Who the fuck was playing bongos?
RIGHT NEXT TO MY FUCKING HEAD?
But when they morphed into some weird ass song, I tried to ignore the 70’s flashback it inspired and rolled over to go back to sleep.
Only to get woken up by gunfire.
And while the sound ringing in my ears was firing on all cylinders – literally – my hungover self wasn’t. So, like an idiot, I shot upright with the second gunshot and it took two more before I realized it was coming from my phone.
Because some asshole had changed my text alert.
And seeing who the text was from, I couldn’t even guess at who the likely asshole was that just made my asshole pucker.
Dirty Harry: Time to wake up Sleeping Beauty.
Alice in Wonderland was more like it.
Fucking drink me potion must’ve fucked me over good. But since I doubted it was Clint Eastwood on the other end, I figured it couldn’t hurt to ask.
Me: Who is this and why are you in my phone as Dirty Harry?
Dirty Harry: You wound me, lover. You’re in my bed and you don’t remember me?
I forgot about the goddamn gunfire text alert, but more importantly…
In his bed?
At least I hoped it was a he.
For all I knew Dirty Harry was less Clint Eastwood and more Debbie Harry.
Both were icons from the 70’s.
The last thing I could remember was doing shots with Amelia at a bar downtown. And seeing the sunlight now filtering through the window, I had to assume that had been the night before, which would make this the day after.
So before I could make any more assumptions, I decided it was best to contact my partner in crime.
Me: Houston, we have a problem.
Ames: Where are you?
Me: Houston, for all I know. That’s the problem.
Ames: Why is my room filled with Selah Pumphrey signs?
I snorted at the reminder – remembering that part of the night with absolute clarity – and then silently cursed her for making me laugh at the little bit of the night I could recall before I seeped my brain in alcohol.
But taking a quick look at my unfamiliar surroundings – instead of telling her that she’d drunkenly decided to become a real estate agent the night before and, “That bitch is stealing all of my business!” – I thought addressing my own predicament was more important at the moment.
As in, what my current address was.
Me: Let’s deal with that after we figure out where I’m at.
If she didn’t know, hopefully Google would.
Ames: Lol. Black out drunk again?
Me: I didn’t black out. Tommy Lee Jones Men in Black’d me with his memory eraser doohickey.
I’d have to admit I had a problem for there to be one, right?
But the truth was I rarely drank at all.
Which was the problem and it was why it was so easy for me to get shnockered.
Ames: So…you DON’T remember handing the hot cop a condom last night and telling him, “It’s all about protect and serve, right?”
My brother was a cop.
IN THIS TOWN!
I’d only just moved back six weeks earlier. If Jason found out what I did, he’d slap one of those GPS ankle bracelets on me and then I’d never hear the end of it.
And I refused to acknowledge the irony of how handy that little GPS bracelet would be right about now.
Me: Tell me you’re joking.
Ames: Nope. But I WILL tell you, you asked if his name was Harry and said you were feeling dirty before you grabbed his crotch. You must’ve liked his nightstick because you licked your lips and told him you were feeling lucky.
Jason was going to disown me.
Me: That’s it. #StopDrinking2014 commences right the fuck now.
Ames: Uh huh. OR…. Dear Diary, Today I learned why Jack Sparrow loved rum so much.
But the real question was did she remember why she loved Jack Sparrow so much?
I doubted giving her a rundown of her call to information the night before and asking to be connected to Johnny Depp would jog her memory.
Or that when she was told he wasn’t listed, she insisted, “Try Depp comma Johnny. He’s expecting my call!”
But figuring I should remove myself from Dirty Harry’s bed – and hoping the dirty reference was more about Clint or Debbie than scabies – I let out a sigh of relief when I realized I was still dressed.
Me: Did I leave my bra at your place last night?
I didn’t see it lying around anywhere and I didn’t want to leave any evidence of my skankery behind, but I couldn’t think of any other reason why I would have taken it off.
But then I couldn’t think of a reason why I would have woken up in the 1970’s either.
Ames: No. You handed it to me at the bar last night and told me to hold your purse, saying you didn’t need it because you were going to take the Cash Cab and said, “I’ll see you on TV.” But Officer Long Schlong talked you into taking the Cock Patrol instead, so I guess I’ll look for your primetime debut on Cops.
No. More. Drinking.
Me: You’re lying. You’re just mad I got the high score on the Breathalyzer.
Lies and highs would be the highlight of my fucked up morning.
And for some reason, I vaguely remembered scoring a ’10’.
But that couldn’t be right because then I would be dead.
Dirty Harry: Did you fall back to sleep? I wouldn’t mind coming home and finding you in my bed, but you were pretty adamant about not being late for work today.
Me: I’m awake. I just have a minor case of amarettonesia, but uh…thanks? I guess? Whoever you are?
Dirty Harry: You can thank me later. In person.
Long schlongs aside…
Me: Uh huh…what color are my eyes?
Dirty Harry: Umm…34 D?
And on that note, I found my shoes and then grabbed one of his shirts, pulling it over both sets of eyes.
The blue set and the size 34 D set.
I didn’t even want to guess how he guessed that correctly, but I would take a guess and say he was part giant because his shirt covered more of my body than my dress did. However, doing the walk of shame braless wasn’t something Sober Me could do.
And segueing into other people I wouldn’t be doing…
Me: Yeah…Thanks, but no thanks. I’m stealing one of your shirts, but I promise I’ll mail it back to you.
Not for nothing, but I couldn’t even remember the guy. Considering I was still dressed, I doubted we had sex. But if we did – One: He would be a dick for taking advantage of Drunk Me – and Two: I didn’t feel any telltale soreness anywhere on or in my body, so his dick, while rumored to be long, must not have lived up to the hype.
Carrots were long too. It didn’t mean I wanted to be fucked by one.
But on the other hand, if he’d been gentlemanly enough to not take advantage of Drunk Me, then Sober Me was way too embarrassed to meet him face to face.
His long schlong could just remain an urban myth, like yetis.
I did a quick visual sweep of his place, but there weren’t any pictures giving me any hints of who the guy was. And as skanky as I was for having slept in a stranger’s bed, Sober Me wasn’t skanky enough to go digging through his stuff to find out who he was.
He would just have to remain the faceless urban myth only known as Dirty Harry in the chapter of my future book: Stories-I-Will-Never-Tell-My-Kids.
I jumped again at the sound of gunfire, but rather than take the time to change my alert sound, I fled his apartment like it was on fire and didn’t stop until I hit the sidewalk, before looking down at my phone.
Ames: On my way into work. Need me to run interference?
We worked together in the same office, which was handy at times like these.
Me: Yeah. Turn on my monitor and put a cup of coffee on my desk, so the boss thinks I’m in. I’ll be in as soon as I can get home to change.
Ames: Oh, and I forgot to mention your impromptu karaoke routine. “Bad boys, bad boys. Whatchu gonna do? Whatchu gonna do when they come for you?” And given the ‘O’ face and hip thrust you made when saying, “come”, I’m pretty sure you meant, “jizz.”
No. More. Drinking.
I had half a mind to remind her of the time she’d stood next to a yellow Camaro and yelled at it for fifteen minutes to, “Transform already!” but I knew that would only lead to her telling me more embarrassing things about the night before that I never wanted to remember.
I made sure to get the building number and street name to put Harry’s address into my phone, so I could mail back his shirt. But when I really looked at the shirt I was wearing for the first time, I found my silver lining.
Because the walk of shame wasn’t so shameful when you were doing it in an autographed Tom Brady Patriots jersey.
I always did look great in blue.
It set off my eyes.
Both sets, actually.
I knew her eyes were blue, but the situation itself meant I had to fuck with her and I couldn’t stop the chuckle seeing her ‘Thanks, but no thanks,’ response.
But if she thought she was getting rid of me that easily, she was sadly mistaken.
And being a cop would make any restraining order against me that much easier to get rid of.
I’d known her brother Jason for almost five years. We’d gone through the academy together and had been best friends ever since, but even so, I only knew Sookie through pictures and his stories. She’d moved away to Seattle for college before Jason and I ever met. And whenever she would come home to visit, something always seemed to interfere with me meeting her.
Until last night.
I hadn’t expected to meet her while I was just out on a routine patrol downtown, but I spotted her the moment I walked into the bar.
She was hard to miss.
And just the sight of her made me hard.
Thanks to Jason’s hatred of her ex-boyfriend Bill, I knew she was single now. And that their breakup was the main reason she’d moved back home to Louisiana.
The asshat’s loss was my gain.
I sure as hell wouldn’t have given her up without a fight.
And while I was sure she had a bitch-setting, there was no way it was a permanent setting. Not with Jason Stackhouse as her brother and I’d seen for myself that Sookie was a hilarious drunk.
Hilarious and handsy, but I was perfectly okay with that.
She was hot.
How could I not be okay with that?
And with the way she’d been groping me, if she hadn’t been drunk, I would’ve hit that so hard whoever could pull me out would’ve become the King of England.
I wanted to do her until I couldn’t cum anymore.
Until all I got was a little white flag that said, ‘Bang!’
But since she was drunk, I only fucked with her cell phone. And now that she was sobering up, I also didn’t want to scare her off with my Excalibur Sex Pistol, so I decided it wouldn’t hurt to have her brother as my wingman and sent him a quick text.
Me: Met Sookie last night. She’s even cute when she snores.
He was notoriously protective of his little sister, so – according to the bylaws of The Bro Law – I had to fuck with him at least a little and I knew exactly what he would infer from my choice of words.
Jay: Dude. My sister is OFF LIMITS. I will rip off your dick and shove it down your throat.
Like taking candy from a baby.
Me: I accept this challenge.
Jay: Did you really fuck my little sister?
Me: I won’t say yes or no, but just know that my answer rhymes with “dress”. Like the barely there one she was wearing last night.
I laughed when my phone rang in the next second and had the forethought to hold it away from my head when I answered it.
And yet I could still hear every curse word he yelled at me.
He even made up a few I’d never heard before.
So when he paused, either running out of steam or needing to inhale to let loose again, I quickly interjected, “I was kidding, Jay. I ran into her out on patrol last night and she was pretty hammered. She didn’t have her uh…purse and when I asked her for her address to drive her home, she kept giving me her old one in Seattle. I tried to call your sorry ass, but you didn’t pick up, so I took her home with me to let her sleep it off.”
I wasn’t about to tell him what her purse consisted of or why she didn’t have it on her.
But it was how I’d known her eyes were a 34 D.
“I got tied up with Amy,” he chuckled – so I knew handcuffs were more than likely involved – before he asked, “On a scale of impaired judgment to Mel Gibson, how drunk was she?”
“Toaster,” I laughed and added, “But she’s a funny drunk.”
And a 34 D.
And laughing again, I informed him, “She tried to convince me she was good to drive, but made me pinky swear I wouldn’t arrest her if she failed the Breathalyzer I didn’t plan on giving her. Then she showed me the gymnastics lessons your parents paid for weren’t a waste by trying to prove her sobriety by doing a fucked up handstand and using the patrol car to keep her upright. After I gave her a ‘10’ for perfect form, she was happy enough that she didn’t even notice she was driving from the passenger’s seat, using a paper plate as her steering wheel. Although, if I was asked under oath, I would have to admit she stayed within the lines all the way back to my place.”
Never mind how many lines I’d considered crossing with her once we got there.
“Damn,” he laughed. “That’s pretty fucked up, even for me.”
The last time Jay had gotten shitfaced, he’d texted me wanting a pick up.
When I asked where he was, his only reply was ‘Under the moon.’
But now that he seemed to be in a better mood, now seemed like a good time to take advantage of it, so I asked, “On a scale of one to Chris Brown, how mad would you be if I asked her out?”
I would ask her out regardless of his answer.
His answer would just tell me if I had to be a sneaky asshole about it.
“Katt Williams,” he snorted and said, “But I’m seriously gonna have to give her a whatfor later on. God only knows what woulda happened to her if you hadn’t been the one to come across her.”
Little did he know it had taken all of my willpower to not cum across her.
But because he didn’t have superhero telepathic powers, he didn’t know how dirty my harried thoughts had be-cum and only asked, “Did she go off with you because you told her you knew me?”
No…she left with me because we were both feeling lucky.
It was officially my dick’s new name.
Not that I was going to tell him that or the reason why.
“I don’t remember,” I lied easily and quickly smothered it with a heaping dose of the truth by saying, “And neither will she. I texted her this morning so she wouldn’t be late for work and she didn’t remember who I was or how she ended up at my place.”
And really thinking about it, I chuckled adding, “Hell, she still doesn’t know who I am.”
“Well then, what are you doin’ for lunch, sweet tits?” he teased.
His sister, if I was lucky.
But I doubted I would be that lucky and answered, “If you’d asked me before I laid eyes on your sister, you might’ve had a chance. But at least I know you’re easy, so if she shoots me down, you know I’ll come crawlin’ back to you.”
“You take coverin’ my ass just a little too literal sometimes,” he chuckled. “So it’s a good thing you’re sexy. But I was thinkin’ of meetin’ up with my baby sis for lunch. In this instance, I’m okay with you fuckin’ with her. I’m still on the fence about you fuckin’ her.”
I couldn’t really blame him. She was his baby sister.
But I’d still be fucking her if she was willing.
He’d get over it, so long as I didn’t act like a dick with her.
And with the way she’d handled my dick, I didn’t see that happening anytime soon.
So I taunted him and agreed at the same time, “I’m up for a little fuckin’.”
“Dude! On. The. Fence.”
“Dude!” I parroted back. “On the fence. Up against the wall. Hell, I’m even willing to do it with her old school style. Flowers. Dinner. A bed with clean sheets. What more do you want?”
I was full out laughing by the time I was through, already picturing his cartoon head about to explode.
And I only doubled over when he huffed, “I want a lesbian for a sister.”
Well…I’d be okay with that too.
As long as she let me join in.