Daryl thought about not picking her up after work, but it was hard to lie to himself about wanting to feel her pressed up against him again. He hadn't expected her to enjoy the ride. But that, as he'd realized long time ago, Beth was full of surprises. This was a dangerous fact – at least it was for him. She was entirely too infatuating, and he was entirely too weak to really stay away. Which meant he'd continue to echo the words just friends when ever someone decided to be a smart ass. After all, it was true, they hadn't done anything. It was just what happened when two people spent so much time together, they fell in step with one another. Others could make their assumptions in they caught her kissing his cheek or placing her hand on his arm as she spoke.
"Lori's or home?" Daryl asked as Beth walked out of the diner later that day.
"Home, please." She chimed, she was in a far better mood.
Beth didn't hesitate to get on the bike that time. But her grip was still as tight as ever. As he started up the bike once more, Daryl tried to ignore the very obvious group of spectators, chattering as they peered out the window. Beth, on the other hand, fucking waved. She'd later tell him that they asked if he rode well. A question in which the innuendo went right over her head.
As they neared the house, Daryl could spot the little blue truck sitting in its spot and relief rushed through him. He didn't know if he could say the same for her, as she seemed far too distracted by the ride home. Her yips, at times, had been replaced with giggles and she even lifted her head up once, to see the blurring surrounding of the trees and practically howled. A clue that Daryl was on the verge of creating an adrenalin junky out of her.
Daryl knew he should have locked the door when they walked in Merle was inside, sitting wide legged on the couch and drinking a beer. He looked quite pleased with himself. But Daryl glanced over a Beth, to see if his smug look was going to set her off.
"You're late, Merle," Daryl said, when Beth didn't say anything.
Merle let out a pungent burp and prepared himself to argue. "Now look, Darylina…"
"It's okay." Beth interrupted.
"What?" Merle and Daryl's voices joined together in the question, both unable to hide their surprise.
She started again. "I said it's okay, Merle. Just next time tell me how long you're actually going to be taking the truck."
Merle just nodded and cocked his head to the side. Daryl couldn't help but let his mouth drop open. How was it that Merle somehow got it easy and he was the one that got yelled at? It was totally backwards. That, and she was going to let there be a next time!
Beth glanced back and forth and their stupefied faces and shrugged. "I'm going to go take a shower." As she walked off, the two of them continued to sit there, until the door closed and the water turned on.
"What di you do?" Merle asked, as he knew couldn't hear them.
"No, Merle." Daryl, feeling like he was that was forced to take the blame, was at his wits end/ "What did you do?
"Come again?"
For most of the day – while wrestling with himself about whether or not to pick Beth up – he'd also considered why Merle actually wanted to take the truck. The only answer he could come up with was: more room. Not for banging someone in the bed, but for more moving something. Because, while Daryl tried to take care of his brother the best he could, Merle liked taking some less than legal side jobs.
"Why did you want the truck?" Daryl decided he would only give him one chance to confess.
"To get some…"
"Merle."
"To get some pussy." Merle grumbled. "But that pussy also happens to work for Blake."
Blake. Daryl could have very well strangled Merle then and there. "How much did you move?"
"Not that much," Merle said, trying to deflect the question.
"How much, Merle?"
"Five, maybe six."
"Jesus Christ, Merle!" Daryl threw his arms up. "Is it still in there?"
"Nah." Merle replied. Daryl relaxed for a second, before tensing right back up. "It's at the shop."
An aneurysm, that's what his brother was going to give him. A goddamn aneurysm. "You can't just…"
"…Say no to him," Merle interrupted, entirely right. "You know what would happen if I said no. He'd have both our heads."
"How long?" Daryl asked, running his hand through his hair, trying no to pull it out from the stress. "How long it is going to sit there?"
"A month, maybe two." Merle shrugged. "Sounded like someone was closing in. When they can move it, they will."
"And I'm supposed to be okay with this?" Daryl crossed his arms.
"You are." Merle warned, getting up and in Daryl's face. His favourite tactic was intimidation, and it always seemed to work. "And if you aren't, why don't you just pretend it never happened, and continue to live in you Blondie Bubble."
"You wanna go there, Merle? After springing this on me?" Daryl snapped at him.
"Nah I'm saying, you wanna go there." Merle cackled, turning away, satisfied in his victory. "In fact, maybe you should join Blondie in the shower baby brother, you look like you need to unwind."
"Merle." Daryl considered getting in his brothers face, but knew it would end in one of them throwing a punch. "Stop."
"What you can't tell me you ain't thinking 'bout it." Merle raised his eyebrows. "Her, all hot and wet. In there all alone."
"It's not like that Merle." Daryl could feel himself going red at his brother's words. Though he wasn't the most eloquent in his choice of words, he didn't need to be for Daryl get embarrassed.
"Oh, so sweet Darylina," Merle chugged the rest of his beer. "But ain't you wishing it was."
"What's he wishing?" Daryl and Merle's head both snapped in the direction the question cam from. Beth was standing in the doorway of the bathroom, fully dressed and with damp hair. Neither of them were sure how long she'd actually been there. As soon as the two brother became at odds with each other, most things went unnoticed.
Merle just smirked at Daryl and pressed his empty bottle of beer into his chest. "Too late, I guess." Merle then walked straight out the door, laughing to himself and thinking of how oh-so-clever he was to get the last word.