Page 30 of Whiskey Shivers

I chuckled and she eased her good arm out of the sleeve of her blouse.

“You got me dead to rights, sweet thing,” I said, and I admit to pouring on the charm just a little bit.

She turned her head and looked down her bad shoulder and said, “Honestly, I’m more nervous about you seeing the scars.”

“Oh, baby, I can’t promise I’ll even notice ‘em. I’m too busy lookin’ at your pretty blue eyes.”

At the cheesy line, her eyes predictably flicked to mine, her mouth dropping open slightly as she declared, “That was bad!”

I laughed and carefully eased the over blouse thing down off her bad arm. But true to my word, I kept my eyes fixed on hers as I asked, “Yeah?”

“Oh, God yeah. That was awful!”

I laughed outright and asked, “I got a few other bad ones, you want to hear ‘em?”

She smiled and said, “No, I’m still trying to process that one.”

“Fair enough, fair enough, Fable. Okay, how you got this damn thing on is beyond me.” I gathered her tight cami tank top thing at the hem a bit.

“Well, bad arm went in first, then head, then we sort of dragged my good arm through and everything down so—”

“Take it in reverse?” I asked.

She dragged her good arm through the arm hole and down and took a deep breath.

“Don’t worry about stretching things. Just sort of, I don’t know…”

“I got you,” I told her, and I gathered things slowly, concentrating like a motherfucker on getting this damn thing up over her head without jarring her collarbone on the side that was busted.

She breathed carefully, and I got things up over her head. I think we both let out a breath that neither one of us realized that we were holding.

“I feel like Indiana Jones and that bag of sand, trying not to set off that damn trap in the temple in the beginning of the one movie.”

“Uh, yeah, except the only boulders here are in my over-the-shoulder boulder-holder which I’m not really great with it. I want this thing off so bad! I don’t think I’ve ever wanted a bra off so bad in my life.” She rolled her eyes and then grimaced.

“Well, you ain’t gotta wear one around here, and we’ll figure out a way you can go without on the odd trip out for the time being.”

“Yeah, no.” She laughed. “I don’t think I could do it.”

“Do what?” I asked.

“Go out without a bra.”

“Why sure you can. Fuck what anyone has to say about it or what they think.”

“I only wish I could be so brave,” she said.

“Baby, you’re braver than you give yourself credit for. I mean, just look at you. You’re still here. Wouldn’t give that dipshit boyfriend of yours the satisfaction of seeing you cry and you’re fierce as hell.”

“Am I?” she asked with a bit of wonder, and I smiled at her, reaching behind her, and unhooking her bra swiftly with a snap of my fingers.

She gasped, then threw back her head and laughed, holding her good arm across her chest to keep the garment from falling away.

“You know you are,” I told her. “Trick is making damn sure you don’t forget it.”

“Good think you’re here to remind me,” she murmured and the look she was giving me…fuck.

“Damn straight I am,” I said and looked down to her belt.

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