Page 43 of The Spinster & the Sock

“You had better not drink so much that you’re incapable of attending to me when we return home.” She swats at me playfully. “I don’t know why you would need to picture my lips when I shall be right next to you.”

“Oh, darling wife.” I lean forward to whisper in her ear, voice low, “I don’t mean those lips.” I preen when she squeaks, then sweep past her to open the door. “Ladies first.”

She fires harmless daggers at me as she enters the tavern, her malice betrayed by the raised corner of her mouth. I step in behind her and immediately I’m grinning ear to ear. I guess some things really are timeless.

“Fuck me, now this feels like home!” If you ignore the lack of Chappel Roan and Sabrina Carpenter blasting from loudspeakers, and swap the dresses and trousers for spandex and blue jeans, The Raven’s Veil could pass for a bar in 2025. I hope Jo likes it here, because I already know I want to come back.

Titty Shots

Josephine

I should be astonished. I should turn around, walk my ruffled petticoats out the door, and never come back. That is what any lady of gentle upbringing would do. But this? This looks fun.

At the far end of the long, narrow establishment, a countertop glistens with spilled ale. A jolly-looking gentleman from behind the counter mans the party. A cloth, which probably used to be white, is draped like a sad, dead rat over his shoulder, and from time to time, he wipes up a spill or dries a mug with it.

A table is upended, and a few men throw punches. A fellow three times my size tumbles to the ground with a cheer, followed by a roar of laughter before I realize they are hitting one another for the fun of it.

Blaze slides an arm around my waist, urging me further in, and I nearly trip over a barmaid’s skirt as she flits by, offering us both a cheery smile before approaching a table with a raucous shout, “Alright boys! Whose next?” To my shock, the group of…not gentlemen…proceeds to take shots from between her cleavage.

“Aye!” Albion greets us with a raised mug, and I wonder where he got it until I watch Gus swipe an ale for himself from beside an unsuspecting patron’s elbow. I assume his love of stealing was just perpetuated by his caretaker.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Blaze objects, taking the beverage from Gus before it can even reach his lips. “Wait until you have a little hair on your lip like the rest of us,” he warns with a grin, patting the boy’s head before glancing down at the mug, then over his shoulder at the previous owner of the drink. He shrugs. “Finders keepers.”

I chide Blaze for both the stealing and for sharing a pint with a stranger, and then I slide into a chair beside him, across from a woman a few years older than me. She is pressing kisses first into Alby’s cheeks, then Gus’s, before settling into her seat with a flop, her cheery eyes landing on me next. “You must be the fine lady Gus and Alby keep going on about?”

“Josephine Hollows.” I bob my chin politely, reach for the mug the barmaid hands me, then promptly spew the contents the moment they contact my tongue. “Hell and damnation!” I peer into the pale liquid, then glance sidelong at my husband who is guzzling his second. “I believe we can accurately say this tastes more like someone’s hindquarters than any tea I have given you.”

“Drink up, darlin’. It’ll taste better soon,” the woman across from me responds, and Blaze offers an enthusiastic nod from behind his mug. “I’m Jeanie,” she continues, hoisting the bodice of her dress upwards, tucking her ample bosom inside the fabric. Within seconds the frock slowly slides back down, and mountains of skin flood from her neckline. “There be my husband, Lewis. We run a market stall a few streets over. Come by and see us!”

Lewis, a scruffy-looking fellow with dark circles under his eyes and an unevenly shaved beard leans forward to shout at his wife, “Are ye daft, woman? What’d a fine lady like this need from our sorry stall?”

Jeanie huffs, rolls her eyes, and slams a beer quicker than I have ever seen Blaze accomplish. “Even ladies must eat, Lew!”

The two argue about the whereabouts of my shopping, and I find the energetic banter delightful. They are about to place a wager on if I would deign to shop at their stall, should my own grocer be ill or if I fell on hard times and needed a cheaper sack of potatoes, when I lean inward to offer a solution to the hearty debate.

“See that lady there?” I point to the barmaid who wedges a tiny glass between her breasts. Lewis and Jeanie nod, exchanging coy glances at each other.

“Wife,” Blaze follows my gaze, then shoots me an inquisitive smile. “Don’t tell me you are going to lick whiskey off that woman’s tits? I mean, I wouldn’t complain—”

“Blaze,” I gasp, digging fingers into his thigh. “What a suggestion, no.” I take a long swallow of my disgusting drink, then look back at the duo, ignoring how my husband and Alby whisper about God-knows-what. “Jeanie, it seems whatever those men are drinking is truly terrible, yes?”

Jeanie nods. “Burns like the devil going down.”

“Excellent. Then you each shall take a shot, and whoever controls their face in the process can pick the day on which I come to visit your stall.”

Jeanie cheers, slapping Gus on the shoulder. “Hear that, boy? Jeanie’s ‘bout to be rich!”

“Hush up, woman!” Lewis chimes in. “I’d like to offer a counter-wager!”

The table silences, and all eyes land on Lewis. The older man wears a wicked grin, and I am certain that whatever he is about to suggest is far from decent. “We are all ears,” Blaze encourages him.

“Right then.” Lewis chugs the remainder of his mead, flags down the barmaid for more, then gestures to me and Jeanie. “Ye both will present those lovely bosoms of yours—”

Jeanie smacks him upside the head about the time I gasp in shock, but the man continues, bringing Alby and Blaze to rolling laughter, the latter covering Gus’s ears. “I shall drink from my wife, and Mr. Hollows, you will drink from yours. Whichever one of us manages to spill nary a single drop shall visit the other’s shop!”

Jeanie gasps. “You right idiot, you!” she squeaks like a hen, pressing a palm to her chest. “Are we to spend a life savings on a gown I won’t have a chance to wear?!”

“Deal!” Blaze blurts eagerly, grabbing me by the hips to stand me up. “Don’t worry about the cost of the dress, Jeanie,” he assures. “I’ll pay if that’s what it takes to get a shot off my wife.” His eyes zero in on mine, and I swear I see the devil of desire in them, a look which sends fire up my legs.