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Dumbfounded, I blink. “Uh. Yeah. I hope not. What are you?—”
“The jersey.”
“What?”
A sly grin curls on Olivia’s face. “You’re wearing your fake boyfriend’s jersey. Even though there’s no one here to see it.”
Blush crawls up my neck and scatters into my cheeks. “It’s comfortable.”
If even I don’t miss the defensive edge in my voice, there’s no way my too-sharp-for-her-own-good roommate misses it.
“Uh huh. Comfortable.” Her reply is coated in sarcasm.
“Shut up,” I mumble. I can still hear Olivia chuckling to herself as I fill our teakettle and set it to boil for my tea.
I choose my favorite mug from the cabinet, a ceramic with heart-wrenchingly cute drawings of Shiba Inu dogs adorning it. I got it last year at a local craft fair with Olivia. Speaking of my roommate, she won’t stop freaking glancing at me and snickering to herself.
“Is there really something that funny?” I’m finally driven to ask.
“Just interesting that you’ve all of a sudden discovered how comfortable hockey jerseys are,” my best friend says, her voice light like she’s only making a casual observation, when we both know she’s doing anything but.
“I should get you one,” I reply chipperly, putting on my best un-self-conscious voice. “You’ll see. They’re extremely comfortable.”
“Pass.”
“Maybe I’ll even get you Tuck’s jersey.”
“Ha! It’ll be in the garbage can within minutes. No!” she pounces to correct herself. “Burned in the middle of the street.”
“You’re pretty familiar with the theatre,” I muse, pouring the water from the kettle that just whistled over my tea bag. “Isn’t there a famous line in a play about a lady protesting too much?”
Olivia’s harrumph brings a smile to my lips.
I really am just wearing this jersey because it’s comfortable. Right?
Of course! Why else would I be wearing it? Just because I like having Hudson’s number on my chest and his name on my back? Just because I like being swallowed up in something that, in a strange way, belongs to him? Yeah, right. That’s ridiculous.
Oversized jerseys are just comfy to lounge around the house in, and I didn’t realize this before because I never wore a jersey before, because I was never into sports.
I’ve just discovered a whole new genre of comfy, lazy attire and I’m indulging in it. I’d be wearing a jersey even if it belonged to someone else from a different sport.
No doubt about it.
When I get back up to my room, I almost sputter out a sip of my tea. Salsa’s in the middle of the room, running in a circle like a wild woman, chasing her own tail. She’s moving so fast that she’s a blur, and I can hardly tell where her head begins and her tail ends.
“Salsa! What are you doing?” I exclaim through peals of laughter.
Salsa stops for just a moment, fixing her little cat eyes on me at the recognition of her name. Then, she goes right back to being a little cat tornado.
“Hudson has to see this,” I say to myself, still laughing. I grab my phone and open the video capture. I angle the camera to me first. “Hey, Hudson. Just had to show you what a silly goose Salsa is acting like right now. Check it out.”
Then I angle the camera to Salsa. I take a full thirty seconds of footage, because the crazy girl just won’t stop. I’m laughing all the while, especially as she starts to mewl in frustration of not being able to catch that pesky tail of hers.
“Hopefully she’ll get worn out sooner or later. Or if she catches her tail, hopefully she doesn’t bite it off,” I laugh into the camera, pointing it back to me. “See you later.”
Then I send the video to Hudson.
The second I do, my heart thunders with realization.
