Snorting at the memory, I can’t help thinking that “knuckleheads” isn’t exactly how I would refer to the rowdy men who work hard and play harder.
After Tank’s session, I have a quick workout with two other club members before going home for the day. With plans to go out, I head straight to the shower to wash off the ick of gym life.
“Let’s go, hooker!” my sister Suzie calls out as soon as I shut the shower off.
“Hold your horses, woman.” Damn, impatient, little thing. Then again, she always has been.
My baby sister is visiting for a week. We don’t see each other often, so having her here means the world to me. I wish she would have told me she was coming, though. Oh, well, count my blessings and don’t question.
She showed up late last night. After sleeping in this morning while I trained with the boys, she is now rip-roaring ready to go out on the town. I, on the other hand, am more than willing to snuggle in my bed with a good book. Baby girl gets what baby girl wants, though, so we are going out.
The joke’s on her. Coastal North Carolina doesn’t have much for a night life. Definitely not what she’s used to in Chicago.
We grew up in the Sandhill region of central North Carolina. I went off to East Carolina University in Greenville where I managed to earn a degree in physical therapy. After passing my state boards and getting licensed, I locked in a job at a rehabilitation facility where I met Tank and the Hellions MC. This all worked to land me where I am today.
Suzie has done well for herself. She got a full scholarship to Duke University. After years of studying and dedication, she achieved her PhD. Then, leaving the small town life of Carolina in the rearview, she took a job with a pharmaceutical company in Chicago.
I couldn’t be prouder of her. Given our parental figures aren’t shining examples or upstanding citizens, we both have overcome tremendous obstacles to be where we are today. Of course, my sister and I could have worked at a grocery store for the rest of our lives and still been better than them. Mom worked at the local diner that paid jack shit because she thought it was “groovy,” and our father was a long-haul trucker because he couldn’t get any other decent paying job due to his record, and both of them couldn’t have cared less about the kids they left home alone.
My sister pops her head around my bedroom door, her dirty blonde hair hanging like a waterfall. “Aren’t you ready yet? I’m itchin’ to go!”
Rolling my eyes at her impatience, I keep one hand on the towel wrapped around my body and use my other hand to grab one of the pillows on my bed to throw at her. She dodges the fluffy missile, continuing to walk into my room with her hands on her hips.
With a big smile, she jokes, “You’re gettin’ ornery in your old age.”
Giving her the stink eye, I look over her outfit. Tonight, she’s wearing a shimmery black, spaghetti strap tank top; tight red pants; and four–inch, shiny, black, snakeskin heels. Total class and sass.
If we weren’t only a year apart in age, I would seriously wonder if she wasn’t joking. Suzie lives her life at a hundred mile per hour pace. One could easily figure that out about my sister after being in her presence for a few minutes. She’s so full of energy that she practically bounces on her toes. Her brown eyes are super expressive, and she usually has a bright, easy going smile on her face. Her wardrobe often matches her no-holds-barred attitude.
I huff and shoo her out of my room so I can dry off and get dressed. I wouldn’t say I’m the opposite of Suzie, but I would say I like to live in the slow lane. I also don’t stand out as much as my brightly shining younger sister. It is okay, though, because I’m good with who I am, inside and out.
Physically, Suzie and I only have two things in common: lush, curvy bodies and our warm, espresso-colored eyes. She is tall to my somewhat short five-foot-four height, and her curves are more hourglass to my pear. The years of running make my bottom half stronger than my top, but daily activities keep me toned throughout.
Unlike my sister, I keep my rich brown, curly hair short in a messy bob. It is easy to style yet still sexy. I also dress a bit more low-key with my own kind of flare. Tonight, I have pulled out my favorite black dress pants and paired them with a white, short-sleeved blouse that has a black lace overlay. Slipping my feet into a pair of black leather peep-toe booties, my outfit is done, and I’m headed back to the bathroom to do my makeup and hair.