Page 67 of The Score

She sighs and tries to open the bottle. When she has trouble, I take the bottle from her.

She watches my hands deal with the tiny wires, and work on the cork. "Do you think it was like this in olden times?"

"What do you mean?"

"Weird. Having your wedding night surrounded by people."

"In a period drama I watched once, there was a whole wedding party waiting around to make sure the wedding night went through without a hitch. They wanted no question it was consummated."

I'm distracted by the stubborn, high-pressure cork, and the sound it makes as it pops. At the last second, I hold the bottle over the metal bucket to catch the light stream of bubbly that spills onto the ice.

"You have no idea what this looks like, do you?" Pen complains, hands on her white-covered hips, and a smirk on her face.

I glance at her, then at myself. Holding the bottle with two hands right over the bucket… and more or less at hip level. As it spills the last of the liquid from the tip. I mean, the top.

I lick my bottom lip. Humor can come to the rescue. It has to.

"Huh," I say. "With the bottle like this in my hands— it feels too familiar, I guess."

I arch an eyebrow at her.

She gapes. "Are you implying that… that your… bottle size… I can't."

I chuckle. "I'll stop if you want me to."

"You should! Also stop talking about consummating weddings and stuff. We didn't talk about that."

"Because it's not necessary to make weddings legal anymore. You're still my wife. That's the point."

"Oh my God," she says for a third time. "I am yourwife."

She's flustered. It makes me flustered.

I give her the bottle. She skips the glass flute and takes a swig.

"I'll stop," I say. "Sorry. I thought we were joking around."

I needed it to be just joking around. If we could laugh about it, then we might kill any tension before it comes up.

"We were joking around," she replies. "Of course. I'm sorry. It's just awkward and I'm trying to adjust to everything and I may need a minute or two."

She takes another swig, before putting the bottle in ice again.

I put my hands in my pockets and watch her. Unease returns to my belly.

"Let's try again." She clears her throat. "What's the plan tonight?"

I lift a shoulder and try to be casual. "We get ready. Get in bed.Sleep."

Do whatever is necessary to calm things down.

"Get on our phones and dissociate." She nods. "Sounds great."

I pretend the worddissociatedoes nothing to my insides. Like it doesn't imply we'll retreat away from each other, in the hope we'll find our cool again. It helps change the mood, at least.

We begin collecting our things to change and get ready for bed but, no matter how hard I look, I find nothing to sleep in.

I scratch my eyebrow. "I'll have to sleep in my boxers."