Published: October 15, 2012
Length: Short Story
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Sometimes life just required tequila… and vodka… and a shot or two of whiskey for good measure. Jasmine Wright, Jazz to her friends, has reached that point. And now all that liquor is making her clothes fall off–in the middle of the street. Good thing a friendly neighborhood police officer stops to help.Sheriff Ian Blackwell has loved Jazz since high school and then some. When their relationship burned out so many years ago, he wasn’t sure he would recover. Now he’s getting a second chance, and he won’t Jazz slip away from him this time. He has her naked and at his mercy, and he’s going to keep her that way. Forever.
Read an Excerpt
Tequila wasn’t the only thing that made a woman’s clothes fall off… Vodka did, too. And amaretto mixed with a bit of sour mix. And a shot or two of whiskey the same way. Hell, pretty much any alcoholic beverage in large enough quantities could heat things up.
Jazz stumbled down the barely lit street, feet catching on this and that while she made her way toward home just a few blocks away. Stumbled being the operative word. Two steps from her best friend’s door, she decided that her shoes were the cause of her bumbling walk. They were cute ones with delicate black leather straps that crisscrossed over the top of her foot. She couldn’t recall the brand, but she did know that she’d gotten them on sale. “Score!” She kicked them to the side, heels thumping on the well-manicured lawn.
“Jazzy! What are you doing?” Her best friend and partner in crime screamed from the doorway.
“Bitch, quit your yelling. I’m right here.”
“You quit your yelling.”
“Did you just call me a yoohoo? Whore, you’ve had way too many,” her friend stated and downed another shot of… something.
“Naw, not enough.” Not nearly enough. “See ya. I’m goin’ home before I get really drunker.”
Ten or so feet from her friend’s driveway and she realized that it was actually her panty hose causing all the trouble. They were expensive JC Penney exclusive la-di-da, hoity toity panty hose that she’d splurged on last Christmas, but she couldn’t risk busting her ass in the middle of the street.
Wait. Was she walking in the middle of the street?
She stopped and swayed a moment, gaze shifting this way and that, eyes landing on the overturned garbage cans and broken streetlights while she tried to remember where she was… what she was doing. Oh, right, middle of the street… She looked around again and leaned against a pole beneath the soft light.
There were no poles in the street. She was on the sidewalk. “Score!” She pumped her fist in the air and toppled to the left, catching herself on the fence lining the sidewalk. Damn.
Content that some drunk-assed drunk driver wouldn’t run her down, she hiked up her skirt, hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her panty hose and wiggled the bits of expensive spandex down her thighs, over her calves and off her feet. Damn, but she loved those pantyhose. She tossed them over her shoulder. She couldn’t be wearing them to work if they made her stumble. That just wouldn’t work at all.
“Whew.” She sighed and waggled her skirt back over her hips, ready to finish her trek toward home. At the corner of 5th Street and Main, she leaned against the stop sign. This was just not working. Something was wrong with everything. This time, she was convinced it was her panties.
She wiggled her skirt up once again and shimmied out of her panties. Her favorite thong, her sexy thong. It was bright red with little hearts all over. Bigger than most gal’s and smaller than some, but Jazz loved the cute things. She’d hunted them down at Lane Bryant and fell in love at first sight. How many thongs in the world were made with a plus-sized woman in mind? Not many. Not many at all. It was a travesty.
Okay, thong discarded, panty hose gone, shoes thrown to the wayside… She could totally get home unscathed now.
Halfway across the street she tripped over the road and fell to her knees, micro-braids falling in a curtain around her face. “Well, that sucked. Damn skirt.” She grumbled.
Jazz rolled to her feet, rocking back on her heels when she got to standing. “Fucking road. They need to straigh’en this shit out. Flatten the mo’her fuck’er.”
Between her skirt and the road, she’d never make it home. E-V-E-R.
Well, she couldn’t do anything about the road.
Right there, in the middle of the street, she unzipped her cute little skirt, that cows had died for, and wiggled her ass this way and that until it fell to the ground in a heap of black leather. Macy’s, on sale after Christmas. Total score, but a danger to her health. It had to go.
It made her ass look big anyway. Her girlfriends said so. She thought they were just jealous.
Other side of Main and she realized she was nekkid from the waist down. That would just not do at all. With fumbling fingers, Jazz tugged and fiddled with the buttons of her ecru–ecru, not off-white–blouse, yanking when the button wouldn’t go through the holes and finally just popping buttons like they were snaps and not faux ivory carved flowers. There went her post Easter sale blouse.
That was better. Couldn’t be wandering around half-dressed. Her momma always said so.
Jazz’s bra strap slid off her shoulder and it dawned on her that she was wearing a bra. That would not do. Not at all. She reached behind her for the clasp, and reached, and reached, and reached. She spun around like a dog trying to catch its tail, yanking and pulling on the lace, searching for the latch that kept her locked in the darned thing. This she had not bought on sale or even at a discount store. This was a bona fide Victoria’s Secret bra. One of the nice ones with lace demi-cups and clasps that did not want to be found. Evah.
Finally, she slipped the straps down her shoulders, elastic digging into her arms and wiggled the thing down to her waist, past her thighs, and it slid down to the ground with ease.
There. Nothing to keep her from getting home now. She just had one block left and then she’d be able to sink into her big comfy bed and sleep off all the drinks she’d had.
Then, blue and red lights surrounded her, filling the driveways and yards all around. She didn’t think it was December… She’d have remembered the sales. Totally.
The flashing lights made her dizzy, her head felt as if it were spinning like a top, or that stupid Disney ride with the Mad Hatter and the cups. Stupid cups with their stupid spinning–and why was the ground so wavy? Unable to stand any longer, Jazz plopped down on the lawn of… somebody. The dew-covered grass sent a wave of cool shock through her that woke her up enough for her to realize that the blue and red lights came from a police car.
Good. Maybe they could take her home.
Someone got out of the car, bright flashlight shining in her eyes and she couldn’t figure out if the cop was a man or a woman. Didn’t matter; anyone could understand her dilemma.
“’Cuse me, Officer person… Can you take me home? The ground is all wavy. Did you know that the city had wavy sidewalks? It’s a travesty. I do not pay taxes just so–“
Ooh, a man. Maybe she should hold out her arm for some fun police lovin’. They could play cops and robbers! Or good cop/bad cop and the bad cop could fuck the memory of her shitty Friday right out of her.
Now, that was a plan.
“Yes, Mr. Officer, sir. Offiser. That’s a little repetitive, don’t you think? Officer sir. Cer, sir, sir…”
The cop sighed. Honest to God sighed and the flashlight dipped a little. “Ma’am? Where are your clothes?”
“They made me trip. Two, no three, maybe four times. I can’t remember.” She waved her hand in the general direction from where she’d come. “They’re back there somewhere. Don’t go looking for them though, they make you trip over your own feet.”
“Uh-huh. Ma’am? What’s your name? I’m going to need some sort of identification.”
“Jasmine Wright. Miss Wright, the one your momma’s been telling you about for years.” She snorted and let out a guffaw. “Get it? Miss Wright?” She chuckled. “I’ve been saying that for years. No Mister Right though. Maybe Mr. Right-now. You wanna be Mr. Right-now?”
“That’s me.” She poked herself in the chest and winced when her fingernail dug into her breast. Damn, but everything was going wrong for her tonight.
The cop dropped his flashlight, the black metal casing pinging and bouncing on the blacktop, the while light intermingling with the red and blue coming from the top of the police cruiser.
“Jazz Wright. Damn it.” The cop muttered and scooped up his flashlight before turning to her, light extinguished. “Don’t. Move.”
She didn’t intend to. The ground was warming up and she might just lay back and take a quick nap before she finished her walk home. She hadn’t remembered it taking so long before, but she didn’t think the ground had ever been this persnickety either.
Legs straight out in front of her, she leaned back onto the cool grass, uncaring about the dirt and grime that could–would–get in her hair. She had an appointment tomorrow, today, whenever, to get it redone and the braids were getting old. Maybe she’d shave her head like Britany. That girl had been crazy, but it took serious balls to go that nuts.
She needed to go nuts. Bust out and have some fun. Fuck her parents expectations or her job’s stupid politics or the fact that mixing liquors was making her a little nauseous. Fuck it.
Suddenly, she went blind, covered by some dark, scratchy animal. “Aaah! Help!” She screamed, limbs flailing and hands clawing at the monster on top of her. She finally got free, pulling the beast off her head and found herself staring into some gorgeous baby blue eyes.
“Jazz? You don’t remember me, do you?” The cop had a deep voice, nice and smooth. Good bass.
“No, but I can remember eventually. Why don’t you refresh me?”
He sighed and snatched her hand and the monster at the same time, tugging her to her feet. “Wrap up in this and I’ll take you home.”
Jazz wrapped herself in the blanket, it was a blanket not a monster, and followed the cute cop back to his car. She snuck up behind him and tugged the cuffs from his belt. “Excuse me, Mr. Officer, sir… I think I’ve been a very bad girl. Don’t you think I should be cuffed?”