Disclaimer: I do not own The O.C..
"Julie!" Sandy Cohen shouted, his tone denoting that he was obviously not amused. "Put your seat belt back on!"
The bushy eye-browed man had known that something was not right when he had received a call from The Salty Crab earlier that evening. Known for their famous battered lobster and tall beers, The Salty Crab was generally where the men of Newport went after a long round of golf. The ladies usually preferred something a bit more sophisticated, somewhere that served martinis with those annoying little umbrellas perched on the side of the cup. That was exactly why Sandy had been disbelieving when the manager of said establishment had called him to say that he needed to pick his wife up.
He had arrived at The Salty Crab ten minutes after the call had been made and found five people standing outside of the bar, two of which he knew. As Sandy walker closer, he could barely stop himself from laughing. Julie Cooper and Kirsten Cohen, who were clearly drunk, were being restrained by two of the employees of the bar. They swayed against the young men, their ability to stand up without assistance had been demolished by the alcohol they had consumed. In between the four of them was the manager who had a look on his face that was a mixture of annoyance and amusement. Sandy gave each worker a look of contrite before facing his wife and Julie.
"What happened, ladies?" Sandy had inquired. He truly had to struggle in order to keep a smile off of his face. The entire situation seemed to be funny. Kirsten and Julie completely wasted together, the two of them getting kicked out of a bar. Sandy never thought he would see the day.
Now, having been in the car with the intoxicated woman, Sandy almost wished that he had never answered the telephone.
"No, I can't. I don't have any arms!" Julie cried in reply to Sandy's command. Kirsten giggled quietly as she turned back to look at her equally smashed friend.
"But Julie, I see your arms!"
Julie shook her head in disagreement, her eyes filled with concern. "They're not mine! They must be yours!"
For what seemed like the thousandth time that night, Sandy laughed out loud. At first, he made an attempt not to laugh at anything either of the women said. But that had proved to be too difficult and Sandy decided that they probably wouldn't remember him laughing at the pair in the morning.
When he felt warm breath upon his earlobe, Sandy promptly stopped chuckling and turned toward the woman in the front seat. "Kirsten, don't make me yell at you, too," He warned with a stern look that he usually reserved for their sons. At the thought of Seth and Ryan seeing their mother like that, Sandy did chuckle once again but was greeted by Kirsten's breath, this time upon his neck.
"Kirsten! In your seat!" Taking one hand off of the wheel, Sandy gently pushed Kirsten into the gray bucket seat, which made the blond Californian cross her arms over her chest in an attempt to pout. "And Julie, so help me God if you don't put your seat belt back on."
Sandy glared at his wife's accomplice in the rearview mirror couldn't help but to smile smugly as she hastily fastened the safety restraint.
"Now, do either of you want to tell me what happened?"
Sandy glanced from Kirsten, who was still sulking in the front passenger seat, back to Julie. Although under the influence of what Sandy assumed what a massive amount of alcohol, they were not nearly as bad as Sandy had imagined they would be. As he would find out, Sandy had spoken too soon.