Doren
An aggressive rain started to fall before they reached the hotel. “I told you we should have got a cab,” Doren said, water dripping from the spiked ends of his hair. He shook himself like a dog, spraying the lobby and chuckling as August hollered and danced out of the way. Their clothes were pasted to their bodies, and Doren found himself fighting a losing battle to keep his eyes off August’s form.
“You,” he said, pointing at August almost accusingly, “are soaked through.”
“I’m fine. And walking is good for you,” August replied. “But we should get you dried off before you catch pneumonia and we prove to Anton just how right he is about my assisting abilities.”
“God forbid,” Doren shuddered playfully. He liked the acid in August’s voice, and the new, determined expression he’d see
