Some sort of important game then, and Bruce pulls down a wine glass for himself before gathering the two bottles from the fridge and bringing them over,
“‘The’ game -” he passes the beer to Maria, and takes up the cushion next to her, “That means we need to win this one, right?”
By the time he’s back they’ve picked off the base runner and are back down to no one on with an an out under their belts. A murmured thanks while she accepts the beer, shifting until their shoulders touch.
“One of them, yes,” Maria confirms, failing to fight the rising pleasure at him claiming the team to support.