I try not to think about sitting with Alice Peterson for three hours, knowing she's wearing my shirt. I run to get a black turtleneck from my emergency drawer as she quickly washes the dishes. When I hand her the shirt, I realize it will be comically large on her small body. At six feet, I'm the shortest Stag brother, but I'm still about a foot taller than Alice and a great deal bigger than her all around.
I may not be a professional hockey player like my brother, but I run five miles most days and hit the gym with a merciless trainer whenever I'm not pounding the pavement. I hand Alice the shirt and she laughs. We walk down the hall to the bathroom and I know she's in there changing her shirt. Slipping my shirt onto her smooth skin. I shiver a bit at the thought, but Alice walks out of
