After dinner, Joey follows me upstairs. “What are you going to wear?” he wants to know, staring into his wardrobe as if the perfect outfit will just jump out at him. With a laugh, he admits, “I haven’t gone out in forever.”
“Jeans will do.” I’m already wearing my last pair, but I’ll change my shirt—no need to get too dressed up, really. I’ll already be with the only guy I want. Over my shoulder, I watch Joey pull out a pair of stone-washed jeans. “Those are good.”
“They’re a little tight.” He sets them aside on his bed and lifts his shirt off over his head. I turn around to watch—his undershirt rides up and exposes pale skin, those little curlicues of hair smattered across his chest, the dark tufts under his arms. With quiet steps, I close the distance between us and run my fingers up hi
