“Lose a bet?” she asked, eyeing the gaggle of grown men snickering outside her store window.
He nodded, fidgeting on her tiny stool.
He was cute: curly brown hair, soft blue eyes. But a jersey and a backwards baseball cap? Not at his age.
“Don’t worry. Quick and painless,” she added. Her stock response normally used to calm jittery pre-teen girls, not a blushing twenty-something.
Click.
“There,” she said, dabbing solvent on his freshly pierced ear.
She then gave him a peck on the cheek.
The laughter stopped; jaws dropped.
And the look on all their faces was worth it.
The Weekday One Hundred 