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Chapter 8: Washroom Spill - R
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... .. I’m soaked..." Reilin’s mouth kept running. I hooked an arm under her shoulder, helping her to her feet. Looking her over, she saw that her knee was bruised, not broken.
"Ains, is there a way to turn her off?" I asked, trying to tune out her yammering. The initial request for over-the-counter rutting no longer held its edge, and she was starting to grate on my ear.
"It’ll run its course in a bit," she said, tapping a finger against her bar, "when she runs out of secrets."
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