Merle sat nervously on the opposite side of the booth. Thank God that she liked steak, he had a taste for one of Texas Roadhouse's steaks. He was a gentleman and followed her back to her place so she could drop off her baby blue Ford Focus. The ride to the restaurant was a bit tense on his part. It slowly began feeling like a date, he opened and closed doors for her as if he were trained telepathically to do so. Maybe this was a bad idea. They had great conversation but the tension that Merle felt was one-sided, Michonne seemed blissfully ignorant of the "tension" growing in his pants.
He hadn't really taken a woman out before, but mentally he needed to break the pattern of associating women as strictly sexual beings. She was a brat's mother for God's sake...having a full on erection at the dinner table was unacceptable.
"Why are you so quiet all of a sudden?" She inquired, gingerly cutting up her steak. She looked up at him, a bit perplexed by the stoic look on his face as he dug into his t-bone steak and potatoes.
"I'm enjoying this steak." He said with a full mouth. If only she really knew...
She laughed as she watched him primitively chew the steak. "You have a little steak on the corner of your mouth there..." She informed him in amusement.
He blushed, quickly taking a napkin to his thin lips. He made a slight grumble, then continuing feasting on his tender steak and potatoes.
"So what do you do for fun, Merle?" She inquired, taking a sip of her sweet tea.
He did his damnedest not to stammer over his words. "I'm mainly into outdoor stuff," He said gruffly. "Huntin', shootin'," He went on. "I like to camp too."
"You look very athletic, so I imagine that you excel at that kind of stuff." She mentioned.
He smirked. "You can say that." Merle certainly loved getting his ego stroked. Typical man. He wanted to ask her questions, but his questions would probably get him slapped. He was trying desperately to be a good boy, but most of the time the term "good boy" wasn't in Merle Dixon's personality; especially when it came to dealing with the opposite sex.
She took another sip of her drink; then pausing as she honed in on the voices in close proximity to them.
Merle shook his head in frustration. It was the smartass Blondie on a date apparently. He remembered the brief moment that she rebuffed his advances. It was water off a duck's back now, but he still didn't care for her company, her body maybe; but not her company. Plus he wasn't expecting a possible dinner for 4. He put his head on his hand, then hiding the scowl on his face as Michonne called out for her attention. She sure was a social butterfly.
"Oh, Michonne?," Andrea said in surprise, looking back at her. She remembered her in passing in the Dixon brother's shop. What was she doing on a date with a perverted sleezebag like Merle Dixon? Her stomach turned seeing that idiot. "And Merle," He rolled his eyes. Damn it. Why couldn't women just wave when they saw each other? Damn those social interactions. He just wanted to sneak glances at Michonne and enjoy his steak. "Are you two are dating?" She asked, her curiosity overflowing.
Michonne laughed. "No," She replied. "Just two friends going out."
Andrea looked at her with skepticism in her eyes. "Ah, I see," She replied, gesturing to the handsome dark-haired man sitting across from her. "This is Philip Blake." He briefly waved, then putting his hand down in awkwardness. He hadn't wanted to be thrusted into social interactions either.
"Why don't you guys sit with us?," Michonne suggested. Andrea's eyes lit up and Philip and Merle knew both of their peaceful dinners were going to turn into endless "girl time". Andrea picked up her plate and stood up, urging the quiet Philip to do so also. He was a classy looking gentlemen with a designer v-neck black shirt and expensive dark blue jeans with fancy leather shoes. Merle tagged him as a city-slicker too.
Michonne slid her plate to Merle's side and stood up. "Mind if I sit next to you, Merle?"
"Alright." He replied, getting more ridged and tense. The poor guy nearly jumped out of his skin when her leg slightly brushed his as she made her way into the small and cozy booth. The damn thing was too cozy, her leg was brushing up against his constantly as she made small talk with Andrea. She seemed to not notice.
"I didn't know that you and Merle were friends." Andrea teased, giving Merle the side eye.
He reached over the table, grabbing at their passing waiter's sleeve. "Hey," He barked. "Gimme the strongest drink you got." Damn. It was going to be a long dinner.
Michonne bursted out laughing.
"I second that." Philip replied. Andrea looked at him in surprise and Merle smirked. Looks like the suffering was mutual on both man's part.
"I didn't know that you drank, Philip." Andrea mentioned in surprise.
"I drink when I'm nervous." He said, staring into his plate of his half eaten barbecued chicken and corn.
Merle chuckled. "I drink when I need it." And lord knows he needed every drink at that bar. Between having to deal with the awkwardness of meeting Andrea at the same damn restaurant; not to mention the constant physical contact with Michonne. Both men seemed to be on similar ground.
The talking seemed to have went on for about an hour. Damn it. Why did they have to see Andrea and her pretty-boy toy here anyway? Long after Andrea and Philip said their goodbyes, Merle sat across from Michonne once more, 5 glasses of whiskey later.
"Don't tell me that you're drunk," She said with a sigh. "I get that you didn't want to talk to them but jeez! It's called being polite," He rolled his eyes, then fumbling with his wallet. He reached for the tab, it was about 50 bucks...all the drinks he had were about 40. He put exact change and a sufficient tip and stood up. He staggered a bit, and she quickly caught his large body onto hers. "Why the hell would you do that?," All he could hear was nag, nag, nag. But it was a cute nag. A feisty nag. She was so mousy and small, but as prim and proper as she was she still had a mouth and an opinion. After making it outside she opened the passenger's door, then looking at Merle angrily. "Get the hell in."
He paused, registering her anger in his whiskey flooded brain. "It's my truck, sugar tits." He retorted.
"Sugar-?," She shook her head, not wanting to comprehend. "You're piss drunk now get in the damn passenger seat!," She wiped her brow from the thin layer of sweat pooling. The Georgia heat was still almighty, even at night. Wow it was hot. "It's too hot for this mess!," He huffed and got in the passenger seat. She got into the driver's seat and closed the door. "Shit," She said, looking at the numerous levers in close proximity to the driver's seat. "How the heck do I drive this thing?," It was a stick shift. She looked over at the incoherent Merle, then rolling her eyes. "You're too drunk to even put your seatbelt on." She leaned over him to strap him in and he became aware of her and her scent.
"You're very pretty." He said dreamily.
She rolled her eyes. "Oh shut up." She replied, twirling at one of her dreads and looking away. She masked a smile and a tinge of embarrassment. Being complimented by a drunk guy was nothing to be proud of. Her bigger concern was figuring out how to drive this thing. It took her about ten minutes but her determination payed off; no thanks to the drunk idiot in the passenger's seat. She turned on the AC and sighed in content as the cool air hit her sweat drenched skin. The drive back to her place was longer than she expected, especially with Merle snoring like a hog beside her. She nudged him. Their was no way in hell that idiot was dozing off while she drove. He jolted awake.
After arriving at her house she exited the truck; she went up and unlocked the door. She dutifully walked back to the truck and eased him out of it, shutting the door behind her. After getting him onto the sofa she closed and locked the door. She left him on the couch and angled his head towards a large bucket. Hopefully he wouldn't ruin it...Mike wouldn't have been happy.
She retired to her large master bedroom. She plopped on the bed, gently peeling out of her clothes. She slipped into her pink silk nightgown. She was alone again. It was frustrating being in a relationship but not really. She hadn't seen Mike for about a week now; she and Andre' were actually kind of used to him not being around. He had the tendency to go missing for a few days and then come back high or just disconnected from her and Andre'. Merle and Daryl were the only male friends that she had. Well, he didn't know about Daryl, only in passing. But he seemed apprehensive about her striking up a friendship with Merle, but he didn't say no...considering all of his female friends. God only knows if he was cheating or not. Aside from those problems she had a drunk redneck laying on her couch, piss drunk. She shook her head. A drunk redneck had to be on HER couch. She laughed to herself, then falling asleep.
Merle came to, barely remembering what happened just hours ago. It was about 4 in the morning, he slowly sat up. He only remembered dinner, and a few drinks after Andrea and her date joined them. He ran his hand down his face. Damn it. He was drunk at dinner. Michonne was probably pissed, but where was he? Where was she? He wandered around the house, it was spacious and extravagant. He nearly tripped over a lone toy. He cursed and picked up the toy in annoyance. It dawned on him after her looked at it, seeing it was a duck toy. He must've been at Michonne's place. She probably felt sorry for him and drove him back to her place so that he could sleep.
He stumbled upon a large room, instantly honing in on her on the bed. It was dark but he could see that she was wearing a nightgown and her body's lovely curves were bought to his attention. It went up to about her mid-thigh area. She looked breathtaking when she slept, her dreads were tousled and spread out amongst the silk lavender sheets. He could smell her from the wide distance that he was away from her. He wondered what those curves would feel like in his greedy hands, against his mouth and tongue.
She stirred, jolting him out of his lust-filled thoughts. She noticed him in the doorway. She sat up and turned on the lamp on her nightstand. "What are you doing?" She asked sleepily.
"Where's the bathroom?" He blurted out in an attempt to cover his ass.
She yawned. "You can use mine." She said, pointing to the door a few feet to her right.
He nodded, walking awkwardly past her. He closed the door behind him. The bathroom was big too...shit. That's right, she hadn't lived alone. The room was littered with aftershave, colognes.
Michonne went to the kitchen and turned on the lights. She sat down at the large rectangular, black dinner table. Minutes later she heard rustling, then seeing Merle leaning in the doorway looking back at her. "Still drunk?" She asked, still annoyed.
"No," He said, pulling out a chair and sitting next to her. "I'm sorry about that."
"You owe me another dinner." She said, crossing her arms.
He shrugged. "Fair enough," It was the least he could do for getting drunk on her and having her drive his car back to her place. He stood up and tucked in the chair. "Thanks for lookin' out for me."
"Where are you going?" She asked, arms folded and her brow raised.
"I'm goin' home," He said sternly. "Where are my keys?" He inquired, quickly patting his pockets.
"No you're not," Michonne chided. "You're going to stay here until I can be sure that the alcohol is out of your system."
He smirked. "Miss Michonne is worryin' about me?" He teased.
"I need to make sure that you don't do anything stupid," She explained, rolling her eyes. "I'd feel responsible if something happened." She said, looking up at him as she put her head on her hand.
"I'm a man," He retorted with a smirk. "Not a dog, sweetheart."
"Same difference." She replied primly.
Maybe so. He chuckled, pulling the chair back out. He sat down, looking at her with discreet smile. "Well am I a cute dog?"
"What?," She asked with a laugh. "Are you still drunk?"
"No," He replied, trying to stifle his laughter. "I'd just like to know."
She stood up. "Go back to sleep." She said with a sigh.
"I'm awake now," He assured, batting his eyes at her. "You can go back to sleep...," He huffed. "You ain't gotta worry bout' me ransacking the place for my keys." He said with a smile.
She stood up. "Well, I'm awake too. I may as well catch something on tv."
"Nothin' on this late except porn." He joked.
She rolled her eyes. "Oh please, their won't be any of that in this house."
"I'm joking," He said, standing up and putting a hand on his hip. This woman was very virtuous. No porn in the household. Pfff. He didn't need that type of stimulation anyway. He did good with his fantasies and thoughts. "Do you like westerns?"
She laughed.
He looked at her cluelessly. "What the hell is so funny?," He playfully chided. "You didn't think my porn joke was funny but you laugh at my suggestions for westerns." He didn't know what to think about this woman.
"Okay then, show me a western." She demanded with a sweet smile as she made her way to the living room. She plopped down on the couch, then patting the cushion beside her urging him to sit down.
He took her advice, sitting next to her. She reached for the remote, turning on the tv. "Now which channel is this mess on?" She teased.
"Mess?," He inquired with a tickled smile. He plucked the remote from her hand. "It ain't mess," He changed the channel. "They're classics."
As they watched an episode Michonne seemed intrigued by the handsome blonde-haired, blue-eyed protagonist riding into a seemingly destroyed town. He shoots each outlaw with such precision. "This is so fake." She said with a small laugh.
"The westerns were real," He retorted. "Where have you been?" He joked.
"Not there," She folded her arms and attentively continued watching. "In these westerns why aren't their any black people?"
He shrugged. "What black person watches westerns?"
"I'm being forced to watch them right now," She said begrudgingly. "What does skin color have to do with anything?"
He stretched out his arms and spread them out across the back of the chair. Shit. She was mad. "I didn't mean any harm by that," He said sincerely. "I like you so what does it matter?"
A smile overtook her face and she looked away, covering her mouth. He said that he liked her. Despite the friendly undertones of the statement it still made her happy. Noticing how dumb she probably looked she forced it away, bringing her arm back to her side. "What other preconceived notions do you have about black people?"
He sighed. "I'm a bit prejudiced," He admitted. "But I like you," He discreetly put his arm around her. "If I did date a black woman she'd have to be like you."
"Like me?" Her interest was piqued.
"Smart, beautiful...not loud," He said. "Assertive and opinionated." He flashed his blue eyes at her. Despite the nonchalant diss on her race she felt entranced by him. As crude and politically-incorrect as he was, he was candid. That brutal honesty was refreshing. He really wanted Michonne, he hadn't wanted a white woman the way he wanted her. She was slender with dangerous curves, piercing brown eyes and long dreads that he'd love to be able to tug on. She looked immaculate and well put-together, even early in the morning hours. She was a good friend but damned if he didn't want to see how she was as a lover.
He pushed those thoughts away and wondered how many nights of hers were spent alone. "Are you always by yourself like this?" He pressed.
"I'm used to this, Mike being gone for a week at a time...," Her voice trailed off in sadness. "Him coming back and not even paying attention to Andre'," She sighed, running her hand through her dreads. "Never mind me, but...to ignore your son is-" She paused, seeing Merle listening attentively. "I-I'm sorry," She stammered. "I shouldn't be telling you all of this...it's too heavy."
"I'm here," He soothed. "If it's too heavy for you, put some on my shoulders."
She looked at him in surprise. "You're...so strong," She managed to say. "How are you so strong?"
"I'm not strong all the time." He confessed. He was far from Superman, and even farther from a Saint.
"I'm not at all these days," She went on. "Things are just so-"
He eased closer to her. "Can I hug you?"
She smiled. She did need a hug. "Yes," He reached over and pulled her to him. He gently caressed her, she looked up at him. He was so warm...and comfortable. He smelled of faint whiskey and musk. He was sturdy and strong, undoubtably sure of himself while still remaining humble. He was so unapologetically himself. She wished some of that could transfer to her, maybe she'd be able to stand up to Mike. "Thank you."
"Sure." He let her lay her head onto his chest. She smelled great, her body was so soft too. He hadn't actually held a woman like this before. It was pretty nice. She was a good woman, too good for him but definitely too good for a shitbag like Mike. If he wasn't condemned to the friend-zone he would show her how a real man treats a lady. Though he wasn't sure how to himself; aside from opening doors, paying for dinner and beating the shit out of anyone who hurt her. He was used to being a man for the sake of strength; being tender and gentle was actually new to him.
But Michonne seemed to be unknowingly pulling out that side of him. He gently rubbed her arm until she dozed off. He snuck a gentle kiss on her lips, they were so full and soft against his. He savored that brief moment of tenderness. Merle Dixon seemed to be growing up, instead of copping a feel of a breast, he had kissed her. He didn't want to do anything else but comfort and protect this woman. She remained in his arms even as they both fell asleep.