Free My Boogie Woogie Bugle Guy by D.L. Jackson Page A

guy was probably too drunk to remember flirting with her, so the embarrassment factor wasn’t there. Even if he was damned hot himself.
    Tall, at least six foot four and with a warrior’s build—lean, muscled and powerful—he certainly didn’t lack any of the wow factor. His T-shirt stretched across his chest, defining a well-cut torso she could appreciate, if she weren’t so focused on getting him to her car.
    He draped his arm over her shoulders and nodded to a dark area in the trees that bordered the cemetery. “My bike’s over there.”
    “Sorry, no can do. You can ride in the back seat of my patrol car and come get it in the morning when you’re sober.”
    “Yes, sssir…ma’am. Did I tell you how hot you are for a cop?”
    “Yes. Let’s go.” She tugged, but he didn’t move.
    “I can’t feel my feet.”
    “Come on. Put one foot in front of the other.”
    “Heel, toe, and say something backward?”
    “No, I want you to walk. No sobriety test needed. I’m pretty sure you’re cocked. Let’s go. We’ll do it in a language you’re familiar with. Your left, your left, left, right, left.”
    “You’re funny. And cute.” He turned toward her and grinned. The fumes on his breath were enough to send her to the drunk tank if she inadvertently inhaled too much of them. “C-130 rolling down the strip.”
    “I think we can do without the cadence.”
    “My girl’s a….”
    “I know that one, and you better shut it.”
    He shot her a mischievous smile and stumbled along beside her, only staying upright with her assistance. When she reached her car, Grace opened the back door. “Get in.”
    He took a swig of his whiskey. She grabbed it from him and turned it over, pouring it onto the street.
    “Hey.” He reached for it and she jerked it away, not stopping until every last drop ran toward the storm drain.
    “You’ve had enough.” She pushed on his head and forced him to sit down. “Put your feet in.”
    He fell back on the seat. “Everything’s spinning.”
    “Don’t puke in my car.”
    “Oh, God.” The drunken soldier rolled to his side and heaved onto her mats.
    “Shit. I told you not to…. Never mind.” Grace shoved his feet inside and slammed the door. She should haul his ass to jail for the night. But she couldn’t. He’d known her brother, served with him. It made him like, family. He barfed again, gagging up chunks of whatever he’d had for dinner. Family—right . A very distant relative nobody talked to, maybe. She went around to the trunk, dropped the bottle in, slammed it shut, and continued to the driver’s side, tossing his trumpet on the seat. “Okay, big boy. Where are you staying?”
    Snores answered her. Grace turned around, and her mouth dropped open. How could he pass out so fast? Damn . “You can’t fall asleep. You need to tell me where you’re staying.”
    Snort, nose growl, lip smack .
    Not the answer she wanted.
    Now what ? She could go home and leave him in the car, but if he got sick again and choked, she didn’t want to explain the dead body in the back seat.
    Couldn’t take him to his room, not without knowing where that would be. So home it was, and she’d make him a bed on the couch. He knew her brother, so he couldn’t be a bad guy. Besides, if he got out of line, she’d Taser him or put him in cuffs.
    Grace put the car in drive and pulled onto the street, glancing at the time on the dash. Her shift was over anyway, and she had the next two days off. Plenty of time to deal with him in the morning.
    When she pulled into her driveway, the drunk soldier sounded like a grizzly on attack. Now the difficult part, waking him up, getting him in the house and on the couch. Considering he was twice her size, she might need backup in the way of her best friend. She pulled her cell phone out and dialed Maggie, certain she’d help, even if she got her out of bed earlier than she liked.
    “This better be an emergency.”
    “I’ve got a drunken soldier in