“Alex is struggling.” It’s not a question. “You can only be as good as your teammates allow, though.” I drag my nails down the back of his scalp and goose bumps flash across his arms. “Not well enough.” He blows out another breath. His smile disappears and his eyes seem to trace over my face. He cracks a lid and a smile, then lifts his head. “Unless you feel like you need to lie to me about it to make yourself feel better.” He runs one hand slowly up and down my thigh. “How are you feeling about the game tomorrow night?” When he’s like this, unguarded and at ease, he looks much less severe. I run my fingers through his hair and his head drops back, eyes falling closed. “You can open it before we go to sleep since that’s when it’ll come in handy.” He reaches over and picks up the single wine glass, offering it to me before he takes a sip.
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