Kestrel's POV
I turn away from him quickly and fiddle with my fingers, my heart racing from the sight of him standing there in nothing but that dangerously low towel.
"Not only are you an arrogant brat," I tell him, trying to focus on anything other than the way water droplets are still sliding down his chest, "but you're a disorganized freak. Because tell me why someone who acts so tough and hard on the outside doesn't know how to differentiate between colors, doesn't know where to keep books, doesn't know where to keep even a pen, doesn't know where to—"
I freeze because while I'm rambling, Zeph moves silently behind me, his presence like a wall of heat at my back.
"Are you done?" he asks, his voice low and amused. "Is this your way of saying you're welcome? Because how I keep my thi
