“I don’t know, Steel, that’s giving them pretty good odds. He looks like he knows how to throw a ball, ain’t no way you’ll win that one,” Cess says, winking at me.
“Six balls and you don’t think we can get one in?” the blond laughs, “I’m a pitcher.”
“Line ‘em up, Cess,” I say.
Cess puts the six balls on the counter, three in front of each of them. He picks up the first ball, aims, and throws. The ball hits the basket, and bounces out again.
“Five more tries to prove you’re really a pitcher,” I say, wiping toffee sauce from the corner of my mouth.
He ignores me, and takes another throw. The ball hits the back of the peach basket and bounces out.
“I hope you don’t treat women the way you treat the balls, just nailing it as hard as you can. It takes finesse,” I say, smirking.
“Up yours,” he says.
He throws the next ball, gentler this time, but it still bounces out. The guy’s got good aim, I’ll give him that.
“This is bullshit,” he says, looking around at the crowd.
“Ain’t no bullshit. Pass me some balls, Goldie, I’ll show him how it’s done.” Emily gets two balls out of the basket at the far end. I take one from her, look at the asshole and say, “I only need one.”
She tosses the other ball in her hand, and I take aim.
“Pay attention, you might learn something,” I say and release the ball into the basket Emily took the balls from.
It lands in the basket and thuds against the ball that’s already in it. The ball she left in it stops the new ball from bouncing out again.
“Your turn,” I say, looking at the crowd and laughing. I lean against the counter, glaring at him as he takes aim and I take another bite of the funnel cake.
“Ah, come on, let’s stop embarrassing the poor guy,” Emily says.
“Shut up,” the guy snaps.
He throws two more balls, both of them hit the basket and bounce out again.
“Seems like this town is in need of a better pitcher,” I say.
The crowd laughs, and the guy turns red with anger and embarrassment. He throws the last ball, and it bounces out again, of course. He puts his head down, mutters something under his breath and pushes his way through the crowd.
“That was fucking hilarious, you crack me up,” Emily says and gives me a quick kiss.
Her kiss floods me with heat, and I know I made the right decision in humiliating the fuck out of the guy instead of throwing that punch. Various people from the crowd have now lined up for their chance at doing what the town’s star pitcher couldn’t. Emily takes the first guy’s money, an old guy wearing a t-shirt that barely covers his beer gut.
She hands him three balls and directs him to the basket I used, with the extra ball still in it. The guy takes aim and his first ball lands in the basket.
I look at the crowd and say, “Good to see there’s someone in this town who knows how to throw a ball.”
They laugh and some even clap. I’m buzzing from defeating the asshole. Surprisingly, it was far more satisfying that giving him a black eye.
Leaning across the counter, Emily throws her arm around my neck and pulls me close. I crush my mouth against hers, reveling in the taste of my woman.
New World Man (Emily)
It’s June tenth. My twenty-first birthday. But it’s a Saturday, and that means I’ll be sitting in this booth all day, convincing idiots to give me five bucks to try to throw a ball into a basket.
When are they going to realize they can’t win? Unless I want them to, that is.
Cess says we have to make sure it seems like you can win, so every so often, we tilt the baskets to keep the balls from bouncing out again. You can’t tell the angles from the other side of the counter, but we still have to be extra cautious because the state regulators are known to come round posing as players. They’re checking for fixed games, and if we get caught, that means a big fine for the carnival, and Papa Smurf’s boot up my ass.
I love getting to choose who I want to win. Somehow, men who are dicks to their girlfriends never do. But when I offer a discounted or free set of balls to their girlfriends, they always win. Assuming they can hit the basket.
Kids also tend to win a lot. I just have to be careful not to let too many win, or it eats into mine and Cess’ commissions. We have to pay for the stuffed animals ourselves, and I’m not Santa Claus.
I’m loving it though, it’s lots of fun. And now I totally get what Steel was saying before, about one of the best things about this job being all the smiles we put on people’s faces. And sometimes wiping the smiles off the faces of assholes. It’s a real buzz.
We’re still in Mississippi. I never appreciated just how many small towns there actually are in one state before now, and Papa Smurf said we’re not even going to most of them.
It’s three, and I need to eat before the rush starts at four. Once it starts, we’re busy until close.
“Are you good here if I take my break?” I ask Cess.
“Sure, honey, you go get something to eat.”
“Great, back in twenty minutes,” I say, taking off my money apron.
I head straight to The Zipper. If Steel isn’t there, Razor will know where to find him.
Steel sees me pushing my way past the people in line and walks away from the pod he was loading. He meets me at the front of the line.
“Happy birthday, Goldie,” he says, hugging me and swinging me around.
His blue eyes are electric in the daylight, and even though I look in them a zillion times a day, my tummy still flutters under their gaze. He presses his lips against mine, and we lock together in a kiss that increases the fluttering inside me.
There are a few catcalls and whistles from people in the line.
“Get a room,” someone calls, but we don’t give a shit. He presses his hand into the small of my back, and our kiss deepens, so does the need in me.
I break the kiss, and say, “I only have twenty minutes.”
“Come for a ride, and I mean come,” he says with a devilish grin.
“I’m starving,” I say. I’d planned on getting some onion rings for lunch.
Ignoring me, Steel takes my hand and leads me to a waiting Zipper pod.
“Hey, no butting, asshole!” someone yells from the line.
“Easy, dude,” Steel says.
“You can’t just drag your carny bitch ho to the front of the line,” the guy says. He’s young, around my age, and is standing in line with what looks like his twin brother.
“I can do whatever the fuck I want,” Steel says, screwing up his face.
“Anything, except get a real job,” the guy says.
Steel glances at me, and looks at the ride. He sees something on the ride, and his massive, Hollywood smile springs across his face.
“Tell you what, buddy, why don’t you and your twin come up here right now, as a way of me apologizing to you,” Steel says.
This is weird. I don’t know what his plan is, but I know he’d never apologize to a townie, ever.
Without further prompting, the guy and his twin push past the people ahead of them in line, not seeing the irony, and arrive at the pod.
“Hey, how’s that fair?” a woman’s voice shouts.
Steel glances back at the line, and with his smile says, “It’s good. These big, tough guys want a ride, we’ll let them have a ride.”
The twins climb into the pod, and Steel secures the door. Razor moves the ride around to the next pod, and the people get out. I go to get on, but Steel holds me back.
“Not this time,” he says, “Go stand with Razor.”
Confused, I walk over to where Razor’s standing at the controls.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Those assholes are about to stink up my ride, is what,” Razor says, shaking his head.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“They just got on pod nine, we
call it Loosey Goosey, because it spins easier than the others.”
“And?”
“And this ride is going to be a little faster and a little longer than usual, and those two will be trying to get the stink of puke off themselves for days.”
Grossed out, I chuckle, and say, “How do you know they’ll puke?”
“Because unless they’re one of us or fighter pilots, they’re going to puke.”
“And all the other people on the ride?”
Razor grins, and says, “They should be okay. Unless they’re pukers to begin with.”
When the ride’s fully loaded, Steel comes and puts his arm around me.
“Let’s torture these assholes,” Steel says.
Since the day at my booth with the pitcher and all the missed balls, Steel’s taken to embarrassing anyone who pisses him off. He thinks it’s hilarious, and so do I. According to Razor, he can’t believe Steel hasn’t thrown a single punch this year.
It still freaks me out that Steel, according to Razor, ‘could beat the shit out of a giant,’ but he hasn’t this year. I’m guessing because of me. And I think it’s amazing that he hasn’t for me. It’s just proof of how much he cares about me, and how much he wants to be a better man because of me. It makes me all warm and fuzzy just thinking about it.
Razor starts the ride, and it doesn’t take long before it’s creaking around the track. I keep my eyes on Loosey Goosey, the pod the twins are in, and it’s spinning probably four times the rate of the others.
Sure enough, after a few minutes, flecks of puke spray from the twins’ pod. The sight makes my stomach turn, and I fight back retching.
“This better not turn into a barf-o-rama,” Razor says.
Steel laughs, “I’m outta here, it’s all your problem if it does.”
“Like fuck, at least get me the hose.”
Razor stops the ride, and I stand well out of the way while they unload it. Even where I am, the acrid smell of puke poisons the air.
They unload the twins last. It takes several minutes to unload and load the ride, and the twins must be desperate to get out of their little puke-coated cage.
“Oh, fuck,” Steel says, shielding his face with the crook of his arm in an exaggerated way. Both him and Razor mock puke, and walk away from the car while the twins get out.
Everyone in the line is either laughing or gagging at the puke-covered twins.
“I can’t even remember the last time we had a puker, you two sure ain’t tough. You want us to hose your down?” Steel says, laughing.
The twins don’t even look at him, instead they look like the walking dead as they make their way from the ride.
Razor turns on the hose and starts spraying out the pod.
Steel meshes his hand through mine, and says, “Let’s get something to eat.”
“I’ve lost my appetite, thanks.”
“It was worth it though, right?”
I chuckle and say, “Maybe. Those assholes had it coming.”
One (Steel)
It’s the start of July, and we’re still in Mississippi. We’ve been weaving around, hitting all the little towns Papa Smurf arranged to get us a weekend in. It seems like we’re going to be in this sweat-box of a state all summer.
Emily doesn’t seem to mind though. Even after four months, she’s still fresh with the excitement of being in the carnival.
Cess says she’s a real natural at getting men to play their game. Can’t say I’m surprised one bit. She just has to flash that pretty smile and let her blue eyes twinkle, and they start digging into their pockets for a chance to impress her.
I’m lying in bed awake, coated in sweat even in the middle of the night. Emily’s beside me, sleeping on her back like a baby. Propping myself up on my elbows, I examine her.
All the curtains are wide open to let as much breeze through the open windows as possible. The light from outside outlines her face. I still can’t believe I wake up next to such a beautiful woman every day. More than that, I can’t believe I want to.
For the past nine months, I’ve had scantily dressed townies throwing themselves at me, begging me for a piece of action. The whole idea of touching someone else turns my stomach. I’m not interested. Not a single one has remotely tempted me.
No, this woman right here is the only one I want. The one who’s more than just a pretty face with crazy long legs I love feeling wrapped around me.
Unable to resist any longer, I brush my fingers down the side of her cheeks and along her neck. I bend down and kiss her forward. Emily shifts her body, and half opens her eyes.
My intention wasn’t to wake her up, just touch her to make sure she’s real.
“What’re you doing?” she asks.
“Nothing. Just lying here and thinking about how lucky I am to have you next to me.”
Emily’s mouth turns up in a sleepy smile, her eyelids heavy.
“You just want sex.”
“I don’t. It’s too hot for that, it must be a hundred degrees in this tin can.”
“We should pay to get the air conditioning working.”
“Too expensive, we only do that if it goes up another twenty degrees.”
“Then go to sleep.”
I chew the inside of my lip, trying to find a way to tell what I can’t get out of my mind lately. I’m not good with this stuff, I’ve never had to deal with it, with feelings, before.
Lying flat, I wrap my arm over her and pull her tight to me. My heart’s hammering against my chest, but I’ve got to tell her. I have to.
“You’ve changed me, Goldie,” I say, forcing the words out my throat.
Emily’s eyes open, and she turns her head to look at me. In the dim light, our eyes lock together.
“How?” she says, her voice a whisper.
“In about every way possible,” I say and swallow.
“You’ve changed me, too,” she says. “I was such a little kid when you found me. Now I feel like a normal adult, one with an amazing man at my side.”
“I kind of feel like you did the same thing to me.” She has made me grow up. I’d never wanted to be an adult before, I only ever wanted to play at my job, my women, everything.
“It’s lots of fun living in this trailer with you. Even if it is an oven,” she says, all trace of sleepiness gone from her voice.
“Hope you don’t see this as slumming it.” Papa Smurf keeps warning me that rich girls like her go through a phase of playing poor with a man, out of curiosity and rebellion.
“What do you mean?” she asks.
“I mean, you’re not playing a game here or nothing. Playing at being poor for the summer, then go back to your nice, rich life afterwards.”
“This isn’t a game to me. This is real. Lying here with you, that’s definitely not slumming it by any definition of the world.”
“Most people would consider living in a tiny trailer and traveling with the carnival to be the definition of slumming it.”
“That’s because people are stupid. You just have to look at the ones forking out for games they can’t win on the midway to know that.”
“You know I’ll never be able to buy all that fancy stuff your parents have and you’re used to.” It kills me to think I could never give her everything she wants.
“If I’ve learned anything this summer, it’s that material stuff doesn’t matter. It was all just a way to mask an empty life. It wasn’t real the way you are.”
I ignore her comment. I have to say what I need to say before I chicken out again.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Since I met you, these thoughts and feelings keep percolating around in me, and I didn’t know what they were at first. That happens when you’ve had my life. But now I think I know what it is.” I’m halting and rambling, but the warmth of her eyes gives me the courage to carry on. “Goldie, I ain’t never said this to anyone before, but I think I love you. I’m sure of it, I love you.”
A tear trickles from her eye and acr
oss the bridge of her nose. She doesn’t say anything. Please don’t reject me. Maybe I should’ve kept my big mouth shut. My heart stops, waiting.
After an eternity, she says, “Since I met you, I realize how unhappy I was before. My life was suffocating.” Her voice breaks, and tears stream steadily from her eyes and onto the sheet. “You’ve given me so much, and you’ve made me feel loved — loved for who I am and not what I’m supposed to me. I could never express how grateful and lucky I am for your love. And I love you too, Steel. I love you for who you are, Kayden.”
She said my real name. It felt good. Emily’s words hit me and squeeze around my ribs, forcing my heart to beat again. I’d even say it’s beating different now than it did before. Thumping like each beat is full instead of it rattling around empty.
The idea had crossed my mind before, but now I want it. I need it.
“You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met,” I start, my words unsure, “I can’t imagine going another day of my whole life without seeing you.”
She swallows and starts, “Me…”
I interrupt her and carry on, “We have this thing at the carnival, a tradition. And you know us carnies, it’s what matters. Our tradition. It means more than those government rules. I’m a carny, and tradition matters a lot to me.”
“What are you saying?”
I take a deep breath to try to stop my rambling. “What I’m saying is, I want to marry you. Here in the carnival. In our tradition.”
“Are you serious?” she says, sitting up, turning her head to keep our eye contact.
“Yes. Of course.”
“What does your tradition mean?”
“It means you’d be my wife. Mine forever. Real as any wedding there is. So how about it? Emily, will you marry me?” I’ve never called her by her real name before, I hadn’t intended to, it just came out.
“Yes,” she pauses, “on one condition.”
My heart sinks into my gut.
Pierce Me: Satisfied by the Bad Boy Page 29