Life is strange…
It was a fact Angie found herself contemplating a lot, lately. Especially on this particular evening—sitting on the floor with a bottle of schnapps, propped against the side of her bed, and with a clearly drunken Peggy wrapped firmly around her.
"I love you," Peggy whispered into her ear, nose nudging through her curls until the tip of it touched the shell of her ear.
Perfectly manicured nails scraped over her shoulder, fingers pulling her hair aside to kiss at her ear and then her neck. "I love you," Peggy repeated.
The hand not holding Angie's arm in place between her breasts slid into Angie's curls and scratched at her scalp. Lips, still faintly colored a faded red, grazed temptingly over her cheek and jaw then dipped the slightest bit lower to press a kiss just below her clavicle. "I love you, Angie."
Angie clutched at Peggy's hair to stop her, and willed herself to pull her back to eye level. "English, you're drunk."
Peggy eyed the bottle of schnapps, clearly unconvinced as she turned her gaze back to Angie, but Angie had played this game before.
She wiggled a bit, and maneuvered until she could get a grip on Peggy's shoulders, then held the woman at arm's length, that delightful hand slipping away from her head. She held up three fingers—her index, middle, and ring fingers—and wiggled them in the space between them. "How many fingers am I holding up?" she asked.
Peggy's expression melted into something absolutely wicked—eyes dark, and grin crooked. "Just enough, I'd say," she said, her silken voice low and smoky as she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the tips.
"You're drunk!" Angie choked out, face aflame, and quickly pulled her hand against her like a child caught raiding the cookie jar. "You're drunk," she said again, though she was fairly certain she was reminding herself and not Peggy.
"I'm not drunk," Peggy told her, almost petulantly. "I'm friendly."
There was that tone again, and before Angie quite had her wits about her, Peggy had scooted onto her lap, knees to either side of her hips. Unable to help herself, Angie clutched at the sides of Peggy's thighs, drinking in the smile she wore as she looped those well-defined arms around Angie's neck.
Peggy leaned in to brush their lips together in the barest of touches "I'm not drunk," she said again, sneaking sipping kisses between words. "Drunk would be if I told you I'm a federal agent." The words had barely left her mouth before the smile melted right off Peggy's face, and she sat back to regard Angie with a hard stare.
Angie, for her part, could only hold her breath and watch as the cogs tried to turn in Peggy's alcohol-addled mind. All of a sudden, she wasn't quite sure what to expect, but the hard and sharp as flint look in Peggy's eyes set her on edge.
Then, a slow grin split Peggy's face, and she cracked up. Loud and hearty guffaws, deep from the pit of her belly, filled the room and eventually melted away into honest-to-god giggles. "Angie," she squeaked through her mirth. "I think I'm drunk!" She dropped her head onto Angie's shoulder, unable to contain her drunken laughter.
Angie could only shake her head and smile fondly. "English, yer marinated."