She slipped him something in secret – one overworked, underpaid carnival worker to another.
He was expecting a few folded-up singles, a greasy fiver at most. A little thank you for ignoring the rules and letting her scrawny, undersized kid ride the bumper cars by himself.
Instead, it was a scrap of paper with her number.
His eyes watered, his stomach flipped. A shot with this red-headed knockout? He never thought he stood a chance. She was so far out of his league they were playing different sports.
“One good ride deserves another,” she winked before melting into the crowd.
Mercy.
The Weekday One Hundred 