Ryan “Dirty
Harry” Callahan woke to the sounds of someone shouting and the beeping of a
large truck backing up. His head throbbed as if someone inside chiseled away at
his temples. The shouting and beeping continued and he groaned. Where the fuck
was he?
He cracked
an eye open and pain shot behind his eyeballs. He tried again, slowly. This
time, he paid attention to his surroundings. He was in his own bed. What the
hell had happened?
Then he
remembered. The party at Money’s place, Ian Black, and a whole lot of drinking
and laughing. He’d indulged too much, which wasn’t something he ever really
did. He usually had an iron will about alcohol and he guarded himself
carefully.
But
yesterday—shit, yesterday had been different.
Had Neo
gotten drunk too? Had they taken an Uber, or had someone brought them home?
They shared a house, though they each had their own floor. The kitchen was on
his floor, but he didn’t smell coffee.
He dragged
his hand across his body and reached for his phone. Outside, the shouting and clunking
continued. The beeping had stopped, but now the noise was just as bad.
He picked
up his phone and squinted. Noon? It was fucking noon?
He dragged
his body upright, groaning. Then his gaze landed on the bottle of water and the
two horse sized Motrin sitting beside it. Neo had written a note, which meant
Neo hadn’t been as drunk as he had.
Gone to
the range. Take these, bud. Eat some cereal if you can. Man, you were drunk as
shit!
Ryan
grabbed the pills and twisted open the water, downing them both. He finished
the water and lay back, wishing his head would either split and kill him or
stop pounding. The doorbell rang and shattered whatever peace he was trying to
find. He lay there like death warmed over and prayed they’d go away.
Eventually,
he climbed from the bed, grabbed his Sig, holding it at his side, and stumbled
down the hall toward the door. He wished like hell he had the basement floor
today, but it wasn’t to be.
“Fucking
stop pressing that bell,” he yelled at whoever was on the other side. And just
yelling it made his head threaten to split wide open. He reached the door and
peered through the peephole.
A woman
stood on the other side, arms crossed, foot tapping as she waited. He jerked
the door open and growled at her.
“What do
you want?”
Her eyes
widened as they climbed from his midsection to his face. Then they widened some
more. “Oh. Oh goodness, I am so sorry.” She held up both hands as if to ward
him off. He squinted at her, because the light was killing him, but what he
could see looked nice.
Long
golden-brown hair, wide eyes, a pretty pink mouth. Her skin was tanned. She
wore a loose T-shirt and shorts with flip flops. Her legs were long, long, long
for a small girl. He’d be interested if he wasn’t so fucking hungover.
Across the street,
a moving van sat kind of cockeyed in the street. His truck sat next to the
curb, right in front of where the van needed to go.
It dawned
on him what she wanted. “You want me to move the truck, right?”
She stared
hard at his face. “Um, yes? I’m sorry, you clearly look like you’re ill or
something, but—” She waved a hand behind her, didn’t move her eyes from his.
“I’m moving in today and the van can’t get into the driveway.”
He shoved a
hand through his hair. “Fine, I’ll get the keys.”
He turned
and went over to the kitchen counter, found the keys and dropped the Sig, and
headed back to the door. She was still standing there, back turned as she
yelled something at someone across the street. He stepped onto the porch and
she turned around again. Squeaked as her gaze dropped and then she dragged it
up to his face again.
“I, um, oh
dear,” she said. And then she laughed, throwing her hand over her mouth and
giggling in a way that made him frown. Pretty laugh, though.
“What?”
“I’m sorry.
Really. But, um—” She waved her hand in his general direction. “Shouldn’t you
put on some pants?”
Ryan stood
there, puzzling over her words. Then he looked down—and discovered he was
completely and utterly naked. He was standing on the front porch in front of
God and everybody, holding his keys, his dick standing at half-mast like a
tired old soldier who couldn’t quite make it work.
Fucking
hell…
