Meyer might be drunk -- if you can even call being intoxicated on blood being truly drunk -- but he's not too drunk to realize that Charlie is definitely smelling Ned. He feels as though he should say something, but what can he say? After all, is it really so strange that Charlie's smelling him? Meyer had already tasted him, hadn't he? Come to think of it, he'd tasted pretty delicious.

"Charlie, c'mon, I'm not drunk," is the only protest he manages to give. He's halfheartedly attempting to wrench his arm out of Charlie's grasp, then looking at Ned with an apologetic shrug. He can't seem to break free -- which should concern him, since despite his relatively short stature, he can generally go toe to toe with Charlie in any kind of physical altercation -- and he doesn't know what the hell Charlie's up to.

"What are you doing? Don't smell him. He tastes good, but don't..."

Had he said that out loud? He feared he had. But why would Charlie care? He's not a vampire. He won't be eating him.