He stuffed his legs into his jeans, then yanked and pulled to get the waistband to his thighs. That was weird. They didn’t fit that tightly before. The zipper zipped an inch, if he sucked his stomach in, but the button wasn’t happening no way, no how. It would become a deadly projectile quickly.
Fine. He’d let his shirt hang over his pants until he could borrow a pair of Mason’s pants. His arm slipped through the sleeve, his hand slid out the end. And kept sliding and sliding. The cuff stopped inches above his wrist. What the f**k? He slid his arm into the other sleeve, then shrugged to get the shirt to sit correctly across his shoulders. When he lifted his arms in front of him, the sound of tearing fabric surprised him. The buttons wouldn’t come together across his chest.
“Aria, does so
