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We eventually justfound an open bar and drank entirely too much alcohol but it was better than astrip club.

Spencer, Tommy and Iwere finally on our way home when Spencer yelled in my ear. “Dude, I thinkyou’re getting pulled over.”

“Fuck.” I looked in therearview mirror for confirmation. “Just don’t say anything.” I ordered pullingover. “I mean it Spencer, shut the fuck up.”

“Whyme?What about Tommy?”

“Tommy doesn’t dostupid shit...you do.” I explained.

I reconsidered thatstatement when I turned around to see that he was holding an open beer bottle.Thankfully, it was empty and he quickly shoved it under the seat before theofficers approached.

There were a number ofactivities you shouldn’t do after midnight in downtown Tacoma. Most I’ll spareyou the details for but at the top of this list are things like going to astrip club, pumping gas and getting pulled over.

“I swear to God,you better keep your mouth shut Spencer. I mean it,” I barked when the policeofficer shined the light in my face.

“Whatever. I can talkmy way out of anything.” He slurred sitting up straighter in the seat. “I’vehad to do it a time or two if you remember correctly.”

I wasn’t sure whatSpencer was referring to. It was usually me having to talk our way out ofthings. He usually got us in deeper.

“This is not going toend well.” Tommy muttered from the back seat slouching to one side as though hewas about to puke or pass out.

“I’m serious Spencer,don’t say anything!” I whispered as violently as I could through clenchedteeth. “Tommy, control him!”

“Me?” he quirked a lazyeyebrow, eyes glazed “He’s your brother,”

I could tell right thenhe’d be of no help.

The officer approachedthe car, tapping his flashlight against the window.

Why do they tap on thewindow? It’s not like the flashing lights didn’t give it away that we werebeing pulled over. You know they are there.

“Why hello officer,” Igreeted rolling the window down and eyeing my brother with doubt.

Not going to jailtonight depended entirely on Spencernotspeaking or doing anythingstupid.

“License and registration”was his scripted greeting.

I handed over mylicense and the rental car’s registration and rental agreement. “Can you tellme why I was pulled over?”

“You didn’t use yourblinker when changing lanes back there.” The officer smirked as he looked upfrom my driver’s license. “Where are you coming from Mr. Riley?” his eyesnarrowed at my license. “Are you Jameson Riley the NASCAR driver?”

I smiled knowing thiscould be my chance at getting out of this. “Yes.”

“Tell them you wantyour one phone call!” Spencer screamed beside me, leaning over the console. “Itshouldn’t matter that you’re a NASCAR driver. Make them treat you respectfullyJameson.Respect!”

The officer shined hisflashlight in my face. “Have you three been drinking?”

“Well, it was my bachelorparty,” I said matter-of-factly. “I had two drinks,that’sall.” I was failing miserably at this. “But I’m fine to drive. I feel great.” Ioffered with a smile touching my fingertip to the end of my nose.

The thought wasn’t loston me, or the officer, that now would be a good time to shut up.

“Liar, you also drankthose two pitchers of beer at the strip club.” Spencer bellowed. “And that—”

I leaned over and juststarted punching anything I could get my hands on, praying I was doing somesort of damage to him.

“Sorry, he’s mentallyretarded.”

“Uh-huh,” Theofficer said.