As her hands fumbled with his shirt, trying to get it up and over his broad shoulders, as she pressed her cheek against smooth brown skin, and as he made a soft sound in the back of his throat that seemed to be his way of holding in check some other, less polite sound that Hazel desperately wanted to hear, she couldn’t help thinking of how strange it was to be doing this with a friend. She pulled back, looking at him, his mouth swollen, his breaths ragged. His eyes were closed. “Hazel,” he started to say, and she realized that whatever it was he was about to tell her, she didn’t want to hear
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