“Rhage lay down on top of the comforter and crossed his feet at the ankles. Everything irritated him, the hot room, the PJs, the robe. Now he knew what presents felt like, all trussed up in paper and ribbons: itchy. “Do you normally wear all that to bed?” she asked. “Absolutely.” “Then why’s the tag still on that robe?” “In case I want another, I’ll know what it is.”