Drunk and Disorderly (Love in the City Short) Page 6

  “That’s right. You know me. Hook-up queen.”

  “It would appear so. So you got the teaching job after all.”

  “Yes, I did. And you found one too, it looks like. Slumming with the regular folks now.” I match the tone of his voice. Passionate disgust. But I’m really dying inside and just want to leave before I pass out from being so close to him. His scent is driving me wild, making me want to kneel before him and do bad, bad things.

  “I can’t believe you. After spending all afternoon with me. Great sex with no complaints, right?” Oh shit, he had to bring it up. The sex part. “You leave me without a single word. Not even a note saying, ‘Thanks for the fuck.’”

  “I don’t want to talk about this right now.” I need distance or I’m going to be all over him, tearing his clothes off in the parking lot. It’s one or the other. So I shake his hands off my arm and turn around toward my car. I opt for the choice that won’t get me arrested or fired.

  “Right. Run away, little girl. You’re apparently great at that.” I cringe at his comments, but finally get my door unlocked. Damn, I hate my car. It’s so old and cheap that it doesn’t even have automatic doors. “If I didn’t care so much about the football team and the support of the booster club, I’d move hell or high water to get out of Saturday night.”

  “Well, I’ll be praying for both. Hell and high water.” I open my door and slam it behind me. After getting my old bucket of bolts started, I peel out of the parking lot not even peeking at the rearview mirror.

  When I’m two blocks away from school, I pull into a store parking lot and stop. Leaning my head on the hard plastic of my steering wheel, the tears I’d been holding back start pouring out. Ugly crying again, like I just finished watching The Way We Were or Old Yeller. It’s that bad. In my haze of tears, I reach for my phone and dial Priscilla.

  “How did it go with Coop?”

  “I—” is the only word that escapes through my tears. Priscilla knows that I’m a mess and does the talking, thank goodness.

  “Come on back to the apartment. I’ll have a batch of brownies in the oven when you get here. It’s going to be okay, Millie. I promise.”

  I mutter an unintelligible word back to her and hang up. I find the monogrammed handkerchief I carry around in my purse. Southern woman tend to have one floating around them at all times; a scarce artifact, but when you need a hankie, there is no substitute. I wipe off my face and blow my nose. Somehow, I make it back to Priscilla’s apartment for round two of, “How to forget Coop” chocolate therapy.

  Chapter 9

  Over the last two days, Coop emails me a few times about the Casino Night. Every email has someone else co-copied in the exchange. Nothing out of the ordinary is said by him. Just logistics about the evening and our responsibilities. He completely ignores me. Never talks to me directly. More like he’s talking over me or patting me on the head like a small errant child. Okay, I admit he’s the celebrity, but we were supposed to be working on this together.

  So since he’s ignoring me, I decide to return the favor and say nothing in response. Mature, right? Since my sob fest on Thursday, my feelings for him have definitely evolved from timidity to something closer to rage.

  Now he’s just pissing me off. Treating me with no regard. I’m as mad as a New Jersey Real Housewife. Even felt like flipping a table today at Starbucks when I read his latest email to me.

  Coop asked if someone on the fundraising committee would write up small note cards with the lines I needed to read in front of everyone. He thought I might crack under the pressure of having all the eyes on me. Okay, maybe he’s totally right, I hate speaking to crowds, but he’s being a royal jerk about it. It was like I wasn’t even on the email chain. Shouldn’t he have asked me first? I’m so mad right now I could punch him.

  Sadly, if I didn’t have to emcee this event with Coop, I’d be excited. It actually looks like a lot of fun. A makeshift casino is being put together, people will pay money for the poker chips and use them to play everything from roulette to blackjack, but no one wins cash prizes. Instead, winners take home items donated by local businesses. The biggest winner of the night gets a week stay at a lovely condo in Destin, Florida. Not bad for a high school fundraiser.

  Priscilla prepares me for the evening. I borrow everything from her except underwear. She’s assembled my wardrobe—black three-inch heels, a fitted black pencil skirt and a red blouse with short sleeves. My outfit screams career girl. She wanted me to have an air of authority, build up my confidence, perhaps.

  Priscilla drives me to the hotel where the event is being held. I climb out of the car in front of the hotel and speak to her through the open door.

  “Thanks, Priscilla. I’ll see you back here in thirty minutes, right?”

  “It might be closer to an hour. I’m picking up two other girls and one of them is notorious for being late. But an hour, tops.”

  “See you.” I shut the car door and make my way inside to the hotel’s lobby. There are official signs pointing the way to the event in Ballroom A. Stopping just outside the door to the ballroom, I pull out my compact and check my lipstick and hair. Everything appears to be okay so I walk right through the open door.

  My feet stop and so does my heart when I see Coop. Damn him. He’s wearing a charcoal gray suit with pinstripes. Quite the change from the casual attire I’ve always seen him in. He looks as sexy as hell. Polished and authoritative. Dare I even say dominating?

  My mind starts to wander back to a bedroom in a gated community with beautiful streams of light peeking in through wood slats. Dangerous thoughts that have to be controlled. I see the bar to the side of the room and make a beeline toward it. A drink in hand is needed before I come face to face with Coop.

  I order my standard vodka tonic, but not after being carded. Really? I’m a damn teacher here. Once I have my lifeline sitting in my hand, I start walking toward Coop. He sees me coming and I don’t care one bit for that scowl on his face. I decide to finish my drink on my way to him. I give a fleeting thought to turning around for another cocktail, perhaps a shot, something quick acting. But I press on. No turning back now.

  “Well, good evening, Ms. Montgomery. I see you found a familiar friend.” He says this while pointing to my glass. What an asshole. Really? The nerve.

  “At least this friend knows how to make a woman feel good.” Boom and burn. Yeah, that left him a little shocked. What is the football term? Touchdown for Millie.

  “Nice, nice. But I’m pretty sure those two orgasms I gave you felt better than whatever you’re drinking,” he continues, smirky smile and all. “Unless that drink makes you scream, ‘Oh, my, God.’”

  “How dare you!” I have a notion to throw the drink in his face but I need the alcohol too bad to waste it.

  “Listen, we could play this ‘hate’ game all night, but we have work to do.” I roll my eyes at him. I want to duke this out with more words. “I’m not anymore happy about this arrangement than you are.”

  “You don’t know anything about my happiness,” I answer defiantly.

  “So you’re happy to be here then?”

  “You know that I’m not,” I spit out at him. “I’d rather be at the zoo watching a baboon scratch its ass.”

  He looks at me confused and starts to laugh. Hard. A doubled-over and holding his side, kind of laugh.

  That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever said. How did I come up with that? Baboons? What the hell did that bartender put in my drink?

  “Quit laughing at me.” I’m getting really pissed now.

  “Let’s… quit… monkeying around… and get to work.” He speaks each word through his laughter practically choking on them. It’s completely annoying. People in the room are starting to notice us now. The workers who are setting up the event are probably thinking he’s as mad as a hatter.

  “Stop the stupid monkey comments. You’re making a scene.” He finally calms down and quits laughing.

  “Here are you
r cue cards for the night.” I snatch them out of his hand.

  “You were such a jerk to me about them. You brought up the subject without even asking me first. Who do you think you are anyway?”

  “I’ll be a monkey’s uncle if I wasn’t the best sex you ever had.” Now my drink is almost gone. Just a few drops left with some melted ice. And I bet you know what I’m about to do. That’s right. The contents inside my highball glass land on Coop’s face and bounce off onto the floor. He stares at me stunned. I’m stunned too.

  “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 p
latform, 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.