Getting Dirty

by Cheryl McIntyre

  stopped before I have time to finish this.

  “I need to take off early, too,” I say.

  Augie looks over his shoulder at me as he loops his thumb into a hand-wrap and starts winding it around his wrist. “More errands?”

  “Something like that.”

  “What’s her name?” he asks. I can hear the smile in his voice and I know it’d be easier to let him think I’m hooking up with a girl than what I actually plan on doing. But then he’d want details. Hoping I finally found the girl that’ll make me forget. Make me better.

  He’ll never get it. There is no better. Not for me.

  “Fiona,” I deadpan. “She’s the twice-divorced, middle-aged lady that cuts my hair.”

  He smirks at me as he fastens the wrap. “Are you that hard up?” he asks. “I know some nice girls I can hook you up with. Hot girls. Girls closer to your age. Without kids or ex-husbands.” He drops his voice conspiratorially. “You might not have noticed, but they’re in abundance in this gym.” He throws his hands out, gesturing toward the room.

  I glance around. It’s slow, being a Monday afternoon, but there are still quite a few women working the ellipticals. Their ponytails swaying across their backs, ear buds locked in place. Yeah, I’ve noticed them. I just have no interest in getting to know them. Between the sheets or otherwise.

  I’m not a monk. I still have needs and desires. I get lonely. Horny. But I don’t hook up with girls that occupy the gym. Just because I still have the yearning to fuck, doesn’t mean I have any craving to be in a relationship.

  It’s not going to change. Augie refuses to accept this simple fact, but that doesn’t make it obsolete. What I had with Olivia was once in a lifetime.

  Could I love another woman if I tried? If I wanted to?

  Maybe.

  But I will never, ever love someone the same way I loved her. I don’t want to. I gave her my heart. And she took it with her when she died.

  It’s not fair to anybody for me to continue loving the ghost of my dead girlfriend while I pretend to care for someone else. I know this. I own it. Period.

  “I’m good,” I say.

  “With Rosie Palm and her five sisters,” Augie agrees, chuckling and making an obscene gesture with his hand as the main door opens. I turn in time to see the new hire, his eyebrows raised in question. And then I notice the girl standing behind him. Or more accurately, the mass of thick, black hair, piled on top of her head. The messy locks, from style to shade, resemble Livie’s exactly. I suck in a breath afraid to let my gaze drift to her face in fear of what I’ll see.

  “Who you got there, Joe?” Augie calls. His voice sounds far away, tunneled through my ringing ears.

  “My little sister.” He steps to the side, pulling the girl forward, and I finally allow my eyes to flick over her features. I release the breath I was holding, partly out of relief. Partly out of disappointment.

  She looks nothing like my Olivia. Her eyes are a deep brown—not a soft blue. Livie was always happy. Sweet. This girl is hard or hardened. I can tell just by the way she holds herself. By the coldness in her gaze and the tightness in her lips.

  Her eyes meet mine and I look away, wanting to distance myself. Fuck. Every time this happens—every time some random girl reminds me of her, it’s like losing Livie all over again.

  Eight

  Rocky

  “This is my boss, Linken Elliott,” Joe says, nodding to the guy behind the counter. I rake my eyes over him quickly. Though everything about him is simple—hair that in-between blonde and brown color, eyes a mild gray, body typical of a guy that would own a gym—there’s a rugged attractiveness to him, accompanied by a cool indifference, I find unique. Intriguing.

  My eyes linger on him because he doesn’t bother to look up at the sound of his name. He doesn’t acknowledge the introduction in any way. Which makes him kind of an asshole.

  “And that guy there,” Joe continues, lifting his chin toward the dark-haired beauty in front of us, “is August Moore. He’s the one that got me the job.”

  August holds his hand out and I take it, expecting to shake, but he pulls me to his side, slipping his hand around my waist. I stiffen in response.

  “Everybody calls me Augie,” he says, grinning widely. “And what should I call you?”

  “Off limits,” Joe states firmly as he knocks Augie’s hand away.

  I take a quick step sideways, putting some space between us. I know I’m safe with my brother here, but I don’t like being touched like that. My insides automatically tense up. My heart beats out of control. And my instinct to run flares up.

  I look at Joe and take a slow breath, inhaling deeply through my nose. He keeps his eyes trained on me. His brows lift in a silent question, asking me if I’m okay. I nod once and clear my throat. “Rocky,” I say. “You can call me Rocky.”

  “As in Balboa?” Augie asks with a smirk.

  Joe throws his head back and groans. If my dad heard that he’d have a fit. I shake my head. “As in Rocky Marciano.”

  Augie smiles, his green eyes crinkling at the corners. “Nice.” He cocks his head to the side, looking at his boss. “You hear that Link? Named after the best undefeated boxing champion of all time.”

  “The only undefeated boxing champion,” Joe and I say in unison.

  “And she knows her boxers,” Augie announces excitedly. He closes the distance between us, scooping up my hand and bringing it to his chest. “My car’s parked out back. Run away with me.”

  From my peripheral vision, I see Joe move closer, readying himself to back Augie off, but I’ve become pretty damn good at redirecting overly eager men. Usually I’m not nice about it, but this is my brother’s coworker.

  I slip my hand free of his and wink. “You couldn’t handle me,” I say with a smirk, hiding the panicked thoughts galloping through my mind. I glance at Joe and force a smile. “How about that tour now?”

  He steers me away from Augie smoothly. “There’s not much to see. Workout equipment in the front. Ring and bags in the back.” He automatically takes me toward the ring. Not because I want to see it, but because it’s his favorite thing in this gym, I’m sure.

  “Link’s office is back there,” he says, hooking a thumb toward the door marked Private just beyond the ring. “Locker room and showers are right through there.” He tips his head at a door on the opposite side. “Really, that’s it.”

  “Where do you guys do the self-defense classes?”

  “On the mats,” he replies. I don’t miss the hopeful connotation in his voice.

  I pause, observing the sea of dark-blue mats. Some are spread across the floor, end-to-end, side-to-side, corner-to-corner. Others are piled along the length of the wall. “You said you’re going to assist,” I begin as my eyes move slowly over the space. “Who teaches?”

  “Depends on the class. Augie does some, Link does most.”

  “He’s a strange one, huh?” I peer over my shoulder, sizing up Joe’s new boss. He’s turned so I get his profile. The muscle in his jaw twitches as he glares down at the clipboard. “Bit of a douchebag.”

  Joe scratches his chin and shrugs. “Seems all right. I haven’t had a chance to talk to him much. Just the interview. But what he’s doing here—the classes for women—he can’t be that bad.”

  My gaze falls back on Link. As if he feels my attention on him, he shifts his head slowly, his eyes settling on mine. I arch a brow letting him know I’m not interested. His disregards me almost immediately, fluidly returning to his clipboard.

  Huh.

  Maybe he’s gay.

  Maybe we can be friends after all.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Why what?” Joe says, his brows drawing together in confusion.

  “Why does Link do these classes?” I don’t know why it matters, but it does. I need there to be a purpose.

  “Augie said Link lost someone a few years back. He teaches the classes so women know how to protect themselves. He does it f
or her.”

  I chew on that for a moment. “Okay. One class. If I’m not feeling it, I get to leave and you let it go. Deal?”

  Joe grins. “Deal.”

  ***

  After the gym, I went home and crashed for a few hours. By the time I woke up, the sun was setting. I felt off. Twitchy. And I couldn’t take it.

  Three whiskey shots and a hot shower later, and I feel no better.

  I need to get out.

  I can’t sit in this apartment for another second.

  I pull on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, slap on some lip-gloss, and head out. I slide into the driver’s seat of my car, an old, faded red Camaro I’ve had since my sixteenth birthday. It’s white trash eighties-retro and I love it. Until I turn the key and absolutely nothing happens.

  I try again, cranking the ignition and pumping the gas pedal to no avail. The thought of trudging back into my empty apartment has me slamming my fists into the steering wheel.

  I don’t want to be alone tonight.

  My head falls back against the seat and I press my lips together until they hurt. I rock my neck to the side. There’s a shitty little bar down the road, right across from the gym Joe’s working at. I’ve only been in there once, choosing to find a different place to frequent. I didn’t want to get cozy someplace so close to home.

  I hesitate. I could call my brother. He’d be here in a heartbeat.

  But then he’d want to talk.

  Fuck that.

  I shove the door open, noticing the switch to my headlights is still on. Nice, Rocky. Real nice. I must have left them on last night. I wonder if I’ll need a new battery or if I can just get someone to jump it. Grabbing my purse, I slip out of the car and kick the door shut.

  Time to drink until I can forget.

  Nine

  Link

  Gregory Anthony has a family.

  After my haircut, I parked across the street from the insurance agency where Anthony works. I waited for him to go home. At exactly half past five, he stepped out of the building, his phone glued to his ear and a smile on his face. I almost went after him right then just because of that smile. The same one he wore while he raped Livie.

  It was harder to check myself this time. A lot harder. All I could think about was how much I wanted him to pay for his crimes.

  With my teeth gritted, I followed him to the grocery store where he bought a gallon of milk and a box of animal crackers. I should have known right then. I should have thought about it more—prepared myself for what I’m seeing right now.

  A little girl—no more than three—playing with fat pieces of chalk in the driveway.

  A woman—a pregnant woman—greeting Anthony with a kiss as he steps out of his car.

  And a dog, tail wagging excitedly, awaiting his turn for affection.

  This can’t be right.

  He doesn’t deserve this life. He’s a rapist. A coldblooded murderer. He’s evil and monstrous.

  He’s a husband.

  A father.

  This is the life I should have with Olivia.

  My fingers choke the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white and my palms ache.

  This should be mine.

  THIS should be mine.

  This should be MINE.

  He stole this from me.

  And he’s happy.

  I can’t take it. I can’t stand the thought of him holding his daughter with the same arms that held Livie down. Or kissing his wife with the same mouth that screamed at my girlfriend to shut up when she cried. Or patting his dog with the same hands that ripped the clothes from an innocent girl on a cold winter night.

  I touch the knife in my pocket. It’s cool. Metal. Smooth.

  Reassuring.

  My eyes flick over each face. Content. Relaxed.

  His wife has no idea who she’s living with.

  I open my car door. Place my foot on the asphalt. She should know exactly who sleeps in her bed every night. She needs to understand who her husband really is. She has to protect her daughter from him.

  The girl giggles as Anthony sweeps her up and blows raspberries against her tiny tummy. The wife smiles. The dog barks, bouncing around impatiently.

  Hot tears burn my eyes. Not because Anthony has what I always wanted to have with Olivia. It’s not the beautiful family moment. Or the sweet little girl.

  It’s because I can’t do it. I can’t hurt him the way I want—the way I need to. Because Livie wouldn’t want me to. She wouldn’t approve of me hurting this man, even after what he did to her, because his family needs him. Relies on him. Loves him.

  I step back into the car and slam the door. I punch the dashboard, feeling the skin on my knuckles tear and the bones in my hand shift. The physical pain isn’t enough. I need to numb myself.

  Without another glance in Anthony’s direction, I knock the gear into drive and get the fuck away from this torment.

  ***

  I live in a small house not far from the gym. It makes nights like tonight very convenient. I park and jog the few blocks to Bo’s—a shitty bar even smaller than my house that serves beer at room temperature. But the drinks are cheap and the patrons keep to themselves.

  Typically I’m not much of a drinker. I like to be in control of myself at all times. But on occasion, I need a little anesthetizing.

  This would be one of those occasions.

  As soon as I push through the door I spot her. My gaze zeros in like radar. It’s the hair. Those long, black locks that lay thickly over her back. Just like the first time I saw her, my breath hitches. Why the fuck does she have to be here? Tonight of all nights.

  Joe’s sister is perched on a stool, nursing a beer while a guy barely old enough to be in a bar chats her up. She nods along like she’s invested in every word he says, but her eyes drift my way, locking with mine.

  And there it is. The bittersweet mix of emotions. The simultaneous relief and pain that she doesn’t resemble Livie in the face. I’m able to turn away easily, settling on a stool. I order a shot to get things rolling and a beer to chase it with.

  It’s quiet tonight. Only a few dwellers, none I recognize other than Rocky. Her dad must be a hardcore fan. Joe said he grew up on boxing, but naming both of your kids after some of the greatest champs is on its own level of fandom.

  I raise my bottle to my lips and swallow the last of the too warm liquid before ordering another round. Though she hasn’t tried to approach me or get my attention in any way, I can feel Rocky’s eyes on me. The weight of her stare is heavy. I ignore it, focusing on my drink as the bartender sets it in front of me. I have no interest in one of my employee’s sisters. Hot or not, that’s just asking for trouble.

  But I wonder—just for a moment—what it would be like to press her facedown on the mattress, taking her from behind. Not looking into her face that doesn’t match my dead ex-girlfriend’s, but staring instead at the hair, so similar it takes my breath away. What would that be like? Could I bury myself inside her and pretend she’s who I want her to be? Would it feel good? Right?

  Could I live with myself after?

  I rub my face roughly, already knowing the answer.

  My eyes trail down the bar, but there’s nothing to see. Rocky’s gone. And so is the guy she was talking to.

  My mind shifts gears and I contemplate going back to Anthony’s. Or I could do more digging into the guy Byer’s picked up. I still need to figure out which apartment he lives in. Fuck. I hope he doesn’t have a family too.

  My hand tightens around my drink. One person shouldn’t carry this much anger. This much hatred. I’ve tried to cope. I’ve tried to get rid of it. Distract it. Utilize it. Nothing works. I was relying on my revenge—my retribution—to finally purge me of this ugliness.

  Now I don’t know what to do.

  I finish off my second beer and head for the bathroom. I need to sleep. To slip into oblivion for the night and think about this tomorrow so I can reformulate.

  The hinges crea
k loudly as I shoulder the door open. The last person I expect to find inside the men’s bathroom is Rocky. Her eyes flutter open, alerted by my noisy entrance, and she stares back at me, her eyes devoid of emotion. The guy she was with earlier is on his knees, his face buried between her legs. The fingers on both of her hands are twisted into his hair, guiding him.

  My eyes slide over them, coming to rest on her jeans that are bunched around one ankle. A shoe is laying on its side, haphazardly discarded. The whole scene is off. She doesn’t seem like she’s enjoying herself, but she’s clearly the one in charge.

  I hesitate, not sure if I should say something—do something—or just walk away.

  She makes the decision for me as she closes her eyes and moans blatantly.

  I duck out of the room, closing the door behind me. I consider going home, but halfway to the exit, I backtrack to my seat at the bar and order another beer.

  Ten

  Rocky

  I try to get off. I try to reach my orgasm, my body practically crying for release, but it isn’t happening. Ryan or Brian, or whatever his name is, isn’t the best at pleasuring a woman. I could have worked with him—taught him what to do, what I like, how to improve. His future girlfriends would have been forever grateful. But Link walked in and looked at me with those lifeless eyes and it felt like looking in a mirror.

  Now all I can think about is how disgusted I am with myself.

  “Stop,” I whisper.

  Ryan/Brian laps away noisily as if he doesn’t hear me. Maybe he didn’t. I was quiet. I’ll give him that. I yank on his hair, pulling his head away from me.

  “Stop,” I say again, louder this time.

  He looks up at me, grinning like a fucking idiot. He’s already trying to lean back in, ignoring my request. I wrench his head to the side and press my foot into his chest, knocking him backward.

  “I said stop,” I hiss.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “I’m not feeling it.” I tug my panties up my legs and start working my foot into my jeans. I need out of this room. I need away from this guy. I wish I could get away from myself.