Page 44 of The Spinster & the Sock

Jeanie slaps Lewis on the arm, the stakes far too high now for her to lose. “Been a minute since I did this, dear,” she warns. “Don’t get too eager!”

“I assume,” Blaze whispers, taking a glass three-quarters filled with clear liquid off the barmaid’s tray. “It’s safe to say you’ve never given a man a titty shot?”

“Blaze Hollows,” I laugh breathlessly, nervous as he hovers the drink over my bosom. “My breasts have never even been a topic of discussion!”

“Say that again?” Gus pipes in curiously, jumping up to better hear and see what is occurring.

“Blazes,” Alby curses, flashing my husband an apologetic grin before clamping a hand over Gus’s mouth as he proceeds to ask if he too can take a titty shot. “I am far too old for this, and Gus is far too young.” The elderly man wobbles to his feet, grabbing his charge by the shoulders. “We’ll be heading home. Have fun, kids.” He winks over his shoulder at Blaze, then leads the boy away from the table.

“Awww,” Gus whines as he follows Albion out of the tavern, leaving me to take the shot glass from my husband’s fingers and situate it accordingly.

“You gotta spread ‘em.” Blaze giggles, like a child, and gestures lewdly with his hands, offering to demonstrate the proper methods for separating my breasts. “Wedge that bad boy in there and let me do the rest of the work.”

“Aye!” Lewis cheers from beside us, splaying his palms towards Jeanie’s bosom where the glass is positioned. “We are ready. Hurry up, Mrs. Hollows!”

“Yes, Mrs. Hollows,” Blaze coos. “Hurry up.”

My cheeks flush, and someone hurries behind me, lurching me a step closer to Blaze. The music is too loud, the babble of the crowd is incoherent, drowning out my doubts. A lady of good breeding would never do this; then again, a gentlewoman wouldn’t be here in the first place. That much is apparent in the way a few of the patrons eye me curiously, leaning in to whisper. No doubt both horrified and impressed to see a lady of the ton in their establishment. But this is their territory, and in a way, it is also Blaze’s, which by marriage makes it mine.

“Very well.” I comply, first allowing myself a last gulp from my mug, shivering as the nasty taste brings me to a pleasant buzz. Then, I nudge the butt of the glass between my breasts, trying not to giggle as Blaze claps his hands together, rubbing them vigorously in excitement. “Try not to spill.”

“Don’t worry, love,” Blaze says comfortingly as he takes the last step to bridge the gap between our bodies, his hands closing in around the sides of my bodice. “If I spill anything, I promise to lick it off.”

“Three!” Lewis cheers, and his countdown immediately calls the attention of those around us, drawing in a crowd.

“Two!”

Our onlookers join in, and Blaze leans forward, fixing his lips around the rim of the glass, eyes peering up at me from beneath his brows. I suck in a breath as I feel his fingers press into the skin of my cleavage.

“One!”

I close my eyes, hold my breath, and stay still as the glass slips off my skin. The crowd roars in a cheer. I peek an eye open as both Blaze and Lewis tilt their heads backward, each swallowing the whiskey. Jeanie lets out a triumphant whoop, examining her chest before I glance down at mine, taking note of a stray droplet.

“I win!” she shrieks.

But I hardly notice her cheers, for Blaze coils an arm around my waist, drawing me near while whispering, “No, I win,” before lowering his mouth to my heaving breasts, slowly lapping the whiskey from my skin with a warm tongue.

The next three hours pass in a blur. Once promising to visit Jeanie’s stall the following week, I am lost in a twirl of tavern dances, spinning and stomping, and at some point, joining several other women on top of a row of neatly lined stools where we are each quizzed on topics regarding our husbands. The general rules of the game are intended to leave the players too tipsy to hold their places on their perches. Beside me, only Jeanie—who is already wobbling—and one other remain when the question of our husband’s favorite childhood memory arises. Four other contestants have failed on account of balance, the alcohol teetering their bodies off their stools. We are six questions deep, and I have only taken two shots thus far. Jeanie pouts as she fails to correctly answer the query, downing her shot as a result.

Blaze stands leaning with his arms crossed against a support beam, grinning at me with a ‘I know you know this’ expression.

“Fishing,” I say, quite proud of myself when Blaze slowly nods. “On the lake with his father while his mother reads by the shore.”

“Atta girl.” My husband claps and I tip my toe to offer him a curtsy, causing the stool to wobble. “Alrighty,” he blurts, moving towards me to help me catch my balance before I fall completely. One arm tucks just beneath my bottom, and the other supports my back as Blaze pulls me into his arms, cradling me. My head spins, and I am certain I hear him bid all in the establishment a goodnight, but nothing feels coherent until we are outside and the cold evening air draws me from my stupor.

The Rake & The Red Ribbon

Blaze

Party like the working class, walk home like the working class. Or, in this case, stumble drunk down the cobblestones with your wife in tow.

I let Jo slide down my body until her feet reach the street. Walking should help her sober up a bit—if she can walk at all, that is.

“I’m rather shocked to have won that last game,” Jo brags, not actually sounding shocked at all.

“I’m not. I know some of those couples have been together way longer than we have, but we’re good together. That’s all it takes to win those games,” I tell her.

She hums thoughtfully, and we walk in silence for a few minutes. I can’t keep my eyes off of her. I always wondered if she could ever be happy in my world, and tonight proved she could—not that it mattered. She would never be in my world, not really.