Right now Seth is playing better. Everything is still etched in sand.

So? What are you going to do about it? Throw your mashed potatoes at me? I'm consumed by terror.

I wouldn't call him a swingman ... he could be in the roation by the end of the year. Nothing's etched in stone. We're just doing whatever it takes to win games.

Seth threw me a mischievous grin. “I can’t have Marcus just walking in on us. What if I want to snuggle on these cold New York nights?”
My frown increased. “We don’t snuggle.”
He dropped his arm over my shoulder, and the scent of mint and something wild tickled my nose. “How about we cuddle?”
“We don’t do that either.”
“But you’re my cuddle bunny. My little Apollyon cuddle—” I punched him in the side.

You know what, you need to stay out of my bedroom. You have your own.”
He smiled. “I know I do. I see it quite often. I just prefer your bed. It smells better.”
I made a face. “It smells better? What does your bed smell like? Regret and bad taste?

Hold me? If you still want to, I mean." She looked away.
"Everyday"--then he was there, lifting her into his arms, holding her like she was fragile and precious--"I want to hold you every day. Nothing will ever change that.