“Super fast for you, maybe.”
His amusement faded and his gaze drifted down. “About that—”
Down the aisle, someone coughed quietly, then pointedly cleared their throat. “Sirs.”
Adequin’s pulse spiked and a wave of warmth rose to her cheeks as she glanced over her shoulder. Lace stood at the end of the aisle, and she put her fist to her chest in salute while Griffith fought a smile and tucked the whiskey behind his back.
Adequin stood and faced the mechanic. “Circitor?”
If Lace had noticed the bottle, she didn’t show any indication as she gave a casual, straight-faced nod. “Drone is repaired, whenever you’re ready for it.”
Griffith nodded. “Bring it to the lift, if you don’t mind.”
“Aye-aye.” Lace turned to go, then hesitated. “Plan still on, sir?”
Griffith ran a hand down the side of his face. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll get to it.”
Lace nodded, then disappeared around the corner.
Adequin quirked a brow at him. “Get to what?”
“Nothin’，” he said, letting out a sigh. “Just pestering me about stuff I’ve been putting off, as usual.”
“Well, I guess if your mechanical brawn’s back in working order, I’ll leave you to it.”
He scratched the back of his neck. “There’s more we should discuss before I head out tonight—can we nightcap?”
“Yeah. Swing by after second shift.”
He held up the whiskey. “Only if he’s invited too.”
“Twist my arm,” she agreed as she backed away down the aisle. “But you’ll have to leave a few hours after—so only one.”
“One bottle?”
“One drink.”
“When was the last time we had just one drink?”
He winked, and she rolled her eyes as she retreated up the aisle and back to the bridge.
CHAPTER SIX
What must have been moments after second shift ended, Griffith arrived at Adequin’s door with the bottle of mellilla whiskey in hand. They proceeded to put away half of it during the evening’s events: discussing the last batch of much-delayed headlines that came in from the Core, watching a bootleg film she’d confiscated from an oculus’s bunk, and playing over an hour’s worth of poker, at which she’d handily destroyed him.
Now she sat on the stiff couch in her quarters, wallowing in the warmth of an oversized gray Titan sweatshirt while Griffith lay on the floor beside the couch. Adequin tucked her legs up underneath her and nursed the remainder of the whiskey in her glass.
“More?” Griffith waved the bottle at her.
“No way, Centurion. Are you trying to kill me?”
He grinned, his cheeks flushed with slight intoxication.
“We should probably stop,” she said. “You have to captain a ship in a few hours.”
“Yeah, yeah. The thing basically flies itself.”
“Speaking of—you wanted to finish talking about crew evals?” She spun the last few sips around in her glass, then took another drink.
“No … I wanted to talk about stepping down.”
The swig of whiskey stalled at the back of Adequin’s throat, and she almost choked. It blazed a fiery path into her stomach before she managed to croak out a wheezing, “Excuse me?”
“Relax,” he said, amusement creasing the corners of his eyes. “Not from service. Just from my post.”