have thought that the White Star Line kept a close watch on that sort of thing.”
James flashed an innocent smile. “I convinced the man at the Purser’s Office to let me have it for a couple of hours. In exchange for sneaking him some French ice cream tomorrow.”
Oh, James was so brilliant. His service—official through the White Star Line or not—was second to none.
“Clever man,” Cassian commended with a nod.
James scowled and scoffed. “Finally.”
Cassian froze mid-step, taken aback by James’s self-deprecating remark. James must have been referring to his missed opportunity for cleverness earlier when he’d brought them to the potato storage room. And Cassian hated it. He couldn’t allow James to speak about himself in such a harsh and hurtful way.
