Overlooked(161)

Enough. I slip off the counter and ball my fist, intending to knock the mother-fucker down with a right hook.

"This is nothing, we get at least one of him an hour," Emily says, a worried look in her eyes.

"Don't mean he doesn't need his head kicking in."

A crowd has gathered round the booth. Everything inside of me is telling me to beat the guy into next Tuesday, but I decide it'll be more fun to humiliate him in front of the town. He'll be the laughing stock for years to come.

"Tell you what, I'll give you six balls, no charge. If you get one in, good things will happen."

"Good things like what?" he says.

"Good things like I won't break your faces," I say, and take another bite of the funnel cake.

"And I'll give you the balls you paid for," Emily says, laughing. She knows it's impossible for them to win. Emily walks back to the baskets, getting the balls. But I know the real thing she's doing is making sure the angles on the baskets are set to impossible.

"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.