Jack Daniels || Michael Clifford ||

1

"Where are you going dressed like that?" Quinn asks, looking me up and down.

"Mind your own fucking business." I tell her. "I'm going to pick up Jack."

She laughs. "You talk about it like it's a person."

"Hey, he is to me." I tell her with a laugh, grabbing a cigarette and lighting it before placing it in my mouth.

"We talked about this, Azlyn. No more smoking inside the house. It's like one big ashtray in here."

"Sorry." I mutter with a shrug.

"But really, what are you wearing? Are those even considered pants?"

"Yes, Quinn. I'm a whore. Thanks for reminding me."

"Hey, you said it. Not me."

I roll my eyes. "I'll be back later."

"Should I wait up?"

"Probably not." I tell her, grabbing my jacket off of the coat rack. I step outside and the brisk air hits my face, pushing my hair out of my eyes. I take a drag of my cigarette and blow out a ring of smoke. I walk down the street, hands in my jacket's pockets. I look down at my fishnet leggings and immediately regret not wearing actual pants. I walk down the empty street to the nearest liquor store. When I get outside, I let my cigarette fall to the ground. I smash it with my foot.

I push the doors open and the cashier greets me by name. I give him a gentle smile and walk down the aisle. I stand on my tiptoes to reach the Jack Daniels liquor that is inches out of my grasp. I roll my eyes and wonder who the hell thought about putting Jack Daniels on the top shelf. I consider jumping up and reaching for it, but then imagine how many broken beer bottles I'd have to pay for if I missed. Fuck.

An arm reaches over me and grabs the last bottle of Jack. My eyes widen as I turn to face the man turning around and walking away. No. Not today.

"Excuse me." I say, rather rudely.

"Yeah?" He asks, turning around, his eyes scanning over my body. I point to my Jack Daniels shirt and then look at the last bottle of it in his hands. "Oh, last bottle. You want it." I nod in confirmation and he smiles. I take in his appearance. Green hair, up in every direction. His eyes are green as well. He's wearing black skinny jeans and a black t-shirt. If I wasn't so fucking angry at this dick for taking my liquor, I'd think he was pretty damn attractive. "What would you do for this bottle?" He asks.

I raise my middle finger at him.

He laughs. "Alright, fine. How about we share it? We both seem to have amazing taste in liquor."

"In your dreams." I answer with an eye roll.

"Then tough luck getting your liquor." He answers with a smirk playing on his lips.

"I had the damn bottle first."

"You didn't technically have it."

"I couldn't reach it."

"And how is that my fault?"

"Jeremy!" I yell.

"Yeah?" He answers from the counter.

"You got any Jack in the back?"

"Last bottle for today. Next shipment comes in tomorrow morning. Sorry, kid."

I curse under my breath and glare at the guy in front of me. "I'll go if you buy me a pack of cigarettes."

"You have a whole pack hanging out of your jacket pocket."

"I'm not doing shit for free."

He laughs. "Alright, I'll buy you a pack and we'll share the liquor."

"Great." I answer, sarcasm rich in my voice.

He laughs and walks to the front counter. Jeremy rings him up and gives him a bag to keep the things in. We exit the store and I walk by his side.

"I'm not a prostitute, if that's what you were thinking." I tell him.

He laughs. "Didn't think you were. Just thought you had interesting choice in clothing."

"Good. So you know where you stand."

"Oh please, with how drunk we'll be by the end of tonight, I wouldn't be surprised-"

"What's your name?" I cut him off. I take a cigarette out of my jacket's pocket and light it.

"Michael. Yours?"

"Azlyn."

"Never heard that before."

"Good." I tell him. "Makes me harder to forget."

"No one could forget you in those leggings." He mutters under his breath, turning down the street.

"You live around here?" I ask.

"Just down this street. Share a flat with my mates. They're not home now."

"Even better." I deadpan.

"What's your deal?" He asks.

"What do you mean?"

"You angry at the world or something?"

"The world has given me plenty of reasons to be angry. I just choose to drink and forget about them."

"So you have an alcohol addiction?"

"I wouldn't say that."

"I would. You're willing to go to a stranger's house to drink Jack Daniels because you can't wait a few more hours until the next shipment. You're lucky I'm not a serial killer."

"I'm so incredibly lucky." I mutter, kicking a rock with my foot. I take another drag of my cigarette. He walks up the steps of an apartment and I follow him down the hall, up a flight of stairs, and a few doors down to his apartment. He unlocks his door and I step inside, looking around.

He closes the door and takes off his jacket. I keep mine on and take a seat on his couch. He sets the bottle of Jack Daniels on the coffee table and sets an ashtray in front of us. He grabs two shot glasses and takes a seat next to me.

"You want the first shot?" He asks.

"Fuck yes. It's always the best." I tell him, my mouth already starting to water.

"Can't disagree." He says, pouring me the shot. I take the cigarette out of my mouth and take the shot, feeling the alcohol burn my throat. I take a puff of my cigarette and blow smoke out, leaning against the arm of his couch with a smile. This is going to be a hell of a night.

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