|Own Worst Enemy
Author: WhitePencil PM
Mac struggles to come to terms with his feelings for Sweet Dee. Rated Teen for general swearing. Mac/DeeRated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Humor - Diandra R. & Mac - Chapters: 4 - Words: 2,267 - Reviews: 19 - Favs: 12 - Follows: 15 - Updated: 03-22-13 - Published: 01-03-12 - id: 7705294
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Chap 3: Drunk and Punchy
Author's Note: Chapter 3 rewrite
Mac dragged two stinking trash bags out to the back alley and dumped them among an ever-growing collection. The stench was overwhelming. The Sheriff of Paddy's flexed his barely-there muscles and cast a watchful eye over his surroundings, and then returned into the bar.
The rest of the gang had gone home. Mac had just stayed behind to close up shop. This involved cleaning up, counting the profits for the day and – slipping a couple bills into his back pocket. It wasn't a lot, just a few dollars, but after a few months of doing this repeatedly, it added up handsomely.
Mac cackled to himself like a super villain, and suddenly, a wild looking Dee stumbled out of the bathroom. Mac nearly leapt out his skin, shutting the till in surprise. "Shit Dee! You're still here?"
Hair mussed and eyes bloodshot, achingly, she pushed herself into the stool. "What time is it?" her voice was raspy from drinking and puking and crying the entire day.
Mac's expression fell into annoyance. "Almost midnight. I assumed you left hours ago. You look like shit, Dee."
Dee ignored his insults, as she had adapted to do, and reached over the bar for a bottle of Jack. Mac smacked her hand away.
"Ow! What the hell!"
"No! That's it! I'm cutting you off! As your superior, I'm ordering you to stop being such an embarrassment. It's bad for business."
Your hair is stupid!" she shouted back, at a loss of energy for more impressive insult.
He chuckled, running a hand through his scraped back head of greasy locks. "Well that's simply not true. Everyone knows my hair is badass and awesome. It's the gangster look."
She furrowed her brows "What gang do you belong to, dickhole?" A pause.
"Please can I have that bottle of whisky?" Dee said, her big blue eyes wide and pleading. Mac's palms on the bar, in a firm and defensive stance, found himself falling into them.
If he were levelheaded enough to admit anything to himself, it would be that Dee was the only person he wanted to kiss and punch at the same time. He'd already done one- so if she ever offered herself to, he would do the other too.
And the thoughts swirled around his head like an obscure enigma because before he felt that familiar tingle in his dick from the shady thought, Dee had started speaking again.
"So…" Dee began, chugging on the bottle of Jack that was now in her possession. How did it get there? Did he hand it to her? That manipulative serpent. "I want to use this opportunity we have alone to bring something up with you."
Mac's throat was dry, "What?" Was the drink finally eroding her drunk punchy whore brain? Was she going to propose the unthinkable?
Dee's baby blues slid over knowingly. "So I know you've been staying behind late to steal money."
Mac blanched. Not exactly what he was expecting. "No." he swallowed. "No, not true."
"Can it asshole, I've known for months!" she shouted. "You know Frank would cut your balls off if he ever caught you, right?" Mac's head snapped up, frightened. Dee suddenly looked very self-satisfied.
He lowered his voice. "Okay. What are your demands in exchange for your silence?"
Dee looked him over thoughtfully. "I have a little situation, and you're going to get me out of it. Get in the car." She took one last chug of alcohol before grabbing her keys, "I'll explain on the way over there."