( A line he’s going to stay very far away from ( and he’s definitely not going to mention he almost used the shirt in question as a rag ) ).
“Are we watching a game – is that beer, or wine?”
“We’re watching THE game,” she retorts, cheek pressed up against the back cushion of the couch, eyes finding him across the room.
“Beer, for me. We’ve still got that bottle of Chardonnay in the fridge–” Maria’s voice trails off as bat connects with ball and sends it flying over dirt and grass, resulting in a single after a bobbled throw. “Shit.”