Doren
Doren eyed August as though August had lost his mind. “No way, I’m not doing it. You can ask a hundred times—a thousand, even, and I’ll still say no. So, stop trying.”
“Oh, come on, you baby. It’ll look good on you.” August held up the tux and shook it. “Kind of James Bond-y.”
Doren took the suit from August’s hand and dropped it on the floor in a pile. “No.” He walked past August, ignoring August’s eye roll, and grabbed his jeans from the bathroom. He held them up, shaking out the wrinkles. “I told you, Aug. Rockers don’t wear tuxes. Ever. Like…not even on the red carpet. Like…I won’t even be in a tux on my own wedding day. And if I need a jacket, it will be my leather one, thank you very much.”
The view of August bending over to pick up the abandoned clothing was well worth the
