He unties the brown—formerly yellow—T-shirt from around my leg, then reaches down to the cuff of my jeans. He tries to pull it up, but the blood and damp weather have made the denim shrink and the jeans go no farther. I breathe in deeply as pain shoots up my leg. “Don’t think jeans were a good choice today,” he tells me. “This happened yesterday.” “Take them off.” “Shouldn’t you buy me dinner first?” I ask. I don’t realize I’m going to say the joke until it’s already out. My face warms, but my embarrassment is short-lived as he finally lets his smirk grow into a smile.
