“Hold on.” I limped into my closet and found the sweatshirt I was looking for. “Here,” I said, tossing it to him. He caught it and his frown turned into a scowl. “Whose is this?” he asked, holding up the extra-extra-large Penn State hoodie. “Mine now,” I said. “Whose was it?” “An old boyfriend. We dated for a couple of months after I graduated college and was working in Hagerstown. He was a social studies teacher.” “Blake.” He said the name like it was an insult. I raised an eyebrow. “You know, Unfucked Sloane would be giving you shit for knowing my ex-boyfriend’s name from fifteen years ago.
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