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Jim knew he shouldn’t get involved. Just stay out of it. He repeated the phrase over and over again in his head with the hope that it would stick. That for once, he would mind his own business.
It was an admirable effort, even if he was fooling himself.
He knew there would be trouble as soon as Flo suggested you all go out for drinks to celebrate your one-year anniversary of working at the station.
He’d only seen you drunk a handful of times and every time, you were an incorrigible flirt. Even when sober, you practically thrived on teasing him.
After each innuendo, you’d bat your eyes innocently as if unaware of what you were doing. But you both knew it was purposeful, and it drove him insane.
So an hour ago, when you sidled up next to him in your tight skirt with liquor on your breath, he knew he was in for it. Given both your inebriation and his general policy never to get involved with a coworker, he tried to fend you off delicately.
Unfortunately, he had little experience with being delicate, which led to him rebuffing your advances a bit too harshly.
Trying (and failing) to appear unbothered, you retreated with misty eyes to the barstools where a twenty-something offered to buy you a drink.
Hopper kept a jealous watchful eye as the man slipped a hand around your waist as he leaned in to whisper something in your ear. Though he couldn’t hear it over the din of drunks and the clattering of glasses, Jim watched you giggle in response.
A bitterness he refused to recognize overwhelmed him, and he turned back to his beer and to the others sitting at the table.
“All I’m sayin’,” Callahan slurred like the lightweight he was, “is that given the choice between a shark and bear, I’d rather fight the latter.”
“Buuuuuuullshit,” Powell responded, not as drunk but still clearly tipsy. “Y’ever seen what a grizzly can do to a human being?”
“I’m not saying a grizzly, but I could probably handle a black bear! In the water, the shark’s got the advantage.”
As the two went back and forth, Flo gave Jim a knowing look and he smirked back at her. The conversation was amusing, if a bit juvenile, and it distracted him briefly.
Eventually, his masochistic curiosity got the best of him, and Hopper looked back over to where you were sitting at the bar.
Scratch that. Where you had been sitting.
A shot of panic ran through Jim as he realized you weren’t in the bar — and neither was the man you were with. The door to the single bathroom in the joint was open, displaying its emptiness and almost mocking Jim with the fact that you were gone.
“I’ll be right back,” he said gruffly, taking off out the front door.
He spotted you immediately, arm slung around the man from earlier as you stumbled through the parking lot.
The man guided you to lean against the side of his car as he unlocked the passenger door with the fob, and with a sick feeling in his stomach Jim watched you sway unsteadily.
At that moment, you locked eyes with him and a sardonic smile crossed your face.
“Howdy, sheriff!” you greeted as he approached.
Jim was too tense to correct your mistitling of him, and he stepped quickly between you and your companion.
“What the hell are you doing?” Jim bit out at the man, who blinked in surprise at the sudden appearance of the cop.
With a look of uncertainty, he glanced down to his keys and then back up to Hopper.
“Unlocking my car?”
“With her,” he seethed, overcome by a sudden wave of vitriol. “Can’t you see how drunk she is?”
The man guffawed, and the smell of alcohol on his breath nauseated Jim.
“Well, shit, so am I!”
Enraged and unthinking, Jim slammed the man against the car. You shrieked out his name, but he ignored you.
“You think this is funny, asshole? If you drove out of here as shitfaced as you are, you probably would’ve killed the both of you.”
Hopper heard two sets of footsteps on the gravel, and he glanced up to see Powell and Callahan rushing over.
“Everything okay, Chief?” Powell asked, observant eyes taking in the messy scene before him.
“Take this one to the drunk tank and let him sleep it off there,” he ordered with disgust, shoving the man toward his coworkers before jerking his head toward you. “I’m taking her home.”
At first he was surprised that you didn’t protest, but when he glanced over he could see how rough of a state you were truly in.
“C’mon, let’s get you out of here,” Jim murmured as his coworkers took the man back to their squad car.
He held out an elbow, and you graciously clung to it for support as he guided you into the passenger seat of his truck.
“Am I under arrest, Chief?” you slurred teasingly, and he rolled his eyes.
“Yeah, for drunk and disorderly conduct,” he quipped back, pulling the seat belt over your torso and buckling you in.
Before he could pull away, you hooked a finger through one of his belt loops where his handcuffs hung.
“You gonna cuff me?” you purred with a small smile.
“No,” he replied tersely, extricating himself from your grasp.
“You can if you want.”
Hopper froze at your words, but said nothing and closed the passenger door. You pouted at him through the window and mouthed please?
Huffing, he crossed around the front of the truck and slid into the cab. Without warning, you flung your arms around his neck and smashed your lips against his.
You were sure his lips began to move in reciprocation, but it was a fleeting feeling as he shoved you off of him.
Groaning in frustration, you tried to reach for him again, but he grasped your wrists together with one large hand.
“You need to stop,” he commanded, pointing a firm finger in your face.
You shrank back a bit, confused.
“You don’t… want me?” you asked in a small voice, unconsciously crossing your arms in front of your stomach. “I thought you…” You trailed off, heat rushing to your cheeks in embarrassment.
To your mortification, he let out a barking laugh. You thought he was making fun of you until he spoke almost accusingly.
“You know damn well I want you.”
“Then what’s the problem?” you whined, trying to wrest your wrists from his grasp so you could touch him.
He clamped down harder, but used his free hand to lift your chin so he could look you in the eyes.
“The problem is that you’re drunk, honey.”
The pet name and his tender tone made you pause, and you glanced up at him with determination in your eyes.
“I’m that not drunk.”
Amused, he simply raised a silent brow until you realized you’d gotten the word order incorrect.
“I’m not that drunk,” you corrected yourself, trying to sound convincing.
“Sure, you’re a regular teetotaler.”
Chewing on your bottom lip, you switched tactics.
“Okay so I’m drunk. So what?”
Though you couldn’t move much with both his hand and the seatbelt restraining you, you leaned in and breathed into his ear, “I want you when I’m sober too. So badly.”
You saw a slight shudder go down his spine at your words; but ever the gentleman, he lightly pushed you back into your seat with a free hand.
“Christ,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head and starting the car. “You’re a menace.”
“Guilty as charged,” you beamed back at him in response.
Still shaking his head, Hopper pulled out of the parking lot and began to drive you home.