Read Gettin' Dirty Online

Authors: Sean Moriarty

Gettin' Dirty

Gettin’ Dirty

Sean Moriarty

Copyright © 2016 by Sean Moriarty

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Published by Sean Moriarty

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Copyright © 2016 Sean Moriarty

Editing and Formatting By Izzy Sweet

Cover by Aria
http://resplendentmedia.com

Chapter One

Seamus

I
sit here
, looking at the fucking ceiling of my apartment. I can’t actually see it vibrating, but if it did I wouldn’t be surprised. The bass coming from the apartment above me is so fucking loud it’s almost obscene. The thumping has kept me awake for the last three nights. Every fucking night until one or two in the morning. I swear the person living above me must be deaf. How the fuck does anyone listen to music that loud and understand a fucking single word said?

It’s no fucking use. I have three more hours of this shit until the fuck head goes to sleep.

Getting up from my bed, I walk over to the sliding glass door and pull hard on the handle. The thing resists my pull for a moment before screeching open. This damn place is a dump. Everything is either falling apart or has been jury-rigged so many times that it’s barely functioning.

I have been moving around for the last six months, a few hotels but mostly extended stays. A job here or a job there, and I move on. This apartment, though… Fuck. I want to see if I can live a normal life now. The fucker upstairs isn’t making it easy.

Grabbing my smokes from the table by the door, I light one up. I’m in my boxers but fuck it. The shit I have seen in the last three days here; I doubt anyone will give two shits about a stupid white guy standing out on his balcony.

The building I’m in is the best one of the lot, though, in terms of view and location. It’s the one on top of the hill the apartment community was built on, and from my balcony I can see a lot of forest between me and the city. Cincinnati sure is a lot different than Cleveland and Detroit. The people are different down here, and so is the climate. Fuck. It’s sweltering here, the A/C in my room is barely enough to take off the heat from the day.

I lean against the railing for a long moment, staring out through the darkness, and see all the glittering lights from downtown. It’s not an ugly town, but it isn’t where I want to call home anytime soon. I will probably be out of here in a few months. I just don’t have anything calling me here. No ties, no longing.

I hear a loud scraping sound from the apartment next to me and see the sliding glass door open. A black guy steps out of the door and nods his head at me. He is in his boxers too as he grunts to me. “Got an extra one of those?”

“Sure.” I say and shake the soft package of smokes. One pops out and I lean between the balconies, holding it out for him.

“Light?”

Handing it to him, I say, “Seamus.”

“Trevon.”

“Good to meet ya.”

Nodding his head, he says, “That guy above you moved in a two weeks ago. Fucking every god damn night.”

“I was wondering what his neighbors thought of him.”

“He’s an asshole. I asked him to keep that shit down after a week of him blasting it. Told him I have to be up early for work, asked if he could turn it down by eleven or twelve. Fucker didn’t even bother to do it that night.”

Taking the lighter back from Trevon, I ask, “You think the landlord will do anything?”

He shrugs. “No clue. I put in a call to the main office but all they have done is say they will take care of it.”

“Figures.”

Trevon takes a long moment and stares at my arms and chest—sizing up the tattoos that cover me, I’m willing to bet. I’ve done the exact same thing to him already. I don’t see any gang shit or anything that would cause me concern. He must come to the same conclusion about me.

Nodding to me, he asks, “You Irish?”

Looking down to the large green, white and orange flag on my chest, with
Éirinn go Brách
, on a banner above it. “Yeah, my dad was straight off the boat from the good ol’ green fields.”

“You ever go there?”

“Yeah, every couple of years.”

I look at his shoulder tattoo and see the broad letters of the Marines. “You ever get over there in the Marines?”

“Nah. They kept us in the desert, mostly. Hit Germany a couple of times, that was cool as fuck.”

Nodding my head. “Yeah, I did some traveling over there. Germany has really good beer.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, that and attractive women.”

“Very.”

The music above us isn’t so loud at this moment, and I am hoping the guy is finally going to turn the shit down. When I am about to say something to Trevon, the sound all of a sudden cranks right back up with some new track of abuse to my ears.

Shaking my head, I decide I will try to say something to the front office tomorrow. This shit cannot continue. Hopefully they get this guy to stop. It’s that, or I put a bullet through the guy’s stereo system.

I light up another smoke and offer the pack over to Trevon.

Shaking his head, he says, “Nah. I am gonna try to sleep again.”

He heads in, and I think about him asking about Ireland. It’s been three years since I last went, and right now I’d head there in a heartbeat if I wasn’t still leery as to my status with the IRA. I pretty much quit working for them as my main employers when my last boss took things a step too far and got himself killed.

F
uck
, I hate waking up groggy like this. Last night the asshole above me kept the music blaring till three-thirty in the morning. I don’t know how the other people in the building deal with it, but groggy or not I am seething mad.

I dial the front office number and instantly get put on hold. Fuck.

The music I listen to as I wait is certainly not helping my mood one fucking bit. Some classical bullshit.

“The Towers by the Lake. This is Andrea, how can I help you today?”

The Lake?
I think to myself. It’s a fucking pond. A puddle would be more accurate.

“Yeah, this is Seamus Hannagan from 308. I have a complaint I need to speak with you about.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir. What can I help you with?”

“The guy above me is blaring his music until two in the morning. He doesn’t stop.”

“I’m so sorry, sir, for you having to deal with that. I will make sure we get this taken care of as soon as possible.”

With that the line goes dead. The fucking woman hung up on me.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask into the disconnected line.

Rolling over, I look at the clock and see its eight-thirty. Fuck me. I swear I am going to put a bullet in that man’s radio, and maybe his fucking head.

I slowly get out of bed and stretch. A half smoked cig is in the ashtray beside my bed and I snatch it up. I am going to need a lot of nicotine today. Caffeine too.

My body is wound up pretty tight. I bought a pretty cheap mattress for my bed, and it’s already starting to show in how kinked up I feel. Ugh. I look to the pistol on my dresser and frown. A couple of bullets upstairs and a new mattress would do wondrous things for my disposition this morning.

Walking from the bedroom to the kitchen isn’t much of a journey. And my reward for such a small journey is an almost empty fridge that has a couple of bottles of beer and old Chinese takeout in it.

Well, shit.

I need something to eat and the carton of cigs on top of the fridge is empty.

Fuck.

From grumpy to grumpy and hungry.

Sliding into the driver’s seat of my black SUV, I feel the heat just baking me in it. It’s so damn hot here. Fuck, I am whining like a bitch today.

I drive down the hill to the small mom and pop grocery store at the bottom. It’s nothing big, but it carries everything I need.

I’m standing here, in the cereal aisle, deciding between some colorful rice cereal and its chocolate counterpart when a tall, beautiful woman walks past me in the cramped aisle.

Wow, she is pretty. Pretty as fuck. I turn my head to follow her with my eyes, and in those tight jeans it looks like two cats in a sack fighting each other. That is the ass of a goddess.

She stops not too far past me and picks up a box of rice baby cereal. I can’t help noticing how sexy this woman is—even with a baby carrier strapped on the cart. She is talking to the baby quietly about what she is getting, and I get the feeling she doesn’t even know I am here. She is so focused on talking to the baby in a soothing loving voice that perverts like me checking her out isn’t even on her radar.

I watch her for a few seconds as I pretend to study the cereal boxes. In the end she walks around the corner of the aisle, and I still don’t know what type of cereal to get. Damn, she is hot. Shame about her having a kid. Might not be hers, but probably is.

Through my little stalking excursion, I see that not only does she look fucking absolutely sexy in those tight jeans of hers, and her tight t-shirt, but her face looks almost angelic. No makeup either. She should be in one of those magazines with beautiful women wearing the latest clothes. Not here in this shitty part of town, in a sad little grocery store.

Grabbing a six pack of beer, I head back towards the front of the store. It isn’t too big of a place; they only have two checkout lanes. The one open has Miss Tight Pants, and as she bends over to pull stuff out of her cart, my dick stiffens at the thought of bending her over and pounding my cock between those thighs. I have to shake my head to stop staring at her because I can just picture myself thrusting between her legs. Her bent in front of me, with my hand gripping the back of her neck, helping her slam back hard onto my cock.

She is talking quietly, but with how small this place is I still hear her shock as the elderly woman says, “Aaliyah, I’m sorry honey, but the card says it’s declined for insufficient funds.”

Watching the girl closely, I see just the faintest tremble in her hands as she hands the card to the lady. “Please try it again, Ms. Amidala. I… this… I should have enough. You know me, this never happens.”

The lady takes the card and goes through the process two more times. Each time it’s cancelled I watch the sexy woman becoming more and more upset. She isn’t screaming or crying, but her whole body is trembling and her face is so sad. She keeps looking at the child in the carrier and back to the food.

Shit.

The old lady sighs, “Aaliyah, I’m sorry honey, but it’s not working.”

The girl stands for a long moment just staring at all the food she has on the conveyor belt. Her cart isn’t loaded like mine, mine is full of junk food and shit to clog my arteries. Her’s is full of healthy shit, juices and vegetables and shit. I’m lucky my horrible habits haven’t caught up to me yet, they will someday though.

She pulls her purse out of the cart and starts digging through it. Pulling out a very small amount of cash, she starts doing what my mom did when I was a kid—she is making the hard decisions.

“I got this, ma’am,” I say as I had over my bank card to the elderly cashier.

“I don’t need charity,” Aaliyah says as she looks up into my face.

The elderly woman doesn’t do anything until I look at her and say, “Ring my stuff up with it. I got both.”

“I said I don’t need your charity, or whatever you are wanting.”

I shrug my shoulders. “Okay, no charity.” I just start loading her groceries back onto the conveyor belt and then put mine right behind hers.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” the girl asks me in a loud whisper.

Her cheeks are turning red; I guess this is probably embarrassing for her. But fuck it, no one needs to go hungry.

“I’m buying my groceries and yours. That’s all.” I squeeze past her while she just stands there, staring daggers at me.

“Here you go, son,” the little old cashier says, handing my card back to me.

I walk to the end of the checkout lane and start bagging my stuff. It’s not too mixed up so it doesn’t take long. When I’m done, I see the old lady grinning at me. The girl she called Aaliyah, though, is still looking at me pissed off as hell.

That’s the story of my life, I suppose, as I wave to them both and head out the door. Old women love me, and I mean
love
me. Always have. Young women, on the other hand, mostly stay pissed off at me or think I am a complete asshole. Don’t know why.

As I load my stuff into the back of my SUV, I can’t help think of how pretty that girl is when she’s mad. Man is she gorgeous. Her light brown skin is pretty much flawless, and the black hair she has flows down her back in this sexy wavy looking style. Damn. She is pretty damn tall too. Compared to my six-four frame, she is at least six foot. High, firm breasts and long tight legs, her ass is the juiciest part of her body. Those chocolate brown eyes don’t hurt, either.

“I’m not going to fuck you for groceries asshole.” I hear someone say to my back as I shove the last bag into the vehicle.

I turn around. “Did I say anything about fucking me?”

“No but…” she growls, and damn I want to see how those lips feel as I crush her to me, kissing her. Shit, the thought of them sliding down the length of my cock would be amazing.

“Look, I bought them because if I didn’t you would have had to make some hard decisions. My mom did that a lot when I was a kid. No one should have to do that—not when I can help.”

I turn my back to her and shut the hatch. Walking around her shopping cart, I head to the driver’s side door.

Getting in, I stop halfway. “You need help loading them or maybe a ride home?”

“No! I have my own car.” She finally turns away from me and walks to a small brown Honda civic that’s at least twenty years old.

“Wanna go out tonight? Get some pizza or something?” I ask. It can’t hurt since I’ve seen that car in my parking lot. She must live in the same building or close to my own.

“Are you nuts?” she asks as she turns, staring more daggers at me.

“No, why?”

“I said I wouldn’t fuck you for food, asshole,” she whispers loudly while looking around us nervously, making sure no one is listening.

“All I wanted was dinner. You seriously must be sex-deprived. I mean you keep talking about it.”

She starts to sputter as I pull myself into the SUV. “See ya around, Aaliyah.”

Shutting my door as she starts to talk to me, I just give her a little wink and pull out of the parking lot. Time to head back up the hill.

Aaliyah

“See ya around, Aaliyah.”

Other books
A Suitable Vengeance by Elizabeth George
Will in Scarlet by Matthew Cody
Hot Rebel by Lynn Raye Harris
Georgie Be Good by Marg McAlister
Delicious by Susan Mallery
A Natural Father by Sarah Mayberry
Las ciudades invisibles by Italo Calvino
Shadow Play by Rajorshi Chakraborti