"Are you trying to take advantage of me?" Elizabeth squinted at the tumbler Henry filled to the rim, for what, the fourth time that night? She'd lost track, and at this point, wasn't entirely sure the glass hadn't multiplied.
"You'd better believe it," Henry admitted, setting the bottle of bourbon on the coffee table. He leaned across the couch as if to kiss her, but instead whipped a long box from under the cushions with a flourish.
"I want a rematch," he declared. Henry laid the Scrabble game on the table next to the liquor. They'd been dating for six months, and he'd never been able to beat her. Elizabeth was ruthlessly competitive at board games, a trait that delighted Henry. They were usually equally matched in most competitions. Except for Scrabble.
"You know I'm going to win, right?" Elizabeth warned him, confidently.
Henry snickered. "You're completely plastered, babe."
"So are you," she replied. "And I'm still going to win. You can't beat me at Scrabble. I can spell supercalifragilisticexpialidocious backwards."
He raised an eyebrow at her declaration. "There aren't enough letters to play that word, so I think I'm okay. Besides, you can barely say it." Henry gestured adamantly with his glass, sloshing liquid onto his pants.
"Whatever. Think what you want." She shrugged, dismissively, and began laying out the game board.
Henry contemplated her for a minute. Her fingers deftly handled the tiles, not nearly as clumsy as his after so much liquor, and her eyes had lost their inebriated haze.
"Well," he conceded, "Can we at least play strip Scrabble?"
"Sure," Elizabeth agreed, a glint in her eye. "That's the only way you're winning anything tonight."