Free Tempted by Megan Hart Page B

the end and turned to walk backward, facing me, his face alight.
    “The Magnum is the perfect fucking coaster,” he said. “They can make ’em taller, but they don’t make ’em sweeter.”
    “James doesn’t like roller coasters.” It was true, but it suddenly sounded disloyal, and I wasn’t quite sure why. “He says he overdosed on them as a kid.”
    “Nah. He never liked them.” Alex shook his head and made a circle in the air with a finger. “He’ll ride the Puke-a-Tron or the Barf-o-Rama twenty times in a row, but he won’t ride a coaster.”
    “He’s got equilibrium.” James could go on those spinning rides without getting sick. “He’s good at turning in place.”
    “But not so good at going up and down.” Alex’s hands swooped, following the curve of a coaster. “How about you, Anne?”
    “I like both, I guess.” We were following another winding path, past food stands and games whose vendors implored us to take a chance on winning a stuffed toy. The scents of popcorn and fries tickled my nose, and my stomach rumbled.
    He slanted me a look. “But you like coasters better.”
    I gave him an equally sideways glance. “Sometimes.”
    He laughed. “Me, too.”
    Ahead of us was the sign for Paddlewheel Excursions, a ride the park designated Tranquil and which was in essence a staged boat ride through quirky, animated scenes and narrated by the boat’s “captains.” The last time I’d ridden it, the operators wore uniforms designed to look like old riverboat captains, complete with maroon vests and ruffled armbands. Now they wore regular park uniforms. I was disappointed.
    “Wow. Paddlewheel Excursions. I haven’t been on this ride in forever.” I paused at the entrance.
    “So, c’mon. Let’s go.”
    “We don’t have to. There are plenty of other rides to go on.”
    “So?” Alex held out a hand. “We have time.”
    The ride was as hokey and charming as I remembered. The jokes were silly but made us laugh, anyway, and the ride itself was serene. We sat in the back, thigh to thigh on the narrow bench. The water in the canal was a murky green.
    “I always thought they ran on a track,” I murmured as the captain of our boat revved the engine to avoid a sandbar.
    “When I worked here, one of the guys almost sank one.”
    “Did he?” I turned to look at Alex. “How could you do that?”
    “Hit the dock hard enough, I guess you can put a hole in anything.” Alex nodded toward the dock where two other captains awaited to tie the boat in place so we could disembark.
    I looked at Alex closely. “Was it you?”
    For a moment he looked stunned, then started to laugh. “No. I cleaned toilets.”
    My surprise must have shown on my face. “I always thought—”
    America’s not a place comfortable with a class system. We’re all equal, even when we aren’t. Nobody would ever have admitted aloud that the restroom attendants tended to be not as…socially presentable…as the people they hired to operate the rides and serve the food.
    “See what a bad attitude will get you?” He shrugged.
    We got off the boat. I thanked the young captain, who still looked embarrassed about his close call with the sandbar. I heard his friends ribbing him as we left.
    “So. You cleaned toilets. For how long?”
    “Two seasons. Then I moved into full-time maintenance.”
    “You worked here a long time,” I said.
    “Until I was twenty-one. I met a guy at a club who was hiring people in his factory overseas. He put me into transportation and distribution. Two years later I had my own business.”
    “And now,” I teased, “you’re a bazillionaire.”
    “From cleaning crappers to self-made man,” Alex said, not boasting but not downplaying his success, either. “From shit to shine.”
    I needed a drink and stopped to buy two large fresh-squeezed lemonades. The drink was tart and cold and puckered my mouth. It was delicious. It was liquid summer.
    James had told me the big fight with Alex was