“I have a hoodie he can wear,” I blurted. “It’s in the coat closet.” “Will it fit him?” she asked, and I resented her dubious expression. I wasn’t that small. I had abs, too, damn it. “It will fit.” It barely fit. The light-yellow fabric hugged his shoulders and arms, a size too small, but Christ, he looked hot. And there was this complete caveman satisfaction in having him wear something of mine for once. In high school, I’d practically lived in his hockey jersey, and I’d loved how it had made me feel like his. It had been stupid and childish, and I guess I still had some growing up to do
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