Page 41 of Dirty

“Really, you don’t. I wasn’t popular in school. Me and my big mouth didn’t make many friends. The only people close to me were my two boyfriends, and instead of cheating on me, they slapped me around.”

She crossed her forearms over her chest and scrunched her nose. “I can’t imagine getting hit.”

“Yeah. It’s not fun,” I said. “The line that separates aggressive sex from abusive sex is razor thin, and finding someone that knows the difference isn’t easy.”

“I’ve always had normal guys that I’ve just asked to pull my hair and slap my butt. They don’t get too mixed up,” she said with a light laugh.

I chuckled. “Yeah. I think we’re in different leagues.”

“Yeah. Probably.”

The thought of having sex was so far out on the horizon for me that I wondered if when I got there I would even have the same sexual desires I’d had in the past. Whoever I ended up with was going to have to take the time to gain my trust, I that much I knew for sure.

It wasn’t going to be easy.

For either of us.

ELEVEN

Cholo

Pee Bee, Smokey, and I stood in the entry of a home I’d recently obtained a construction contract on. In addition to remodeling the kitchen, I was hired to remove the carpet in the great room, and replace it with ceramic tile.

I waved my hand toward the floor. “So. What do you think?”

Smokey took a long pull on his vape, inhaled, and then crossed his arms in front of his chest. As he gazed around the room, he exhaled a huge cloud of smoke, and nodded his head. “I can do it.”

“No fucking shit, Smoke. I know you can do it. How much?”

At 6’- 4”, Smokey was considerably shorter than Pee Bee’s 6’-8”, but he looked taller due to his long, lean muscles. His neatly cut hair made him look more like a tattooed car salesman than a biker.

But, he was a Filthy Fucker through and through. He raised the device to his mouth, took another long drag, and looked at me. “Thirteen grand.”

The home was in La Jolla, a small coastal town thirty miles south of Oceanside. The majority of the homes were priced in the tens of millions, and it wasn’t a place I’d normally look for – or obtain – work.

The homeowner called me on a recommendation from a former customer of mine, and upon meeting him, we hit it off. I could have overpriced the job and still obtained the work, but I didn’t.

I kept the price as competitive as I could, and I was going to make sure Smokey did the same.

I nodded toward Smokey’s vape and then shot him a shitty glare. “What’s in that thing, weed?”

He coughed a laugh, and exhaled, filling the room with a thick film of smoke. “Smokin’ lemon cake pop today.”

“Lemon cake pop and fucking weed. You’re high as fuck if you’re thinking thirteen, Brother.” I said. “Are we looking at the same house?”

“Thirteen grand is a good deal,” he said.

“Yeah, if it’s 1,300 square feet. It’s not. It’s 1,000. It ought to be ten grand.”

“Carpet’s got to come up,” he said.

“That’ll take two guys six hours, max. That ain’t three grand.”

“You pull the carpet, I’ll do it for twelve.”

“I’ll pull the carpet and give you ten. Not a fucking dime more.”

He raised the vape to his lips, paused, and looked at me. “Eleven.”