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“This is for you.” I hold it out. She looks at it strangely.
“It’s too big for me.”
“I know. But it’s this or you freeze. Lift your arms up.”
By some fucking miracle she does as she’s told and I slide the hoodie over her head, all too aware of the irony that I’m putting more clothes on this woman that I’ve fantasized about nearly every night.
If my brothers were here, they’d laugh their asses off.
“You know you have to undress a woman to have sex, right?”
Yes, dickwads, I know. But right now she doesn’t need me to seduce her. She needs to warm up.
She needs somebody to be kind to her.
I thought I was lonely here, but it’s different. I have family, I have friends. When I’m really bored, I have the team to hang out with.
She has nothing. And I hate that. I hate that she’s alone.
I don’t want her to be.
I realize that’s weird. That maybe I need to stop thinking about this stuff. But then I look at her in my hoodie and blood rushes fast through my veins.
She looks swamped. Her dark hair is fluffed from me pulling the sweater over her head. Her cheeks are still pink, her lips still full.
And for a moment she’s looking up at me like I’m some kind of God.
I want to fuck her. And then I want to talk to her. All night. I’m not sure which I want the most right now.
My cock hardens as if it’s trying to help me decide.
I’m way beyond that high school need to mark a woman with my clothing. And yet I’m imagining scooping her up and taking her home.
Seeing her wearing nothing but that hoodie.
Then I’d lift her onto my kitchen counter and bury my head between her thighs until she’s calling out my name while wearing my hoodie.
“Thank you,” she says. “This is lovely.”
“You’re welcome,” I grunt, putting the dirty thoughts out of my mind.
“I’ll bring it back tomorrow,” she promises, as though that’s the problem here.
I shake my head. “Keep it.”
She lifts the hood to her face. “It smells like you,” she says, smiling.
It’s like I’m in the middle of a game. Every synapse in my body fires up. I’m in fight-or-flight mode. I’m in ‘lift this woman up and fuck her against the wall’ mode.
I’m a neanderthal. A fucking geriatric caveman.
“Are you sure you’re okay with me having it?” she asks. I must be grimacing again.
“What age did cavemen die?” I don’t realize I’ve said it out loud until she replies.
“I’m not sure. Early thirties, maybe?” Her nose scrunches up as she thinks. “Why?”
“That would make a fifteen-year-old middle-aged.”
