Squeee!

I feel rotten so today you are getting a clip out of my Talbot's Peak WIP. You'll just have to make due with Marissa's sarcasm this week rather than mine.

~ Rebecca


“Sqeeee!”

Marissa cringed. What was it with grown women running around a bar making noises that resembled a whoopee cushion? She looked sideways at the bubble-headed bleach-blond and shook her head. Of course. She had just seen another of her tribe of usless females walk into the bar on North Ninth. Better plaster on a smile before they realized she was annoyed by them and refused to tip. Mooney was starting to rub off on her. Not in a bad way, per say, but she used to be able to tolerate her fellow humans better than this. A week of living with her wolfie had left her just a little spoiled. She looked at the clock for the hundredth time. Would her shift never end?

As she sopped up a spilled beer, Marissa tried not to get angry with Lex again. Oh sure, if it wasn’t for him, she’d be in bed asleep rather than tending bar at some dive. If it wasn’t for Lex’s horrible attempt at a love potion on Valentine’s Day, she’d be able to open her coffee shop in the morning and wouldn’t have had to find some temp work. But then again, if it wasn’t for Lex’s incompetence, she probably wouldn’t have moved in with Mooney. She wouldn’t have discovered that she dry wit and sarcastic nature blended well with his entire family. She wouldn’t have finally found her niche in the world. So yeah. She was trying hard not to be angry with the little flee bag. Besides, the sheriff couldn’t keep her shop closed down indefinitely.

“Hey sweet thang! Why don’t you come over here and sit your pretty ass down on my lap?”

Marissa looked, curious as to which member of the whoopee cushion club was going to answer. To her surprise, Billy Bob, the bar’s drunken mascot, was talking to her.

“I don’t think so, Billy,” Marissa said with a fake smile. He was too drunk to notice she was faking it and never tipped anyway.

“Now sweet thang, how you going to get a man if you don’t come socialize with us?” he said, chuckling at his own imagined wit.

“I have me a man, Billy. And socializing isn’t exactly what you have in mind anyway.”

“We-e-e-ll, you might be right,” he replied.

“Well, I am not interested in you as anything but a loyal customer,” she said back. “If you’ll excuse me, I think the party at table three is ready to order.” Marissa scurried away before he could think of a come-back, marginally happy the tripe of whoopee cushions had grown since it gave her a lagitamit escape. She slipped behind the bar and grabbed five bottles of MGD, the preferred drink of the ladies in question- two for each of the new arrivals on one for each of the three who’d already been here.

They thought she was some kind of mind reader for knowing what they wanted without them saying. The fact was, Mooney had taught her mor than just an intolerance for her own kind. He’d taught her how to read them like books. What ever. The generous tip made up for the lack of interesting clientele.

An hour later, her apathy was blown away when none other than Maggie strolled in. She knew from Mooney that she was pretty high up in the shifter ranks, almost the top alpha bitch of the whole town.
What was she doing in a human dive like this?

“What can I get for you?” she asked with a smile.

“Well, well, well. My, haven’t we fallen in standing,” Maggie said with a sneer.

“No,” Marissa said lightly. “I’ve always made my living by serving customers.”

“But now you are slopping beer in someone else’s establishment rather than serving burnt bean juice in that hoity-toity place of your’s,” Maggie replies smugly.

“I don’t slop,” Marissa said brightly, realizing the she-bitch was trying to start a fight. “Can I get you anything?”

“That’s not what I heard,” Maggie’s companion leered. “I heard you like sloppy seconds.”

“Nope,” Marissa said just as brightly to the small, rat-like male. “I tak ‘em first and kill anything that tries to follow too closely behind.” She turned back to Maggie. “So are you interested in the house special? Or did you just come in to pick a fight?” She said this last bit louder than necessary and was rewarded when every eye in the bar turned their way.

“This isn’t over, ape!” Maggie spat, eyeing the room of hostile humans.

“Probably not, furball,” Marissa agreed sweetly. “But you are just going to have to order something or go.”

“You’ll pay for this,” Maggie said hatefully. “No one throws me out of a bar and gets away wit it!”