Chapter Thirteen
Sober Schmober

FRIDAY 21st JUNE, 1985 — FLASHBACK

Betty had bailed on her study night with Eddie.

For a date.

He was nursing his strange sense of disappointment with a pack of beers he'd picked up from the gas station.

Which was where he spotted Brian Chalmers.

First things first, Eddie did not know what Betty saw in him. Chalmers was the typical beefed up jock with no sense of morals, or human decency, and zero sign of intelligent life. All he had going for him were great arms, big thighs and a six pack. And like, Eddie somewhat understood the physical appeal, but Betty was so much better than that.

Problem was, Eddie was fairly certain their date was supposed to start at seven. But Chalmers was at the gas station, with his friends, all piling out a ridiculously lavish, sleek, black Aston Martin.

Eddie checked his watch. It was just after eight – that seemed too early for a date to finish.

Then he caught it; the mention of her name, their boisterous laughter...

Oh, man. Eddie wanted to hit every single one of them. In the face. With a brick.

He was half tempted to go over there, but he didn't stand a chance outnumbered like that.

Eddie stomped back to the van. He dumped his beer on the seat, climbed inside and slammed the door shut. Assholes.

The engine came to life with a rickety shake. Eddie checked briefly over his shoulder and then reversed out, resisting the urge to scratch Chalmers' car as he passed it.

Meanwhile, Betty was slumped on the sidewalk outside her favourite bar. She was nursing her third...fourth?...third glass of wine.

She'd been stood up.

Which was frustrating – mainly because she'd bought a brand new dress for the occasion, spent a few hours after school getting ready, even bailed on her English project with Eddie.

It was also highly embarrassing. Betty had been forced to venture outside of the bar so she could wallow without being seen. Plus, she wasn't entirely confident in her abilities to hold back tears.

The feeling was horrible, gnawing away at her insides, feeding into her self doubts. It seemed like every person inside the bar was in on the joke; watching her, pitying her, laughing at her.

A van swerved into the parking bay alongside her. Betty's initial thoughts skirted along the lines of "great, as if my night couldn't get any worse, I'm about to get fucking kidnapped."

But then she realised who it belonged to.

Eddie could practically feel his blood boiling when he saw her, sat alone on the side of the road. He couldn't comprehend why anybody would do that to someone, but to do it to Betty?

And God, she looked so beautiful too, in a pale pink dress with matching heels. Her hair was out of the usual high ponytail, left in loose, curled ringlets that rested past her shoulders.

Chalmers didn't deserve any of that.

Betty's brows knitted together when Eddie stepped out the van. "What are you doing here?"

Then her eyes trailed over him.

Holy shit.

Eddie was wearing smart, dark-wash blue jeans, and a plain black shirt with long sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The first few buttons were undone, revealing his collarbones and the top of his chest. A simple, silver chain necklace peeked out.

"What?" He asked, catching her stare. "Too much?"

"What are you..." Betty was aware her mouth was falling open, but there wasn't much she could do about it. Especially not when he was stood there looking like that.

"I saw Chalmers and his friends hanging around the gas station," Eddie explained. "Figured you'd been stood up. I'm sorry."

"So you...came all the way here?"

Eddie shrugged. "Thought I could pretend to be your date or something, spare you from the embarrassment," he elaborated. "Not that being stood up is anything to be embarrassed about. I mean, it's totally a him problem not a you one, but uh–" He pulled self-consciously at the collar of his shirt. "Didn't exactly think it through. I mean, people probably won't buy it. You look like that and I, well..."

Betty got to her feet.

Kind of.

She staggered off balance. Eddie held out an arm to prevent her from falling. Betty stumbled, bumping into his chest. She grasped both his shoulders to steady herself.

Eddie's hands instinctively moved to her waist.

Their eyes met.

Shit. He looked so good. And he was wearing that nice cologne she liked.

Oh God. That was literal proof of why Betty shouldn't drink wine. All the alcohol was making Eddie's perfect, plush, pink lips seem way too enticing.

"You good, Angel?"

Betty was not good. Far from it.

"Mhm," she nodded quickly, flashing a false smile. "Let's go inside."

Betty had to say that. Because if they got in the van instead, she would spend the entire journey home thinking about what kissing him would feel like. And when he dropped her home, he would rush out the vehicle, just so he could open her door for her (like he always did), and she would laugh fondly. Then he'd walk her to the front porch and crack some dumb joke, which would then be followed up with something profoundly sweet. Leaving Betty with simply no other option but to kiss him on his stupid mouth.

So yeah, she had to slip her hand into his and lead them inside the bar.

Eddie was not expecting it.

At all.

He was highly aware that his palms were a little sweaty, but, to be fair, Betty had been stood in front of him looking like that and he had been fully prepared to risk it all then and there. So he could be forgiven for being a bit nervous.

Like, she was actually holding his hand. It was insane. The only other woman Eddie had ever held hands with was his mother. And she was dead now, so.

Anyway.

Betty knew she was potentially committing social suicide if anybody from school spotted her with Eddie Munson. But she kind of didn't care?

Perhaps she was going through a rebellious phase, or she was just incredibly drunk, but Betty sauntered back into that bar proudly.

There was an older woman sat in the corner, with wiry grey hair, thick rimmed glasses and an ugly green sweater. She had been watching Betty judgementally all night. So when she strode back inside and the woman's thin lips parted in surprise, Betty couldn't help but grin.

She slipped her hand from Eddie's and wrapped her arm around his waist instead.

Eddie almost collapsed.

He responded in the way she'd hoped; his arm slinging over her shoulders, cold rings pressing into the warmth of her bare skin.

Oh. Betty realised she really hadn't factored that item of jewelry in. She tried not to make the shiver running up her spine look too obvious.

The barman faced them, concentrating on using a checkered blue tea towel to clean a beer glass. He was around mid thirties, all coiffed blonde hair and blue eyes. He was pretty. Probably Betty's usual type.

His brows arched at her arrival. "Another Rosé?"

"Just a Coke this time," she told him.

Betty could not physically drink any more alcohol. If she did, she would not be able to stop herself from kissing Eddie. And that was not a good idea.

No matter how enticing he looked.

And he did. God, he really did.

Somehow even more so underneath the dim glow of the lights.

"And your boyfriend?"

Boyfriend.

"Same for me," Eddie responded, glancing down at Betty with a smirk. She swatted him lightly on the arm. He chuckled.

Boyfriend.

When the barman turned back around, Eddie leaned closer to Betty. He rested his hand on her back, lowering his voice. "Boyfriend."

Betty's stare flickered up at him distastefully. "Shut up."

A teasing grin curved on his lips.

The barman set two glasses and bottles of Coke on the table. "That'll be three dollars."

Betty reached for her purse. Beating her to it, Eddie dug into his jeans pocket, pulled out a few crumpled dollar bills, and handed them over.

She opened her mouth to protest, but Eddie swiftly swiped the Cokes from the bar and headed towards a table.

Around the corner, towards the back, fairly secluded from the rest of the bar, were two chairs opposite each other.

Betty sat down gracefully. And by that, she means slid against the wall and practically fell into the seat.

"Smooth," Eddie remarked amusedly. "How much have you had to drink exactly?"

"Uh that'd be three glasses of wine."

He chuckled. "Figures."

She set her purse on her knee and rifled through. "Let me pay you for the drinks."

"Sweetheart, I might live in a trailer park but I can afford a couple drinks."

"But it's my fault you're here," Betty protested.

"I didn't have to come," he pointed out.

Her eyes narrowed, attempting so sus out his expression. "Then why did you?"

Eddie shrugged. "'Cos you deserve better than Chalmers."

Fuck.

Betty glanced down at her drink. "Yeah."

She pinched her straw between her thumb and forefinger, swirling it around. The ice clinked against the glass.

Betty took a sip and peered back up at Eddie. "You're not having a beer?"

Eddie tapped the bottle with his fingernail. "I'm driving."

"Never usually stops you."

"Yeah, well, I've got you in the van tonight."

Oh man. Betty needed him to stop saying things like that.

She shifted position, smoothing down her dress. "No jumping red lights then."

"Already skipped enough on the way over."

"In a rush to see me?"

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Always."

Hells fucking bells.

Betty was gonna struggle getting through the rest of the night.

Almost everything was making her sweat. The look in those mischievous brown eyes, the crooked smile resting on his lips, chest peeking out from underneath his shirt, rings on his fingers knocking against the table...

Jesus. Mary. Joseph. Someone.

"You okay?" Eddie asked. "Wine getting to your head?"

Think fast.

"You just...look really good."

Dammit, Betty!

"Oh?" Eddie grinned, a little too smugly. "Yeah?"

She had made a very grave mistake.

"I just...I..." Betty stammered. "I meant that I'm not used to seeing you in something other than a band shirt," she backtracked quickly. "It's nice."

Shit. Nice? Betty was gonna slam her fucking head against the table.

Eddie scratched the back of the neck, a flush rising to his cheeks. "You think so? I kinda just–" He pinched at his shirt, exposing more skin and the outline of a tattoo. "I don't know, threw it on quickly. Didn't wanna leave you waiting."

Betty took a sharp intake of breath. She dragged her attention away from the mysterious tattoo because, like, wait a minute...was Eddie getting flustered too?

He cleared his throat. "For the record, you, uh, you look really good too," he complimented, gaze hovering over her. "Incredible, actually. Chalmers has gotta be the biggest idiot."

Betty picked up her glass, disguising her smile and pink tinted cheeks behind it. "Nah, I think you still hold that title."

He raised his brows. "It's cute that you think you're funny."

She giggled. Eddie shook his head, wry smile on his lips.

Their knees brushed underneath the table. Neither of them pulled back.

Betty tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She wasn't used to wearing it down. That was the only reason she was fussing with it. Obviously.

"I, uh..." she paused, becoming distracted as Eddie brought his glass to his lips, head tilting back just the slightest. His neck. "...I just, um, I wanted to say thanks. For coming here."

Eddie leaned back against the chair nonchalantly. His top lip was wet from the drink. He brushed his thumb over it.

Betty's eyes followed each movement.

Another grin curved on his lips, eyes dark and mischievous. "Well, couldn't leave a pretty girl to drink alone at a bar, could I?"

Yeah. It was so over for Betty.

So over.

—

Their night did not end at the bar.

Betty had insisted that she needed to sober up before going home. (It was nothing to do with the fact that she wanted to spend more time with Eddie. Absolutely nothing.)

So, he brought her back to his place.

Specifically, to his room.

Betty was delighted.

Eddie had asked her to wait in the main room for ten minutes whilst he "reorganised a few things," but Betty had gotten bored after around four.

Wandering inside, she dreaded to think how disastrously bad his bedroom looked before his rushed effort to tidy, because it was still a complete and utter mess.

But it hadn't changed much since they were kids either. Which was kind of sweet.

A gigantic Corroded Coffin banner was hung proudly above the dresser. The remainder of the pale yellow walls were covered with album posters and colourful artworks of strange looking creatures.

There were four guitars, spread out in different places around the room. His most prized one, maroon coloured with black spots, was situated in her rightful position against the main wall. Betty anticipated she'd be on the receiving end of one of his stern "do not touch" lectures.

Eddie was busy scurrying around the room, muttering curses under his breath. The chains on his belt jangled frantically.

He picked up crushed beer cans and cigarette butts that had been strewn across the carpet, launching them into the round black trash can in the corner of the room.

Eddie stopped, then turned around in a circle, slightly resembling a headless chicken. His eyes suddenly widened and he scrambled in the direction of his bed. Betty watched him frantically shove several magazines underneath. She pretended not to have totally noticed they were pornographic.

"I'm sorry," Eddie rushed out, slamming a hand against his wardrobe door to close it. "Just wasn't expecting company."

"It's okay."

His eyes self-consciously scanned the bedroom, landing on a pair of black ripped jeans flung over the side table. He practically leapt forwards and snagged the garment, folding it messily and shoving it inside his chest of drawers – which had to be forcibly kicked shut.

Eddie faced her breathlessly, thin film of sweat covering his brows. "Also, that, uh, that definitely wasn't ten minutes."

Betty shrugged. "I got bored."

She glanced around the room, purposely skimming over the disaster state of the dressing tables because, truth be told, they were absolutely horrifying to look at. Although, her attention definitely lingered when Eddie backed into one, snatched something and hid it behind his back.

When she looked away, marvelling at the pile of cassette tapes he'd amassed, Eddie swiftly hid the object (a box of condoms) behind one of the amps.

He straightened back up, scratching the back of his neck. "Wow, don't even remember the last time you were in here."

"Not much has changed," Betty commented with a small smile. "Almost like I never left."

Eddie's gaze trailed after her as she perched on the edge of the bed. Betty crossed one leg over the other, satin pink dress bunching higher up her thighs. She didn't notice the way he looked at her. In fact, Betty had become distracted, eye-level with a particularly interesting object.

His special lunchbox.

She glanced back up. "I have an idea."

Following her line of sight, and realising exactly where her thoughts had gone, Eddie shook his head dismissively. "No."

"Why not?"

"You wanted to sober up," he reminded. "Getting high is the opposite."

"Ugh, sober, schmober," Betty waved her hand. "Live a little, Munson."

Okay, sure, maybe he should've done the responsible thing and stopped her. But how was he supposed to say no to Betty Angel?

Half an hour later, the pair of them were squished together on the single bed, passing a joint between them.

Betty tilted her head slightly, observing how Eddie looked underneath the dim lights.

His messy hair was splayed around the pillow, a few strands tickling her bare shoulders. He had his right arm pressed against hers, joint held loosely between nimble fingers. Eddie's other arm had come up to rest behind his head.

He stared up at the ceiling, soft smile adorning his lips – which, annoyingly, Betty was still thinking about. Actually, she had been all night. So it didn't come as a surprise to her when the next words left her mouth.

"What's your worst ever kiss?"

Eddie choked. "What?"

"Okay, I'll start," Betty said, turning onto her side.

Intrigued, he copied her action. Eddie quickly realised their new position gave him incredibly easy access to seeing down the neckline of her dress. He did everything in his power to keep his eyes on her face.

"Robert Manning, eighth grade." Betty's nose scrunched. "Blegh. Went for tongue straight away and, like, super aggressively. I almost threw up."

Eddie grimaced, corners of his eyes crinkling. "You kissed Robert Manning?"

"Not one of my best, I'll admit," Betty agreed. "Go on, your turn."

Eddie's gaze shifted to the wall. "I, uh...I don't think I've ever had a bad kiss."

"Hate to break it to you, but that usually means you're the bad kisser."

"Oh yeah? Wanna test that out?"

Betty could've sworn she stopped breathing.

Her wide eyes darted up to his. "What?"

Eddie was an idiot.

He could not even comprehend why he would say something like that. Like, he was not in any sort of position to be throwing around flirty remarks like that. Not when he'd only had two kisses in his entire fucking life.

He hadn't exactly asked for feedback from either of them, but considering one was a dare and the other didn't call him back, he wasn't feeling incredibly positive about his skills.

At least he knew Betty wouldn't take the teasing seriously. She'd be naturally repelled enough not to kiss him, he was certain.

"I, uh, that was, you know, I–I obviously meant that as a– as a joke," Eddie eventually managed to stutter out, fidgeting with his rings.

He wanted to die.

Problem was, his loser boy personality had captivated Betty.

"You've had your first kiss, right?"

Eddie scoffed. "Obviously." Betty's brows arched. "Okay, I know that sounded unconvincing, but I definitely have."

She propped herself onto one elbow. "Have you had sex?"

Eddie's brain short circuited. "Huh?"

"Oh God, please tell me Wayne gave you the birds and the bees talk."

"No, I– I know what– I know what sex is," Eddie managed to reply. Jesus H Christ. He was seriously not helping his cause. "I just wasn't expecting, you know, that."

Betty's fingers grazed his as she swiped the joint from him, taking another hit. "It's a simple question, Munson."

Eddie swallowed. "Yes. Yes I have had sex."

Betty pointed at a set of handcuffs hung beside the wardrobe. "Is that why you have those?"

Fuck.

"No."

"Do you prefer to be handcuffed or the handcuffee, because personally–"

"Stop it." Eddie put his hands over his ears. "We're not having this conversation."

Betty rested her chin in her hand. "You get flustered easy, don't you?"

"Well, it's not everyday I have a cheerleader in my bed."

Betty grinned and lay back down.

Eddie was absolutely fucking relieved. He felt so embarrassed just looking at her. And her stare was so scrutinising. Like she was trying to figure out every single detail inside his brain. No wonder he was nervous.

Betty squinted up at ceiling. "Do you believe that conspiracy about the moon landing being fake?"

Eddie blinked at the sudden topic shift, but went with it anyway. "No. But, uh, sometimes I wonder if horses come from outer space."

Betty went completely silent for a few seconds. He could practically hear the gears turning in her mind. "Holy shit."

Eddie sat up, twisting onto his side to face her. His eyes were wide, hazy and red, pupils blown. "Think about it."

Betty frowned. "All I'm imagining now is a horse in a spaceship."

They stared at one another.

And then collapsed into a fit of laughter.

Eddie threw his head back so hard it collided against the headboard with a thud.

"Ow."

Betty doubled over as Eddie rolled onto his side, cradling his head with a groan. "Idiot."

"That was your fault," he accused. "Fucking hell. Horses in spaceships."

Betty accidentally snorted, causing them to fall apart with laughter. She collapsed into him, head dropping against his shoulder. The added weight toppled them back into the headboard.

Betty's knees hit his thighs. Her hand instinctively pressed against his chest. Eddie's fingers grasped the gathered material of her dress to steady her.

They were sat close.

So close.

Betty watched the dimples on his face gradually fade as the room fell into silence.

Her gaze drifted over him; faded freckles dusting his skin, tiny scar on his forehead from when he fell off his skateboard, his long lashes as he stared up at her, eyes all soft and unsure.

She could've moved back, should've moved back; away from his face, from his lips.

But she didn't.

Instead, Betty did something stupid.

She kissed him.

A/N

Sorry not sorry for the cliffhanger :)