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with the same answer each round. He was obviously losing his mind. To insinuate—no, correction—to come right out and accuse Doren of trying to get him into bed? Doren probably thought he was the most self-loving person that had ever been presented. With all those people offering themselves up, at Doren's beck and call for no more than a crook of his finger or flash of his smile … August dropped into the chair beside the bed, frustrated and furious with himself. He wished he could call home, spend some time whining to his mother. Or a friend, if he had one willing to give him the time of day. But who would understand? Who wouldn't tell him to stop acting like an infant? After all, wasn't he? Doren wasn't the one acting like a scared kid. Doren wasn't accusing him of playing ridiculous and unlikely games. August was the only one out of the two of them who wasn't being professional. He could almost hear the rebuke: you work for a rock star, buck up and stop your damn complaining.
    So instead, he showered. He dried and scrunched the curls in his hair, and watched television until noon. August was just poking his head out the door, in search of a diner or café, when Doren also stepped out of his. Doren looked awesome: tight black jeans, polished boots, and a gray American Eagle shirt with long sleeves that looked two sizes too small but absolutely delicious stretched over his chest and flat stomach. Was it really possible for a man to be that gorgeous in real life?
    He dropped his eyes quickly when Doren looked over and caught him staring.
    "You going for lunch?"
    August nodded, his tongue suddenly too thick to speak. "Sure, August," his conscience berated, "he's throwing himself at you." Nope, it wasn't the other way around at all. It's not like he was the one who could barely stop himself from shaking when he saw Doren, now was it?
    Doren's face was still dark with emotion as he walked towards August. His brow was creased and his eyes were cold and hard. The merest whisper of eyeliner darkened them, highlighting the blue and giving them even more depth than they had already. When he paused at August's door, leaning against the wall, eyes raking August's face, August was sure the key card was going to tremble right out of his own clenched fingers.
    "Why do you do that?"
    "What?" August swallowed. "Why do I do what?"
    Doren was still watching August intently but his brow was smoothing, his face softening. "Why do you look at me like that if you really can't stand me?"
    August choked on another attempt to inspire speech. "I never said I couldn't stand you."
    "You literally just said—"
    He didn't let Doren finish. "What I said was, we work together. That we have boundaries that can't be crossed." Doren's expression darkened again and it made August's chest tight to see the way his mouth firmed into a line. "I'm not an idiot, Doren. I can see you just like anyone else can. You're gorgeous. You're sexy. Anyone would be a fool to turn you away. But there are so many reasons that it would be a bad thing—a terrible thing actually—if either of us acted on it."
    "Like?"
    "Like for one, you're my superior and I need to respect you and take direction from you. How awkward would that get if we slept together? And for another thing, I'm not like that. I'm not that kinda guy. It's a cliché, I know, but it's true. I like to believe that sex means something." He waved off Doren's opening lips before Doren could say anything. "I'm not talking diamonds and preachers, Doren. But love. Real love at least. I know that makes me sound ridiculously foolish and old-fashioned and probably not gay enough for you to be taken seriously, but I'm sorry, that's me."
    With a sigh Doren closed his eyes and looked up at the ceiling. He paused, seeming to listen to sounds out of the reach of normal humanity, before dropping his eyes back to August's face. "You don't have to worry, Auggie. I'm not interested in you like that." He pushed himself off the