Drunk and Disorderly (Love in the City Short) (8 page)

“That’s it. You’re crazy. Completely nuts.” His voice is raised, almost to the point of yelling. “I think it’s better that we stay away from each other tonight. I’ll see you when it’s time to step in front of the microphone. Until then get the hell out of my sight.”

“For your information you weren’t the best sex I’ve ever had.” I know. I’m lying through my teeth here but no way am I letting him get away with thinking that he was all
that.
Even though he was. Well, you get my drift.

I turn on my heels and head back to the bar and straight into the chest of Mr. Reynolds. He’s standing with his hands across his chest looking between Coop and me. It would be safe to assume he heard some of what we said. Likely witnessed my ice toss. I’m tempted to crawl under one of the casino tables.

“I have no idea what is or has gone on between you two. But the success of tonight’s event is too important to let some lover’s spat affect it. I expect both of you to act like grown ups. Am I making myself clear?” Oh boy, Mr. Reynolds isn’t his usual jolly self.

“Sir, we just came to an understanding, right, Ms. Montgomery?” Coop says.

I nod in agreement. “I can assure we won’t let anything like this happen again.”

“Okay.” Mr. Reynolds eyes us speculatively. “I need to help with a display, but I’ll be watching.”

Mr. Reynolds heads to a table by the stage where Coop and I will be standing later. I swear I heard Mr. Reynolds muttering under his breath, but I couldn’t make it out.

Now with an empty glass in my hand, I continue my trip across the room to the bar. I don’t even glance back at Coop, but I feel his eyes on me. Burning my backside. Deliciously.
Damn
him.

People start arriving about thirty
minutes after the “incident.” I’m finishing up my second drink and contemplating a third. The room isn’t spinning. I’m still able to stand, so I order one more. This next drink was my big mistake as the third one was what tipped the scales of sobriety.

I feel a hand gripping my arm hard, just above the elbow. Fingers dig into my flesh and I let out a little cry protesting the pain.

“Hey,” I say, wincing from the discomfort. Following the arm attached to mine, I see it belongs to none other than Coop. “What the hell do you want?”

“For one, that this night was over. And second, for you to sober up. How many drinks have you had?”

“Sober up?” I ask. “I’m fine. Just dandy.”

“Good God.” He holds my hand while pulling me with him. He’s likely twice my weight and a good eight inches taller than me, so all I can do is follow him. “I think you’re going to be Vanna White tonight. Just stand up at the mic, look beautiful and smile.”

“I’m fine. Seriouz…” The word won’t come out of my mouth right.

“See what I mean. You can’t even talk.”

I decide to keep my mouth shut, afraid that anything I say will make his point valid. He practically drags me across the floor to the front of the ballroom. There’s a little stage for us to stand on. Coop helps me up a step to the platform then guides me on to the raised floor. He steps up to the microphone, which is attached to a podium and raises the mic a few inches. He side eyes me. It’s a quick glance but he conveys a lot with it. Mostly,
Keep your damn mouth shut.

He taps the mic to gather the crowd’s attention and so the evening begins. Tap… tap… tap.

“Good evening, ladies and gentleman. I’m Andrew Cooper, Peachtree’s new assistant football coach.” There’s a roar of applause, shouts and hollering. I guess he truly is a big deal after all. Whatever. “Thanks for the warm welcome. I’m looking forward to giving back to the Atlanta community here at Peachtree. Joining me tonight is Ms. Montgomery. Our new art teacher.”

I do a perfect Vanna White impression and wave at the crowd smiling like I’m Miss America. All the pageant practice came in handy after all. Wouldn’t my mother be proud?

“The proceeds of tonight’s Casino Night will be split between the football booster club and the art department. So please support Peachtree by throwing some dice or turning a few cards...”

Just as Coop is speaking mid-sentence, there’s a loud commotion in the back of the room. I stand up on my tiptoes to see what’s going on back there. Coop steadies my balance by placing his hand on the shoulder opposite of him. I
am
swaying a bit.

I see a woman escorting a police officer toward us, zigzagging through the tables with people standing motionless at them likely wondering what the hell is going on. The woman walking our way is clearly upset, but the officer shows no emotion. His face is totally impassive. Not an expression shows. I can’t for the life of me figure out what the hell is going on but I have a feeling this angry woman is about to clear things up for me.

“Officer, these two are the leaders here tonight.” I gasp as she points to Coop and me.
What the heck?
  “This whole evening is a game of chance. Unauthorized gambling in the eyes of the law.”

Now the two intruders to the event are standing in front us. “I think we can clear this whole thing up quickly,” the officer says in a commanding way, full of authority. His voice is the only sound in the room and strangely echoes off the walls. “We just need to see your permit to operate a charitable evening of gambling. I’m sure the fundraising chairperson has it.”

Holy shit!
I don’t know the first or last thing about a gambling permit. And the chairperson is out of town taking care of her sick parent. All this adds up to us being royally screwed.

“Sir,” Coop begins. “I think I can clear this up quickly. You may know me as Andrew Cooper, former tight end for the Falcons.”

“Son, I don’t give a rat’s ass if you’re the Pope. I need to see that paper.”

Now’s when things get a little crazy. I decide to pipe in here and it’s not very helpful at all. Shocking, I’m sure.

“See, Coop. Finally someone who’s not impressed with you and your superstar status.”

I push him with both hands, but he hardly moves. In frustration, I start beating on his chest. Not one of my finest moments. He grabs my hands, more in defense from my slight beatings, but still I protest with gusto, struggling and fighting with him.

“How dare you hold me like that? Let go of me.” I try to free myself to no avail.

“I’m not letting go of you until you calm the hell down.” I’m pretty sure the entire room hears him say that through the microphone. The gasp I hear somewhere in the room proves the point.

“How can I calm down when you’re such an asshole?” I hear even more gasps after that one.

“Okay, you two.” The officer comes up onto the platform with us, moves his face in front of mine and takes a deep breath. “Just as I thought. Drinking. Both of you.”

“What?” Coop asks incredulously. “I’ve not had a single drink tonight.”

“Well, I’ve heard that one before. How about this then? I’m taking her to jail for being drunk and you for being disorderly. She did ask you to remove your hands and you didn’t comply.”

I look to my wrist and see Coop’s fingers still wrapped around them. Then in a split second, he releases them. Like they’re hot coals, burning his skin.

“Officer, I apologize for their behavior tonight.” Mr. Reynolds appears in front of the podium, hopefully coming to our rescue. “It appears that we do have a permit, though it’s in the hands of our event’s chairperson. She was called out of town on a family emergency.”

Mr. Reynolds comes up on the platform, stops at the officer’s side, and whispers something into his ear. I watch as the officer nods his head up and down agreeing with whatever Mr. Reynolds told him. Hope springs up that this is all getting cleared up and the Casino Night can resume.

Mr. Reynolds finishes his secret conversation and moves to the side leaving the officer alone in front of us.

“Right now, I’m more worried about the display I just saw between these two than the gambling permit.” I watch the officer pull a lone pair of handcuffs out of his pocket. “I think it’s best to take them in, Mr. Reynolds. Let them cool down for a bit. Don’t you?”

Mr. Reynolds looks between Coop and me. There’s the oddest half-smile on his face. It surprises me, as I would’ve thought he’d be furious with our outburst and my drunken behavior.

“Yes, I agree. Some time cooling off is a good idea,” Mr. Reynolds agrees with the cop. Wait a second. I’m going to jail for this? A silly quarrel. What universe am I living in anyway?

“Give me your hand, Miss.” I extend my arm, and feel the cold metal as it encompasses my wrist, hearing the simple click securing the cuff. Damn, I used to think handcuffs were sexy. Not anymore.

“And now yours.” He points to Coop’s arm and repeats the same process. One handcuff and both of us bound together. Would someone please wake me up now? Surely, I’m dreaming and this is an awful nightmare.

The officer takes my arm gently and leads me off the platform. Coop has no choice but to follow. I walk through the room with my head down in shame until I hear Priscilla speaking somewhere to my left side.

“Don’t worry, Millie. I’ll call my cousin. He’s an attorney.” I look up and see her, and realize I’m crying, tears streaming down my face. I nod at her and mouth the words, “Thanks.”

But I’ll need more than an attorney. There’s a good chance that I’ll need another art teacher winning the lottery. This job, my dream one, is probably over before it really began. More angry tears follow. I’m frustrated, mad at Coop and myself.

I want to kick him in the shins. Take out all my frustrations on something, anything. I’m afraid to even look his way. If he returns my gaze with anger in his eyes, it could get ugly fast. I don’t remember the last time I’ve been this upset. Steam might even be coming out of my ears.

Keeping my eyes trained on the ground, I see that we’re in the lobby as the flooring changes to marble tiles. Shit, next up is the patrol car. Then the police station. After that the unemployment line. What a clusterfuck of a night.

The warm evening air hits me as the officer leads us outside. My skin is overheated and I wish there was a cool breeze blowing. Between all the alcohol and getting cuffed, I’m feeling feverish. Flush, too.

Now that we’re outside, I peek up just enough to see the officer’s awaiting patrol car in the distance, lights off, thankfully. Any more drama and I’d be screaming. As we approach the car, Coop finally speaks. He’s been oddly silent the entire time.

“Officer, there really isn’t a need to take us to the station. Surely, we can work this out here.”

“Forget the speeches, hotshot. I’m not listening. You can tell your story to the precinct captain. He loves to be entertained.” For the first time the police officer shows some emotion and laughs. At us. In Coop’s face. We are so going down for the count now. I can almost hear the jail cell’s door slamming shut.

Coop sighs in frustration. I look up at him and I swear he looks a little scared, uneasy. His record as the perfect celebrity is about to be tarnished. The press will have a field day when they get ahold of this. I’m a nothing. I’ll go back to Augusta where I belong and find a job cat sitting or something. No one will care.

But he’s going to have to answer for this one. The reporters will likely grill him and sensationalize the whole ordeal. And as Coop looks into my eyes, registering some feeling that I’d never seen on his face, a little sympathy pushes past my anger, making me just a little bit sorry. Dare I say remorseful?

“Hey.” Talking just above a whisper, I pull on the handcuff we’re both connected to and get his attention. “I’m sorry about all of this. I egged you on.”

“Yes, you did. But I wanted to get back at you.” Now I see anger in his eyes. He wanted a pound of flesh from me. Well, he’s already had a few pounds of my flesh, but not like this.

“Get me back?” I ask. “Well, you sure picked an asshole way to do that.”

We’re standing at the car before Coop can answer me back. But I’m sure he’ll fill me in on how wrong I am. The officer unlocks the back door for us.

I’ve seen this exact scenario a million times on TV shows. The bad guys under arrest have to climb in the backseat. The officer guides them, placing a hand on their heads so they don’t knock themselves out on the door’s frame. This is one art form I don’t care to imitate. But we have no choice and climb into the back. Sliding across the leather seat, I make room for Coop. I lean against the far door. Far, far away from him.

“You have no idea, do you?” Coop asks me through gritted teeth, anger seething from him in waves. “Answer me.”

“Wow, you’re quite the jerk.” My response is spoken more like a hiss. “No, I don’t have any idea why you’re so mad, and honestly I could care less.”

“Here’s the whole damn truth.” He pauses, waiting until I make eye contact with him and we’re staring into each other eyes. All my attention is his right now. His anger makes him appear so intense, dangerous, and deliciously sexy. He’s as beautiful as hell and I find myself shifting in my seat. It’s the damn Coop effect. No woman is immune to it. “I’ve never, I mean never, had someone leave me after having sex like you did.”

And boom it hits me. This has nothing to do with me, Millie, the person. It’s his big, fragile ego. I bruised it. Hit him where it
really
counts. The simple act of my leaving him without a word was a bull’s-eye aimed straight at his pride.

“I was right. It’s all about you. I was just the first one who stepped on your ego. Welcome to the real world, Coop. It’s called rejection.”

I really didn’t mean that, you know. There never was any rejection on my part. More like an escape before he rejected me. But I’ll never tell him that.

“Here’s the deal, Millie. I really liked you. Maybe that’s why it’s bothering me. I thought you felt the way same way about me too.”

Another bomb was just dropped on me. I wasn’t expecting that response from him at all. He liked me. Coop, Mr. Football, the man who ruined me for all others. Hell, what a dumbass I am. He’s looking at me. Heart on his sleeves vulnerable. God, he’s too adorable right now. So I do what every smart, single woman in my shoes would do. I scoot across the seat and basically attack him. But this time with my lips not my fists.