“Thank you,” she says softly to me and takes the heftiest gulp. Scratch that—three gulps, and just when I think she’s done, a second from taking the bottle, she holds up a finger and swallows more wine. She has a high tolerance. She’s not approaching drunk. Probably not even buzzed, and I’m glad one of us can down that much right now. I curve my arm around her chair. Waiting for when she’s ready. She finally shoves it in my opened hand. “Liquid reinforcements,” she whispers to me, wine trickling down her chin. I wipe the red liquid off with my thumb. She blushes, and our eyes attach deeper.
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