A/N Thank you everyone! They seem to have gotten the issue of what a sleepover means resolved, and now they're doing some couch-cuddling. Let's check in.
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She's so close and her body is so soft and warm. Daryl can't help feeling aroused, but he does his best to hide that fact. He smiles to himself, shit, this is like one long tease, but damn, he's enjoying being with her like this.
It's been a cozy and relaxed afternoon as they lay snuggled under the blanket, kind of watching football, but mostly just enjoying the feel of each other while fighting off temptation. There's been a little kissing, some open hands rubbing backs, legs, and even bottoms. There's been the tips of Daryl's fingers slowly skimming along Beth's arm, and her hand reaching back to touch his cheek and his hair.
Never has Daryl been with a woman this way. All the talking and all of this taking things slow and getting to really know each other is new to him. He's completely unfamiliar with having some long drawn out period of time before they have sex. He's not especially proud of the fact, but the truth is, casual sex is the way it's always been for him.
Everything is just different with Beth, he's different with Beth, and as badly as he'd like to have sex with her, he's been enjoying all of this other stuff with her too. Shit, he's never talked with a woman like he has with Beth, and it's nice. He's a guy who's used to feeling awkward in conversation, especially talking about himself. Beth makes him feel comfortable. The cuddling is real nice too, and maybe if he can manage not to fuck everything up, sometime soon, she'll let him make love to her.
It's when he hears Beth's tummy rumble that Daryl forces himself to get up, trying not to disturb her. He smiles as he gently roughs her soft blonde curls and says, "Sounds like it must be time for sandwiches."
She giggles, "I think you're right, I'm starving, and please don't argue with me Daryl, I'm going to help."
"All right then, let's do this," he reaches out a hand to help her off the couch, pats her bottom as they walk toward the kitchen, and she doesn't turn around and yell at him to knock that shit off. That's a good sign. Right?
When the sandwiches are made he reaches in the fridge for a beer, then has another thought and grabs a coke. He might have to take her home, "Ya want coke? Water? Milk? What can I get ya?"
"I'll have a coke please, and here, let me carry the plates and you get the drinks, that worked out well last night."
"Got it," and as they make their way to the couch he says, "Just a warnin' Beth. When we're done eatin' I'ma take them bandages off your knees and see how things are goin'."
She scrunches up her nose, "Okay, but it's ugly."
"Couldn't be any uglier than my back."
He just opened a door and Beth takes a step in, "How did that happen Daryl? To your back I mean." Then she feels like, uh oh, maybe she shouldn't ask. Maybe it's rude, "Never mind, it's none of my business."
He looks over at her, shrugs and says, "Well ya seen it, shit, I'd ask too. I ain't gonna go into a lotta nasty detail over pastrami on rye, but the scars are all courtesy of my dad. He was a mean sumbitch. Merle's got em worse, my Mom, she had em too. Whenever that shit went down there was always drinkin' and dope involved. The only scars I got on me that ain't from him are the ones on my face. Those are from an accident I had when I was out huntin'."
His answer just gave her a hundred more questions but she's not going to interrogate him. She reaches over, covers his hand with hers and says, "I'm sorry Daryl."
He knows she's not talking about the hunting accident, "I know ya are, I am too, but it's done, the old man's gone now and I've moved on. What's that sayin'? Livin' well is the best revenge. I think I got a pretty good life, and it's even better with you here." He nudges her shoulder with his and says, "Now eat your sandwich."
She smiles, "Just so you know, I like being here with you."
He's not sure what to say, there's just the slightest nod of his head and the smallest smile she's ever seen.
They eat and Daryl gets up to make himself another sandwich, looks at her and asks, "I don't s'pose ya want another."
She smiles up at him, "No thank you, I can barely finish this one."
The entire time, as he makes his sandwich, then returns to the front room with it, eats and watches the game, he's also yelling at the TV. Just like last week, he cusses the coaches, the referees, the announcers, the players, apparently they're all guilty of something and every one of them is stupid. She just watches. She suspects this may be how he and his brother get out all that anger they must still be carrying from childhood. Really Beth? Who do you think you are, some kind of psychologist? Maybe it's just the way he does it, maybe it's fun.
She feeling some sadness too. It breaks her heart to think he suffered such terrible abuse, and at the hands of a man he should have been able to count on to love him and care for him and protect him. She's sure that's probably at least part of the reason Daryl is so self-sufficient, like he doesn't need anybody else to survive. He's capable of doing anything and everything himself.
There's the other side of him too though. The warm, caring and comforting side. The side that seems to feel the need to protect her and care for her, and she likes that side very much. She's not one to waste her day laying around on the couch, but she just spent two of the best hours of her life lying on the couch with him. It was warm and sexy and she knew he was aroused, the truth is, she was too, but he never pushed, just like he said he never would. She wonders, what if he had asked? What if he had made a move? Could she have told him "no"? Maybe, maybe not. It's all got her wondering how long she'll be able to hold out, because she's pretty sure she's falling in love with Daryl Dixon, and she wants him in every way a woman can desire a man.
He hasn't forgotten, and as soon as they finish eating, he takes her plate and says, "Gonna get that first aid kit and see what we got goin' on with them knees."
She's dreading it, but she smiles, "I'm ready Doctor Dixon."
In addition to the kit, he's got a bucket of warm water, a sponge and a washcloth. As he carefully removes the gauze and tape, he mumbles to himself, "Lemme see here," nods, then says, "Yeah, there's a lotta scabbing, let's see if we can get rid a some a that." Then he looks up in her eyes and promises, "I'ma be as careful as I can not ta hurt ya Baby, k?"
"Yes, okay."
He alternates from knee to knee using the hot water, washcloth and sponge to gently loosen and remove some of the scabbing, "Look at that, fresh pink skin!"
"Oh my gosh, you're right, and it didn't even hurt," she smiles and admits, "I kind of like having you take care of me Daryl."
He smiles back, "Oh yeah? That's good, cuz I like takin' care of ya, but not cuz you're hurt. You're gonna have ta promise not ta do it again. I'll still take care of ya." Did he just fucking say that to her? Yeah he did, and he meant it.
She lays her hand on his shoulder and promises, "It's a deal."
Then he sounds like he's reprimanding her, "Ya gotta be careful Baby, when I think of all the shit that coulda gone wrong that night…it ain't good."
"I promise Daryl, it will never happen like that again. I'm usually so careful, and now I learned a valuable lesson about not paying attention. I'll never make that mistake again."
She changes the subject, she's sick of talking about that dumb accident, and besides, there's something she's curious about. The people who work for him. Are they family, like cousins, are they old friends, what? She asks, "Everyone who works for you seems very nice, are they all friends or family of yours?"
He shrugs, "They're all nice, but they ain't related ta me or nuthin' like that. I guess they're what some people call work family. We get along, we joke n laugh n we got each other's back, but we don't really hang out except at work. I guess I ain't one for much of a social life"
He's checking out her hands and her other cuts as he talks and it seems kind of like he's just absentmindedly filling her in as he works, "Jerry's got a wife n three kids, as soon as his shift is done he goes straight home ta them. There's no after work beer or nuthin' with that guy, him n his wife, they don't drink. Abraham n Rosita been together for a while but they can both get a little fiery, so shit, who knows what'll happen there. Jesus and his partner, Aaron, they got jobs, but they help me out if I need an extra hand, like last night. I also got a guy named Jim who keeps the place clean, he's there in the mornings, early, long before we open. There's a big sumbitch named Mercer who fills in when Abraham can't work, and a woman named Cyndie who fills in for Rosita."
"Wow, that's a lot of people."
"It takes a lotta people." He snorts a laugh and shakes his head, "I was so dumb when I bought the place I thought it was just gonna be me. I figured if I needed a day off sometimes I'd call Merle," he softly laughs, "Shit, it ain't like that at all. It's the hours. The joint is open from 11 in the morning til midnight durin' the week, and from ten in the mornin' til two in the mornin' Friday n Saturday, and we're open seven days a week. The only time we close is Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's Day and Easter. And there's the ordering and the stocking and the bookkeeping and repairs, it's a lot."
"Wow, that is a lot." She also has to ask, "Do people really come in to drink at ten in the morning, or is it just coffee and stuff?'
He can't help a snicker, but my gawd, it's like this woman has never been exposed to real life, "Baby, people drink every minute of the day. We don't have a big crowd at ten a.m., but we got a few regulars who need a little eyeopener ta get their day started. So, I'm lucky, I got a good bunch helpin' me out."
00
She doesn't want to go home, and he doesn't want her to leave, but it's 5:30, and it's time. Shit, she has to get up and get to work in the morning, and he's got work too, they have things to do ahead of that. The holidays and hanging out on the couch have come to an end. Shit.
He could just walk her outside to her car, kiss her goodbye, and wave as she drives off, but no, he's not going to do it that way. Instead, he walks her to her car, kisses her, and holds the door as she gets in, "I'll be right behind ya."
Beth smiles and says, "Okay," because there's just no use arguing about it again. She's given up telling him she doesn't need an escort, "It's only 10 or 11 miles Daryl. I know I had an accident, but that was my first accident ever and I was a victim of circumstance. Driving home tonight will be no big deal."
"You're right, it ain't a big deal, and I'll be right behind ya."
She smiles to herself as she starts her car and turns around in the driveway, he hits the remote and the gate opens. My gosh, who would have thought a big tough guy like Daryl would turn out to be such a worry-wart. He's way too concerned, and yet it warms her all over to think that he cares about her enough that he'd go to this kind of trouble to make sure she gets home safely.
The drive is uneventful, although she does catch herself checking her rear-view mirror about every thirty seconds. She can't help it. Daryl looks so hot on that motorcycle. Super sexy. She never thought she'd ever agree to ride on one of those things, but looking at him now, shoot, if he asked her she'd hop on behind him so fast he wouldn't know what happened.
They pull up to her place. It's an older house that's been divided into four units. Beth's unit is in the back of the house. Daryl holds her arm as they walk to it, then takes the key from her, unlocks the door and they walk in.
He never got a good look at the place when he dropped her off here the other day. He didn't want to stay long enough to look around, it was just too hard to leave her, and he thought the faster he split, the easier it would be. Like pulling a Band-Aid off.
He walks in behind her, and this time, as she scurries around putting her purse down and turning the heat up, he takes a good, hard look. It's one large room. In the far left corner there's a bed, and it's like nothing he's ever seen. Well maybe in some TV show. But never in real life. The thing is covered in some kind of ruffly flowery bedspread, and even the bed pillows have a lace trim. The thing that gets him is, there's a little stuffed dog on the bed. Do women her age really still have shit like that around? No woman he's ever been with still had a toy. Shit, it's a toy.
There's a dresser next to the bed, and toward the center of the room there's a small couch, one of those loveseats that's barely big enough for two, but then, the room couldn't hold a couch any larger than it. There's a small side chair and table, and to the far right is the kitchen. Well, honest to God, you'd be hard pressed to call it a kitchen. It's just a nook with a bar sized fridge, an ancient three burner stove, and a small countertop.
She's got a little table with two chairs and in the corner, a guitar on a stand and a small sewing table. There are baskets on the floor filled with fabric and books and whatnot, and across from him are two doors, he's sure one leads to the closet, the other to the bathroom. "It's not quite as big as your place," she shrugs.
"Nah, but I've lived in places smaller than this. Rented a room from a guy once, just a small bedroom, even had ta share the bathroom. Ya got this place fixed up real nice." Real nice if he was a young girl. The walls are pale yellow, there's a furry looking rug next to the bed, the throw over the couch looks like a bunch of flowers, and so does the one over the side chair. The walls have prints of flowers, there's a mirror, and a couple of what look to be family photos. There's a bouquet of flowers and a couple of candles on the table in front of the miniature couch, and a bouquet on the kitchen table. She sure does like flowers. The place is all girly girl, and shit, you couldn't cram one more thing in this tiny place.
"So how long ya been livin' here?"
"Ever since I moved from home, just over a year."
"I see," he points to the corner, "Ya know how ta play that thing, huh?"
She smiles and shrugs shyly, "Yes, I know how."
"Why don't ya sing for me."
She's nervous but glad he wants to hear her sing and she smiles, "Sure, have a seat."
He plops down on the loveseat and mutters, "Yeah, I'll just plant myself here in this field a flowers."
"Very funny, Daryl."
He feels like a giant sitting on doll furniture, but when she sits down in the little side chair she has his full attention. He recognizes it, it's an old Tom Waits song, "Hold On." She sure as shit doesn't have the gritty voice of Tom Waits, her voice is sweet and pure. Yeah, sweet and pure just like she is. He's loving every minute of listening to her, but he's also realized he's been kidding himself about her. He has no business being with a woman like her. He knew that. He'd made up his mind about it, their worlds are just too different. They're too different. Then she came in last night and he lost his fucking mind. He's getting it back now and it's clear. This shit has to come to an end, right now. He isn't going to be the mutha fucker who takes her innocence and ruins her life.
It's time to man up dumb ass.
As soon as she's done with the song he's on his feet, "That was real nice Beth. Thanks. Uh, I gotta go now."
She senses it immediately. It's in his stance, and it's there in the tone of his voice, and she sees it in his eyes. They don't quite look at her, instead it's like he's looking over the top of her head. Something's wrong. What changed? Everything between them has been going so well, and now he can't wait to get the heck out of here. "Oh. Um, okay."
He feels like an asshole, then he reminds himself, that's because he is an asshole, and says, "Yeah, I got a lot ta do tonight."
She decides to step way out of her comfort zone, take the bull by the horns and just ask him, "So when will I see you again?"
When he answers she knows she's right, she won't see him again, "I ain't sure, hard ta say. I got a lotta work n some other shit ta do." Fuck him, "But I'll see ya around and, uh, thanks for a nice weekend." What a dumb fucking son of a bitch he is. But it's for the best. It's better for her this way.
If she were able to speak she would have told him to stay right here, explain himself and what's going on, what just happened, but she's in a state of shock and he's out the door so fast it's like his pants are on fire.
She doesn't want to, she's as mad at herself as she is at him, but she just can't help it. She plops down on the little couch and cries like she knows it's over, because she's sure it is. Daryl just didn't quite say that. How could she have been so stupid. My gawd, she chased him. That's exactly what both her Mama and Maggie have told her for her whole life, don't ever chase a man. Yet what did she do? She got dressed up and went to his place of business, sashayed herself right in there and put him on the spot, and then, my God, she made him think she wanted to have sex with him.
But wait a gosh darn minute. They talked all that out, then they laid around and got pretty darn cozy, had a meal together and he took care of her injuries again. Surely all that meant something. Or not. Maybe he just didn't now what else to do. The she actually says it out loud, "Oh screw him!" Then chastises herself. There's no reason to start using language like his. Besides, she's probably lucky the whole darn thing is over. Daryl Dixon is everything she was afraid he was at first glance The rest was just an act.
He rides that bike a lot faster than he should, a damn site faster than legal speed. He doesn't go straight home either, he needs to ride. He goes down as far as Peterson, but doesn't even stop to see his brother. He's not sure he can deal with Merle's energy right now. He takes the long way back to his place, driving to the four-lane and circling back around.
The first thing he does when he gets home is go to the fridge and grab a beer. He doesn't bother to shut the refrigerator door. He pops the cap off the bottle, holds it to his lips and downs it in a matter of seconds, then grabs another. Shit. Fuck. Why not? He reaches up in the cabinet and grabs the whiskey bottle and the rest of the six pack and plants himself on the couch.
This is a night to drink to forget, but the whiskey isn't working. It doesn't seem to matter how much he pours down, he can still see those pretty blue eyes looking up at him with nothing but confusion and disappointment.
Yeah, he's a real catch. Fucking asshole.
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A/N Oh Holy Mole! What now? Please leave a comment. There's a chapter photo on my tumblr blogs gneebee and bethylmethbrick. I'll be back next week with a new chapter of The Accidental Christmas, I hope you'll be back too. Until then remember, I love ya large! xo gneebee