Ainsley, as always, did not react to Mason's phrasing. "Your kind," was something the kid had said in the past, and Ainsley wasn't a huge fan of it. Not because it made him feel different, and not because it lumped him in with other, less civilized vampires, but because it was a hold over from Mason's mother. It was her way of thinking, not Mason's.
But the kid was young still, and that he'd come as far as he had was a fucking miracle.
"Well, I know I do," he said with a slightly teasing smile. "We might not sweat, but I get shit spilled on me at the bar all the time. Come on."
He turned and led the way to the bathroom, flicking on the light. "There's soap and shampoo and all. Help yourself to whatever you want to use. There should be a clean towel in the cupboard there."