Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 122(@200wpm)___ 98(@250wpm)___ 82(@300wpm)
But who am I kidding? I’m nothing like the busty blonde I just saw. Whereas she’s svelte with curves in all the right places, I’m short, thick and chunky in all the wrong ones. Whereas she has shining golden hair that flows like a river down her back, I have grayish-brown curls that resemble a ratty nest most days. Whereas she speaks in melodious tones, my voice sounds like a frog gasping for air. In short, Ryder and Rick will never notice me, and that’s just how life is. Tears flood my eyes even as the sounds of their lovemaking crescendo, but I plug my fingers into my ears this time around. I’ll never be the object of Ryder and Rick’s affections, and I just have to live with that fact.
2
Ryder
Ten years later.
I stretch out across the creamy white leather couch, nursing a scotch. We’ve been flying for a few hours now, and I’m ready to be off the plane despite how comfortable the private jet is.
Across from me, my twin brother, Rick, slouches similarly on his own couch, although his poison is a whiskey neat. Outside the tinted windows, the jet roars over the middle of Nowhereland, USA. I don’t need to glance out the window to know that I would see tidy rows of plowed corn and wheat stretching out for miles and miles. Instead, my eyes remain closed.
“I can’t believe it’s already been ten years,” my brother comments.
Unfortunately, Rick doesn’t seem to have picked up on the fact that I’m ignoring the world. I pop open a single eye and glower at him.
“I was trying to rest,” is my grunted reply.
But my easy-going twin isn’t fazed by my surliness. He continues talking as he swirls amber-colored whiskey around in the crystal glass, his mind elsewhere. “You know, if you told me ten years ago what our lives would be like now, I wouldn’t have believed you.”
Sighing, I sit up slightly and open my other eye to observe my brother.
At six foot three, we get a lot of looks. Rick and I have sharp, bright blue eyes and our hair is the color of ebony. We thought we were hot shit in high school, but now that we’ve actually made something of ourselves professionally, it’s only gotten better. What would that be? Hotter shit? Hottest shit? I shrug.
“I wonder how many of the cheerleaders are still good-looking?” I offer wickedly, suddenly enjoying this trip down memory lane. “I’d sure love to get a look at Michaela Mills again, especially if she still has that juicy rump.” My brother grunts, but his eyes light up. After all, Rick and I were all-star athletes back in the day, and our hard work on the football field paid off ten-fold. We scored places on the football team at the University of Wyoming, but even more important, the athletics helped us score girls. A lot of girls. It seems that women are turned on by sweaty, grunting, hulking football players who bash into each other in the name of “competition.”
But at my comment, Rick just shakes his head. “They’re probably all married with at least three kids each by now,” he says with a shake of his head. “With boobs down to here,” he says, gesturing to his knees. “Breastfeeding does that, you know.”
I grimace as I take in his words. Rick has a point, but I’m hoping for better. Not every woman breastfeeds, right? There are many types of formula. Then again, Sheridan, Wyoming, is a place that changes only slowly. Most of the people from our small town never leave, and those who do take off for college often find their way back at some point. It’s mind-boggling because while Sheridan’s not bad, it doesn’t compare to Paris, Tokyo, or New York. Now these are cities with a lot to offer.
But still, there’s something charming about our hometown. The skies are often an endless blue, with nary a cloud in sight. And if you like a good honky-tonk, there’s none better than Rodeo Ranch, with its cavernous space and up and coming country bands.
“Well, we have to act nice at least,” my brother comments, taking another swig of his drink. “You know Sheridanites are going to see us as greasy city slickers, headed home to brag about new lives,” he says with an easy chuckle.
It’s my turn to shake my head.
“It’s not our fault we had vision. And a desire to get the hell out of Dodge.”
Rick nods slowly, looking thoughtful. “Ayema is a vision, isn’t it?”
I nod, permitting myself a moment of pride in all that my brother and I have accomplished over the last several years. After all, a lot of folks thought we were dumb-as-rocks jocks. They thought we were idiot lugheads who could barely spell, and who definitely had no imagination. But Rick and I proved them wrong because after graduation, instead of signing up to be insurance salesmen, we decided to make our way to New York City. It was tough, but we had the seed of an idea in our heads: to manufacture athletic apparel for people who want to appear fashionable as well as sporty.