Miss Matched

Chapter 11

"Please step out of the vehicle with your hands in the air." The mechanical voice crackles from a speaker.

Seriously? I'm guilty watching the sunset, and daydreaming about the perfect wine, perfect sommelier, perfect guy. Things are slow for cops in Santa Barbara.

I do as he says. And nearly trip over my own feet.

A young, Jake Gyllenhaal-type steps out of the police cruiser. He looks nice in his uniform, but I prefer the tall, dark and handsome Italian who talks about hazelnuts and love. This guy is more Taylor's type. "You can put your hands down," he says.

"Thanks," I reply. "I know there's been a significant increase in criminality among owners of mini-Coopers."

He narrows his eyes at me.

So ... I probably shouldn't have said that. It's the wine talking.

Officer McHottie, which is what I call him in my head, swaggers up to me and glances into my car. The empty wine bottle laying on the passenger seat all but screams arrest me.

"Are you aware the park closes at sundown?"

I glance over my shoulder, hoping to see the glowing orb at the edge of the horizon, but it's deserted me and slipped past the line of the ocean. Elton John is singing about the sun going down in my head. I giggle at the lyrics. I've definitely had too much. Time to pull myself together. "I was," I answer the officer's question, "but I came out here to think, and must've gotten caught up in thought and lost track of time. Sorry." The apology is to make up for the earlier smart-ass remark.

"I don't remember asking why you were here." The left side of his mouth twitches, and I realize I may be in trouble.

"Is that a bottle of wine in your vehicle?"

"Not anymore. It's just a bottle." Despite being tipsy, I decide to stick with just the facts, Ma'am.

"Was there wine in that bottle? Did you consume any of it?"

All of it. "Yes."

"I'm going to have to ask you to blow for me."

I laugh, overruling my better judgment. "Excuse me?"

His face reddens. Officer McHottie is cute when he blushes.

"I need you to take a Breathalyzer."

Shit.

He swaggers back to his cruiser as I try to think of a way out of this mess. I'm not exactly great at flirtation or sweet talking, otherwise I would've had a second date by now. Besides, my head isn't exactly working with a fully charged battery.

He returns with a contraption that looks like a walkie-talkie with a straw. "Blow," he says, and I giggle, stopping myself before I totally lose it and do it.

He reads the results and then holds it out for me. The screen reads .157

"Is that bad?"

"I'm going to have to arrest you for DUI."

"Wait. I drank that wine here. I haven't driven anywhere."

"But you were going to drive."

I rub my fingers on my temples. Think. Clearly. Then I laugh at myself.

McHottie just gives me a disgusted look.

Inspired, I say, "What if I don't drive anywhere? I'll call someone to come get me, okay? It's already been a rough day. That's why I'm out here with a bottle of wine to begin with."