“Fuck you.” The man steps back from her, and his hand falls away from her hips.

“Wasn’t that the point?” They glare at each other. Is this foreplay? I want out of here.

“Can I just get the—”

“It’s in the cooler!” Nina snaps at me.

I turn and open the lid to the cooler and see the bag at the bottom. She really must have wanted to get to this one because she cleaned up her area quickly. Half the time, I have to help her clear out her cooler stand and return beer.

I open the bag and match the count of the unopened beers she returned to the amount of money in the bag. I have to do this with every stand, but I save Nina for last in hopes that I don’t have to pull some of her weight to get the hell out of here.

Once that’s done, I make my way back toward my father’s office. On the way, my eyes linger on the peeling paint across the concrete walls. I remember when some of them were done when I was only a little girl. I used to love this place. The sounds of the crowd and the rush of excitement were so much fun. It would be hard to work sometimes because my attention would always drift to the ring to watch the riders.

Those days are long gone, and the peeling paint feels too familiar. What would I be without this place? It seems to be slowly fading, and I wonder if the same will happen to me.

You’d be free.

That’s what my mind screams at least. Free to do what? Leave? Is that really an option? It’s never felt like one.

As I draw closer to my father's office, the ominous black door is closed. I can hear the grunts even from forty feet out. No matter how old my father gets, all the buckle bunnies he bangs stay the same age. Which now happens to be my age.

I’m almost thankful he’s busy so I don’t have to talk to him right now. I drop everything into the box outside his office and lock it.

“Fuck, I love this fat ass.” My stomach lurches hearing my father as he fucks some girl on his desk. It’s followed by a loud slap and moan.

What’s even more disgusting is how he always shames me for my body. He doesn’t seem to care when it comes to whoever he fucks; he always goes for the curvy ones. I mean, I’ve seen a picture of my mother, and we could almost be twins.

He always refers to her as the trashy whore that left him high and dry with a three-year-old. It’s really where my nickname comes from. My own father created it, except for the whore part. No, he makes sure I remain a virgin. I don’t understand why he cares who I might sleep with. Not that there’s temptation here.