Daryl's Angel (10th Anniversary Edition)

Chapter 10: Drinking Buddies

"You really never been drunk?"

I shake my head, a giggle bubbling from my throat. "Never! I was always the D.D. or something. Never really gotten past a light buzz."

"Good Christian girl too afraid to touch booze, huh?"

I gasp and clutch my necklace. "Ex-cuse you!" I retort, half-joking. "I wasn't afraid, just had no interest!"

"Couldn't be me," he says.

"I always preferred vodka anyway, or...or something fruity. I used to mix whatever I thought would taste good, make these cocktails no one else wanted."

"Yeah? Like what?"

"Mhm. Ever had Sprite, peach schnapps, and a shot of raspberry sourpuss? I called it a Peachy Pussy." I almost snort as another laugh sneaks out.

"Sounds too fuckin' sweet for me. Schnapps is ass, anyway."

"Well, I thought it was delicious."

The bottle's half gone and we've long since ditched cups, just swapping the bottle between us, taking swigs as we see fit. The alcohol loosens our tongues and lowers our guards, the buzz setting in. I've never had whiskey straight and it took more than a few tries (and a lot of coughing) before I got the hang of it. Daryl seems way too amused by it all.

He takes a swig and I watch his throat bob as he swallows. He shifts on the couch, turning to face me more. I've long ditched my shoes, knees bent slightly as I take up my half of the cushions.

"So, what's your story, Mr. Dixon?" I muse.

"Ain't got one."

"Suuuuure, you do," I drone. "Everyone's got one."

"Well, then mine ain't worth listening to." He leans back with the motion of the bottle. "That's the past anyway."

I won't give up that easily. "What about your parents?"

"Dad's a piece of shit, died at the start of all this. Mom died a long time ago. Yours?"

"Loving, but very...strict. They had expectations and I felt smothered." I lean forward, tilting my head at him. "Is Merle your only sibling?"

"Yeah, he was." His eyes narrow a little.

"Are you younger than him? You must be. You're way hotter than him."

He shoves the bottle towards me. "If you drink more, will you talk less?"

I'm too buzzed to be embarrassed. "No, probably not." I giggle, but take another sip. I swirl the liquid as I eye him. "What? No one's ever told you that you're handsome?"

"I can count the compliments I've gotten on one hand."

I blurt out a laugh, covering my mouth, and he raises an eyebrow at me. I whisper out, "You know who else has one hand?"

He throws a pillow at me. I fall back, busting out laughing, whiskey in my veins, toes tingling. He shifts and starts to lean over me, and my heartbeat spikes before he grabs the bottle back and leaves my personal space again.

"So what's your deal, Hope?" he asks. "Where's your big, happy family, huh?"

"Still in Saskatchewan, last I checked," I say. I giggle. "Sask-at-chew-ahhhhnnnn..." Another giggle. "Yeah, I don't know where they are." I stare up at the ceiling and my smile falls, a sobering thought pushing past the fuzz. "You know, I think everyone who's ever loved me is dead."

"That makes two of us. Fuckin' cheers," he mutters, throwing back another gulp. "You want more?"

"Maybe a little bit."