-Snatching the cap dive-bombing midair like a frantic flea before it could land in the telltale signs of a piss puddle he’d shamelessly deposited moments earlier—out in the open, he drops it back on his head. A few pats later, and sweaty, chestnut coils soak into the damp fabric with little success.-
Musta gotten a little too excited whackin’ it last night. Only “sweat” I’m willin’ to work up so late. -He admits, side-stepping the puddle and ramming shoulders with her as he passes.- ‘Course, might just be your upper-lip.
That's funny, coming from someone who does nothing but give me lip all day. -She mutters, knowing fully well what connotations Nate is likely to derive from that statement. At this point, it would be more of a surprise if he didn't twist her words to his own advantage.-












