Page 7 of Darling Venom
Hesitantly, I offered her the Bud Light.
Charlotte released her death grip from the chimney and took a small sip.
“God.” She poked her tongue out and passed it back, wrinkling her nose. “Tastes like feet.”
I swallowed the rest of the lager, feeling an unjust sense of superiority. “I suggest you stop licking feet.”
“And drinking beer, apparently.”
“You get used to it. Nobody likes the taste of alcohol. Just the way it makes you feel.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You get drunk often?”
The only light illuminating us came from nearby buildings.
Charlotte freaking Richards, ladies and gents.
Up close.
So pretty I would smile if I could still feel anything past the numbness.
“Often enough.”
Translation: Way more than I freaking should at my age.
“Do your parents know?”
I pinned her with a what-the-fuck? look.
I didn’t normally feel so easy with people, let alone those with boobs, but the beers had loosened me up. Plus, in my head, Charlotte and I had spoken to each other plenty.
I popped a brow. “Do your parents know you’re getting hammered tonight?”
“My parents are dead.”
It came out flat. Monotone. Like she’d said it so many times, it no longer held weight.
But she rendered me speechless for a moment.
Sorry seemed too small a word. I didn’t know anyone our age with two dead parents.
One dead parent—sure. Happens. My mom was six feet under.
Two—that was some Oliver Twist shit.
Charlotte Richards just out-tragedied me.
“Oh.”
Really, Kellan?
Of all the fucking words available? Oh?
“How?” I added, not that it reinstated my right to speak the English language.
She rocked her leg, glancing around. “There was a fire in our house. Everything burned down.”
“When?”
