Chapter Four #2
“Just . . . wanted to.” James shrugged, his stomach still topsy-turvy. He extended his hand that was holding the coffee. “Cream, no sugar.”
Mr. Livingston’s smile broadened the tiniest bit. “You remembered.”
Warmth flooded James’s cheeks, and he smiled back.
“I remembered.”
Mr. Livingston took the cup from him. He only had one little sip before handing it back.
“Decent enough,” the man said. James would have been offended had the shimmer in the man’s eyes and the particular curve of his lips not betrayed his real feelings. “I’ll have more after I change.”
He walked past James and entered the closest changing cubicle. James raked his free hand through his hair. Dear God, why was he torturing himself like this?
Moments later, Mr. Livingston emerged looking . . . Oh, he looked nothing short of spectacular. Lean and muscular, the man’s physique was exquisite. And the curls of chest hair peeking out from his blue one-piece swimming suit were bloody perfection. James could barely even stand looking at him.
His eyes flickered southward, and he caught sight of Mr. Livingston’s bulge. Heat flooded his cheeks, and his heart began to hammer.
Alright, now he really couldn’t stand to keep looking at him.
Mr. Livingston chuckled softly. “It’s a bit snug, isn’t it? It seems as though Mr. Quinn must have forgotten to pack the replacement I purchased before we left home.” He paused to survey his own body. “But this one fits well enough. In most places.”
In James’s opinion, it fit too well. In all places.
Frazzled, he thrust the coffee cup into Mr. Livingston’s hands before quickly turning away, knowing that he might not survive another second of bearing witness to every magnificent curve of the other man’s physique. Not that the whole of it wasn’t burned into his memory now.
James shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Mr. Livingston savor the coffee, the man letting out not one, but two contented-sounding hums as he finished the beverage. Each one made James’s knees wobble.
He wanted to coax forth more of those hums. In a much more private area of the ship.
“Here you are, James,” Mr. Livingston said, handing the cup and saucer back to him. “I’m not sure how you knew that I’d need that first thing in the morning.”
James’s stomach fluttered once more. But he couldn’t make himself respond, much less look the other man in the eye.
Mr. Livingston clapped him on the shoulder as he passed.
After placing the cup and saucer by his feet, James continued to stare at the floor tiles as he waited for Mr. Livingston to loop around to the stairs and enter the swimming bath.
“It’s surprisingly pleasant,” the man said. James finally let himself look up. Mr. Livingston had gone in up to his torso, though the water kept lapping up even higher, wetting his chest. “I wish you could come in with me.”
James smiled a bit.
“Me too,” he admitted somewhat shyly, keeping his voice low.
Soon enough, Mr. Livingston was fully in the water. He swam over to the edge closest to James.
“Do you know how to swim?” Mr. Livingston asked.
“Not well.” James huffed an embarrassed half-laugh. “I can flop around a little, but that’s the extent of my skills, I’m afraid.”
“Ah, that’s unfortunate for a sailor, isn’t it?”
Laughing some more, James retorted, “I’m not a sailor. I’m a steward.”
“On the most luxurious ship in the world.”
“Yes, well, I’ll be sure to have my lifebelt with me if it comes to it.”
Mr. Livingston shook his head, playfully flickering his eyes up to the ceiling.
“You won’t need it. Not on this ship.”
“In that case, I have no need to know how to swim properly, either,” James reasoned.
Mr. Livingston narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips like he was considering something. And then he swept his hand through the water.
Letting out a loud “Fuck!,” James staggered back a couple of steps when the water hit him. Mr. Livingston only laughed. And then James laughed, too.
“Bastard,” James said, pretending to scowl at his wet trousers.
“For language like that, I’ll have to report you to the White Star Line,” Mr. Livingston chided.
“Go ahead. You’ll freeze on the way to the inquiry office.”
Mr. Livingston heaved an obviously fake sigh and floated onto his back. “I’ll report you later, then.”
Crossing his arms, James let out a scoff. “Can’t wait.”
Almost immediately, Mr. Livingston began kicking his feet in an exaggerated manner, his erratic and vigorous movements splashing more water onto James’s clothing. James chuckled and walked backward another meter or so from the pool.
“I’ll have to report you, too,” James taunted. “I’ll find the captain himself and tell him that we have an unruly passenger on board. ‘Mr. Livingston is a menace,’ that’s what I’ll tell him. And then they’ll . . . well, I’m not sure what will happen. Maybe they’ll toss you overboard.”
“Cassian,” the other man said through a laugh as he righted himself in the water. “You can call me Cassian.”
James’s face warmed. “Are we friends?”
There was a pause.
“We can be.”
The two locked eyes and smiled at one another.
“Alright, well, maybe I won’t report you, then,” James said.
Cassian’s smile broadened. “Good.”
And then, as James ought to have predicted, Cassian fucking splashed him again.
“Bloody Christ,” he spluttered. “You’re borderline intolerable.”
Cassian chuckled. He waded over to the edge of the swimming bath closest to the stairs.
“Come sit.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not? You’re soaked. You might as well put your feet in.”
Rolling his bottom lip between his teeth, James thought it over for a moment.
“Fine,” he relented, bending over to remove his shoes. “But if someone reports me for this—”
“No one will report you,” Cassian said, sounding playfully irritated. “Except for me. And I’m already reporting you for something far worse than sitting by the edge of the pool.”
James chortled as he ripped off his socks. Afterward, he rolled up both legs of his trousers to his knees and waddled over to the staircase. His rear end would be soaked, too, by the end of this. But he couldn’t manage to care very much. Because he wanted to make Cassian happy.
Descending the stairs, James sighed contentedly as his feet and calves became submerged in the warm saltwater. He sat, and Cassian smirked at him.
“You’re not a very responsible employee,” the man mock-chided as he swam over.
He stopped when he reached the side of the staircase. In response to the remark, James stretched out his leg and shoved Cassian’s shoulder with his foot.
Over the next thirty minutes, the two men chatted about their prior experiences swimming (Cassian bragged about having had private swimming instruction, while James regaled him with stories of trying—and failing—to swim in the River Thames on two separate, mortifying occasions).
James continued to sit as Cassian floated here and there in the pool with ease.
All the while, James’s feelings for Cassian—friendly and romantic, both—rose and crashed with the movements of the ship and the waves of the illustrious swimming bath.