Free Love Game by Mallory Rush

another twenty was headed for the floor.
    “A lady shucking her manners. If that’s not rich, I don’t know what is.” Rather than slurp up the expensive brew, he slapped his palm against the rim and shook hard. The bottle ejaculated with an enthusiasm to match their grapple as he aimed for her mouth. “Open up and let me watch you swallow.”
    “Youopen up and swallow!”
    “I knew you could talk dirty if you put your mind to it.”He grinned and lifted the bottle to his mouth. With a swish and a wink, he gulped. Both their faces bathed, the champagne almost gone and precious little consumed, Greg licked her cheeks, then sucked her drenched chin. Doing her part in the game of cleanup, she ran her tongue against the slope of his jaw. Each shaved whisker was a reminder of their opposite genders and just how much opposites apparently did attract.
    “A glass, monsieur? ” she offered, twirling the stem.
    “Throw it.” He lifted its twin and tapped their rims.
    “But this is good crystal,” she protested.
    “So? They can bill me.” Pointing to the fireplace, he tossed up his glass and caught it neatly. “Ready if you are.”
    Chris looked from the fine crystal to the hearth to Greg.
    “Okay, bud, it’s your dollar.” Rearing back, she hurled with gusto. He was two seconds behind her but his flute took the lead. Her own fell apart in three sections, a puny ping to his resounding shatter.
    “You throw like a girl.”
    “I am a girl.”
    “So I noticed.” Surveying the bottle, he said, “Low tide. A swig apiece and it’s empty. Want to take another shot? Put some arm into it and keep the wrist stiff.”
    “Give me that!” Snatching the painted glass from his grip, she decided to save the remains of her encounter with a small region of France that had invented champagne. Maybe she was too American, her tastes too unrefined, but Andre´ hadn’t lost its appeal. Still, what she now held was more than the prettiest bottle she’d ever seen; it was a memory they shared, and that much was for keeps.
    “I’d like to have this if you don’t mind.”
    “Want me to order another so you can take home a pair?”
    Eyeing the service-bar cabinet, Chris felt a tug she hadn’t acknowledged in several years.
    “I’d ratherhave a real drink.” Deciding she felt closer to being a lady of the night than the unmerry widow, she asked for and got a double brandy, straight up. Greg poured himself a stiff Scotch and settled beside her on the couch.
    Chris felt him watching her as she downed a manly portion in one draw, stopping to cough, then wince before she took another gulp.
    “Just curious, but did you order that because you wanted it—or needed it?”
    “Both,” she confessed. “It’s been a while, but there was a time when I drank a lot more than I do now.”
    “With friends?”
    “No, alone. After Audrey was asleep and the lights were out. It kept me company in bed until I decided if I didn’t clean up my act, I’d have more problems to deal with than I already did. I made myself buy a new bed and once I did that, out went the bottle.”
    “That must’ve been a bad time for you.”
    “Bad?” She swam her tongue through the taste of memory. “Bad was good, back then, comparatively speaking.”
    “Wish I’d been there.”
    “I’m glad you weren’t.”
    “But you are now? Glad to be with me?”
    “I am. You’re good for me, Greg—in a bad sort of way.”
    “You make me feel like a vice.”
    “You are!” Chris teasingly bit his earlobe and whispered, “Want to hear about my other vices?”
    “Only if they’re awful.”
    Loose was fun; another two sips and she’d be sloppy. She swirled what was left of the brandy.
    “I smoke on the sly. At first I figured it might eventually kill me, then it became a nasty habit I liked too much to give up.”
    “I can only hopefor as much for myself.”
    She hooted and began to wonder if she was closer to sloppy than not. Strangely, she didn’t care