“Here’s a question - why is this drink called The Zombie?” he mused, looking at his cocktail. “It’s all fruity and colorful. If it’s a zombie drink, shouldn’t it be, like, mushy or brain-like? Or maybe it’s that I turn into a zombie when I drink this? Maybe this is how the apocalypse starts.” His words were slurred, an obvious indication that this wasn’t his first of these.
“When I first met you I was like ninety percent certain you couldn’t get any cuter, but drunk you is adorable.” Bryce said, only on his second drink himself. “You should probably have a glass of water, hot stuff,”












