Wayne bit his lip when Megan asked the question. It was an oft-asked question, and, with another swig from the bottle, he thought of the answers he'd given before. He could remember, when pressed for an answer, somewhat jokingly replying with names from Eloise to Susan to Kinsey, all the way to people like Lisa Turpin, or even Hermione Granger. And he'd tease Megan equally, saying she'd run off to a broom closet to sneak a quick kiss with someone Justin or Ernie.
He could see her wavering a bit--the firewhiskey was catching up to her, as it was to him. But Megan's words were hanging in the air. She was right. There was no need for a line. Or a conversation. If you're going to snog someone, you'd better fucking do it. Carpe diem. Fortune favors the bold. Into the Valley of Death rode the six-hundred. All that tosh. And she'd asked the question, after all; she deserved to know the answer, despite the condition they were in.
He threw himself forward, raising his hand and cradling the back of her head, as much to pull her closer as to make sure he didn't miss entirely and cause himself any more embarrassment as this action potentially carried...
He kissed Megan, at first gently, then just more forcefully, on her lips, which tasted faintly of the liquor between them. He pulled back slightly, eyes meeting hers, waiting for her reaction--with a small part of him hoping he hadn't screwed things up exponentially.