Puffer Jacket Quotes

She smiled, rubbed at her nose. He unzipped his black puffer jacket and put it over her shoulders. They were standing very close. She would have lain on the ground and let him walk over her body if he wanted, he knew that.

Next to me, Addie unzips the puffer jacket and nearly rips it off, a sheen of sweat on her forehead. She glances at me, and then crosses her arms. “Don’t stop on my account, little mouse.” “I feel like you’re making it super-hot in here on purpose,” she grumbles, reaching forward to turn down the heat. “If I wanted your clothes off, I would just remove them myself.” She arches a brow. “You’re saying you currently don’t want them off?” she challenges.

Hazel Hartley, my high school tutor who had a boyfriend, who can’t stand me and doesn’t date hockey players anymore. Despite Pippa wearing a Storm jersey with the name of her fiancé, goaltender Jamie Streicher, on the back, and despite Hartley working for the team, I haven’t seen her in a jersey since high school. Tonight, my gaze catches on her chestnut hair pulled up in a ponytail, her pale purple puffer jacket. I bet she’s wearing the black leggings that always make her ass look incredible. I wink at her; she rolls her eyes. I grin; she pretends to yawn.

His worn leather boots are a stark contrast to the white sneakers I wear almost every day. I realize how we look so very opposite: a tatted-up bookseller clad in leather and the sweetie-pie baker in a puffer jacket and thick-rimmed glasses. But when I look down at our clasped hands, my heart thunders yet again, like it has ever since the two of us got together. We fit together perfectly.

Walk down Bond Street and laugh at the idiots who think shearling-lined Gucci loafers and fur-trimmed puffer jackets are the epitome of style and you’ll see what I mean.

I’d planned on punishing her for making me dwell on it all night, but then she emerged from her apartment building holding two cups of hot cocoa, her pajamas peeking out from underneath her puffer jacket. She slid into my car, handed me a cup in silence, then drank hers while staring sleepily at the dash. The ache moved from my groin to my chest and filled the black hole there. It was heavy with a perverse satisfaction, and for once, it didn’t stem from winning a petty bet. She was comfortable here, in my car, beside me, her hair piled on top of her head and her face make-up free. It was with a sickening sweetness that I realized she sought out the warmth of my car to do the most vulnerable thing a human can do: sleep.