A fierce flush crept up my neck, hot enough to rival the steam. “Go f**k yourself!”
He didn’t reply. He just offered one last, infuriatingly slow grin, turning his back to me and walking out. The second the heavy wooden door shut behind him, I bolted out of the stream, gripped the brass lock on the bathroom door, and twisted it until it clicked.
Finally secure, I began the long, strenuous process of peeling the soaking, muddy clothes from my body. The worst part was removing the skin-tight jeans, which felt like they had been superglued to my calves by the chicken gunk. I seriously contemplated looking around for a pair of scissors to just cut the denim off, but after a few minutes of aggressive tugging and cursing Jace entire bloodline, I managed to kick them free without extra tools.
