Drunk Driving
The Misadventures of a Drunk in Paradise: Book 3
Zane Mitchell
Drunk Driving
The Misadventures of a Drunk in Paradise: Book #3
by
Zane Mitchell
Copyright © 2019 by Zane Mitchell
ISBN: 9781797649818
VS: 05182019.02
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
To the love of my life.
Thank you for your endless support and
for getting me (and Drunk) out of many sticky situations.
You are my world.
I love you forever.
Listen on Audio!
Drunk Driving is now available to listen to in audio!
The actor, Christopher Boucher, narrates and does an outstanding job capturing the essence and the humor of the characters in the book.
Here’s a quick link to the Audible US store. Here you can download it on audio or just listen to a sample to check out his work!
If you’re new to Audible, they usually give you the first book or two for free, just to try it out.
If you prefer to purchase on Amazon, iTunes, or Audible outside of the US, click here and you’ll be taken to my website where I have the complete list of links.
Contents
Listen on Audio!
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Hey there, it’s Zane…
SNEAK PEEK - Drunk on the Job
Chapter 1
Drunk on the Job Now Available!
Manny’s Beachcomber Recipe
About Zane
1
Valentina Carrizo approached me first.
Now, I won’t lie and say that I didn’t find her attractive. The woman could set a wet sponge on fire, she was that hot. And truth be told, she did catch my eye. But let’s not get it twisted.
She.
Approached.
Me.
But despite the fact that Valentina Carrizo was hot, she was by no means the type of woman I would’ve ever hit on in a bar. And not because I thought I couldn’t score with someone that hot. So let’s just drop that notion right now, shall we? There were numerous reasons why I wouldn’t have approached her, none of which being that I thought I’d be unable to score.
No. I knew from the moment I laid eyes on her that sex was kind of a given. Her clothes kinda told the story. Red skimpy dress, clinging to every nook and cranny of her body. The slit in the front of the dress riding clear up to her lady bits. Big bulging breasts on display and as inviting as the last two peanuts in a bowl on top of a bar. They dared every man around to grab ’em for a taste, but in the back of that man’s mind, he had a nagging curiosity as to how many hands had been there before him and just where, exactly, those hands had been.
No. Scoring was most definitely not the reason I wouldn’t have approached Valentina Carrizo. The real reason, I actually attributed to my mother. And she wasn’t even in the bar that night. She was twenty-two hundred miles and an ocean away.
Go figure.
But it was her words that rang truth and wisdom into my head that evening. “Only hookers wear that much makeup.”
Thanks, Mom.
I was pretty sure her advice saved me several hundred dollars that evening and quite possibly an antibiotics prescription.
So when Valentina Carrizo approached me at the bar—and in lieu of a handshake as a greeting, her hand immediately grabbed my junk—my head tilted approximately fifteen degrees to the right. I squinted and frowned at the same time, having the instant urge to cough. I imagined the conversation she’d just been having with her girlfriend on the other side of the bar. I figured it had to go a little something like this.
“Hey, Valentina, you see that hot guy over there?”
“You mean the one with the big nose?”
“Yeah. You know what they say, ‘big nose, big hose.’”
“You know, I’ve always wondered if that was true.”
“I guess we’ll find out…”
Challenge accepted.
“Well, hello to you too,” I said.
She let out a giggle and then a sultry, thickly Spanish accented, “Just checking.” She ran a hand through her long, wavy black hair, pulling a lock over her bronzed shoulders.
I leaned both elbows back against the bar and chuckled. “Checking to make sure I am what the beard says I am?”
She held out her hand then, her long red fingernails looking like daggers covered in blood. “I am Valentina.”
Taking her hand, I gave it a small pump and then leaned into her slightly. “I’m Drunk.”
She put her ear against my mouth then. “What do you say?”
“I’m Drunk,” I repeated over the pounding bass.
She giggled. “Yeah, me too.”
“Can I buy you a drink?”
“Sure. Rum and Coke.”
I turned and flagged down the bartender whom I’d been chatting with before Valentina had arrived. “Rum and Coke.” I held up my tumbler and gave it a little shake, making the ice that was left clink against the sides. “And I’ll have another.”
The bartender grinned at me. I was sure he thought I was some poor shmuck that didn’t know a hooker from a ho when I saw one. He probably assumed I thought I was getting lucky tonight by buying the woman a drink. But that’s not what I was doing. I was actually buying the woman a drink so she wouldn’t be offended when it was time to excuse myself.
Is that wrong?
Well, then, let’s just put it to a vote, shall we?
Ladies, would you be offended if a man bought you a drink just so you wouldn’t be offended that he didn’t buy you a drink?
I didn’t think so. A free drink’s a free drink.
I was playing it safe, folks. I’m not stupid. The bar scene used to be my jam. And I knew how to work a room.
Rule #1. Keep the women happy.
Rule #2. Don’t take home hookers. Just don’t. I don’t care how hot they are. Just don’t do it.
Rule #3. Tip your bartenders well.
And rule #4. Never eat the peanuts.
I slid the bartender some
cash and handed Valentina her drink.
She took a sip, then smiled up at me, batting her long dark eyelashes. “Thanks. So what do you do, handsome?”
“I’m in security.”
She cuddled up to my side. “I feel safer already.”
I smiled at her. She was cute. That much was for sure. “I like your accent. Where’s it from?”
“Colombia,” she said, sounding a little like a cross between Sofia Vergara and Charo.
“You’re sure a long ways from home.”
She took another sip of her drink and shrugged. “You are American?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“You’re a long way from home too. Maybe we were destined to meet.”
I could play along. “Were we?”
She nodded. “We could go back to your place and get to know each other a leettle better.”
“Mmm, I don’t think my better half would like that very much,” I said, giving her a tight grin.
“Aww, you’re married?” Though her bottom lip plumped out when she said it, her body language said the opposite. She cuddled up closer to me as if the idea of me being married had made her more interested.
“Something like that.”
She stood on her tiptoes, nuzzled my ear, and whispered, “I don’t care.” Her hand cupped my junk again.
I glanced over at the bartender. He was smiling. This was his silent I told you so moment, even though he hadn’t said a word. Only his shit-eating grin had spoken for him. Without moving, I looked down at Valentina. “Do I get a discount for all these free feels?”
She giggled. “Oh, honey, if that’s not a rolled-up sock in there I’ll do it for halfsies.”
“Halfsies, huh?” I sighed and glanced around, wondering just where exactly my other half was when I needed him. That was when I spotted him.
Eighty-seven-year-old Al Becker was a small man with hunched-over shoulders that made him barely five feet tall. Aside from the two small patches of white hair behind his ears, he was bald. He wore his usual uniform. Khaki shorts. A white ribbed tank top under a Hawaiian button-down. White New Balance sneakers and long white socks pulled up to his knobby knees. He hobbled over to me at the bar.
“Al. What took you so long?”
When he looked up at me, his whole torso moved, like he had a stiff neck or something. “We gotta go, kid.” He said it low, like he’d been chased to the bar by a mafioso.
“Go? Why?”
“The line for the john’s too long.”
“You been in line this whole time?”
“I mean it, Drunk. Let’s go.”
“Why we gotta go?”
“Which one of us has the bad ears here? You or me? I told you. The line to the john’s taking too long.”
“Your point?”
“Do I really gotta spell it out?”
“Fuck, Al. I can’t take you anywhere. We just got here.”
“Don’t ‘fuck, Al’ me, kid. We’ve been here for over an hour.”
I glanced backwards at the bevy of beautiful women on the dance floor. I hadn’t even gotten started yet. I was still waiting for my first three drinks to kick in and give me rhythm. “An hour? That’s nothing.”
“An hour in a bar is like dog years to a hooker. Trust me, it’s plenty.”
My eyes widened and I glanced down at Valentina. “Did you seriously just say that, Al?”
“I did. Now can we go?”
I cleared my throat. “Hey, Al. I’d like you to meet my friend, Valentina.”
Valentina’s right brow rose, but she extended her hand to Al.
Oblivious to the fact that her hand had just been cradling my boys, he took it and gave it a polite shake. “It’s nice to meet you, Valentina.”
“Valentina’s a hooker, Al.”
He cupped his ear. “A what?”
I leaned closer and hollered, “A hooker.”
Al’s brows lifted up towards his bald head, lifting the bags beneath his eyes and making his watery blue-green eyes more pronounced as he looked her up and down. “I’ll be honest. That doesn’t surprise me.”
Valentina didn’t even pretend to look offended. She leaned in a little closer to me. “I’m sorry. Who is this man?”
I tipped my head towards Al. “My better half.”
She quirked a smile. “You are kidding.”
I grinned cheekily.
Al’s head gestured towards the door. “Come on, Drunk. We’re leaving. I need to make. Those taquitos you forced me to eat aren’t sitting right with me.”
Al started towards the exit, but my hand shot out to grab his arm. “You’re not even gonna say goodbye to our new friend?”
He nodded amicably to the bombshell clinging to my side. “It’s been a remarkable pleasure, Valentina.” Then he turned his narrowed eyes on me. “Now let’s go, kid. I gotta take the kids to the pool.”
When he’d disappeared into the crowd, Valentina looked up at me curiously. “He is your grandfather or something?”
“Nah. My wingman.”
“He’s fun,” she said dryly.
I tried to pry myself out of her viselike grip. “He’s a cool cat. He’s just not used to leaving the resort. Especially after the sun goes down.”
“Resort?”
“The Seacoast Majestic. That’s where I do security.”
“Oh, so you live on the island?”
“I do now.” I didn’t think she needed to hear the whole story of how I’d come to move here from the States. I was over all of that. I was an official Paradise Isle resident now. For better or worse.
She curled into me again and purred, “Niiiice.”
I chuckled while trying to escape again, but shaking Valentina was like trying to flick a booger off your finger. “Sorry, Valentina. I gotta go before Al deuces in the resort rental and we get our driving privileges revoked.”
“How about a raincheck?”
I glanced back at the bartender again. He’d moved on to a group of college-aged girls down the bar and wasn’t watching me and Valentina anymore. I shrugged. Just like I’d bought Valentina a drink so as not to offend her, I decided to agree on a raincheck for the same reason. Hell, she didn’t need to know I had no intention on cashing it. “Sure, a raincheck would be great.”
Magically, she plucked a business card out of her cleavage and handed it to me.
“Valentina Carrizo, Professional Escort.” I looked up at her in surprise. Though I knew prostitution was legal on the island, this was my first experience with it being so blatant. I smiled at her. “You have fucking business cards?”
“In case you ever need a date to the ball, but the fucking part is extra,” she said, giggling.
“Next ball I go to, I’ll look you up.”
“Promise?”
I grinned. “You have my word.” Valentina grabbed my face and kissed me on the lips then. It was pretty PG and not anything I would’ve been embarrassed for my mother to have seen, but somehow it made me uncomfortable. I pulled my head back and cleared my throat. “It was nice to meet you Valentina.”
As I started to walk away, she called out to me. “Hey. What’s your real name?”
“Drunk.”
“It’s really Drunk?”
“Sure is.”
She smiled at me. “Well, it was nice to meet you, Drunk.”
Outside, Al waited for me in the resort car that Artie Balladares, the owner of the Seacoast Majestic, had let us borrow. It wasn’t the first time we’d been loaned the car, and it always came with the stipulation that Al had to be present when it was used, and I had to be the one driving. I wasn’t sure if that was Artie’s way of making sure Al was always entertained or if it was his way of making sure I always had a chaperone.
I crawled into the driver’s seat. “Jeez, Al. I barely got a chance to look around.”
But Al wasn’t one to be sidetracked. “What took you so long? Those taquitos bought my stomach a one-way ticket to Shitsville.”
“Hey, man, I’m sorry. You didn’t have to eat ’em. I mean, you know what they say. ‘Greasy in, easy out.’”
“You said you ordered them for the table, Drunk. I was being polite.”
“In that case, you get two gold stars. You were extra polite.”
“Let’s just go. I gotta find the nearest john.”
I pointed to the nudie bar next to the Blue Iguana, where we’d just been. “I bet Club Cobalt next door has a bathroom you could use.”
Al’s eyes widened. “Are you nuts? You don’t sit on a toilet seat in a place like that unless you wanna get pregnant, and I’m too weak to squat.”
“You’re also too old to get pregnant.”
Al pursed his lips. “Are you gonna start this car, or do I have to get out and push?”
“In your current condition, I advise against pushing. You’ll shit your shorts.”
Al shook his head. “I think it’s time you bought your own vehicle, kid. I can’t keep hauling you around like this.”
I tried to restrain my smile as I started the engine. “You can’t keep—” Steering the vehicle out of the parking lot and onto the main road, I shook my head. “Who’s hauling who around here?”
“Look, you’ve got the cash. How about I take you shopping for a new ride one day this week?”
I shrugged. The thought had crossed my mind a time or fifty. Only every time I wanted to run into town for something and had to ask Artie’s permission to use a resort car and then persuade Al to ride along. I’d tried to convince Artie to give me my own private business car, but he said he’d seen the bullet holes we’d gotten put into Gary Wheelan’s ride my first week on the island and he didn’t trust me to keep his small fleet of cars safe. They were for guests to be shuttled around in, not for my personal escapades.
Drunk Driving Page 1
