Wings Read Free

Liddy simply couldn’t. He had his niche and she had hers.
    In the distance, two ‘good ole boys’, Rowby Wills and one of his side-kicks leaned on a car, her car. The 1927 Dodge Four was pocked with rust and couldn’t remember the last time it wore a top to keep it dry from rain or shaded from the beating sun. Its second round of paint was faded and flaking. Still, somehow it staked out its identity as a car to find fun in.
    Rowby leaned with intention. He took great care with the angle of his hat down to the crossing of his legs at his ankles. His side-kick mirrored the pose without the same cool. The third son on one of the biggest ranches in the state, Rowby had the skin of… How do you describe bronzed, flawless, polished-looking skin? Perfect, his skin was perfect, the skin of the gods. It was pulled tightly over high cheekbones and a sharp jaw, but not so tight that two deeply set dimples didn't sink in at the sides of his mouth, even when he wasn't smiling.
    His jet black hair competed with his dark blue eyes that you couldn't look into because the color was so thick—your gaze just slid over the surface like they had landed on a frozen pond. His form was carved high and low in all the right places, and he had one of those sexy walks that you can only enjoy as the person is leaving because there is no way to be nonchalant about the viewing.
    With all his good looks, Rowby suffered from an anemic self-worth that showed itself in an overactive use of the most inappropriate assumptions. Accomplishments that involved the intellect were lacking in his bag of tricks, and all of his claims laid on the successes of his family and their money—claims he’d decided entitled him to all of everything, anywhere from anybody. The other members of the Wills clan were not only as great an eye feast, they shared a brain function that Rowby didn't have or understand, leaving him out of family conversation and ventures. And as it usually goes, identity is often a result of the relative experience in the family and circle of friends where people are formed.
    It’s too bad that Rowby didn't possess the self-worth of Liddy’s car. Despite her worn state, she looked offended by the uninvited guests that had planted their backsides on her skin—she knew what she was worth.
    Liddy spoke up in her car's defense, "Hi, boys, watch the paint, would ya?"
    The request didn't stir the two men. "Hey, Lid, we're gonna take a ride down to Larry's place, wanna ride along?” Rowby pinched the brim of his hat and moved it up off his forehead. “I’ll buy you supper at the diner when we get back.”
    Liddy looked at Rowby as she would a child who just asked if they could raise fish in the toilet. She grabbed him playfully by his shirt collar, pulled him off the driver's side, swung in around him and grabbed the door handle. She tossed her gear in the back seat, opened the door and slid behind the wheel. Rowby was still straightening his collar.
    "Tempting, can't though. Next week, okay?” Liddy reached under the dash panel and touched two wires that were twisted together to one that was dangling free, and the engine sputtered and rocked.
    Rowby's perfect skin reddened, which was such a shame because the golden tenor was so nice. He clenched his teeth, "Liddy I'm gettin’ tired of…” Then he collected his outer calm and took down a different road, "Marry me, Liddy Hall, and I'll buy you a car worth drivin’."
    Liddy caressed the body of her jalopy. "May not be pretty, but … if she had wings, I'd take her up.” She popped the gear shift and rolled out, brushing Rowby off the side.
    Liddy knew that the Rowbys of the world were fragile and dangerous. Since she was very young, she was guided by a strong intuition, so from the time they were children in school together, Liddy had a sense that a fine line should be kept with Rowby Wills. Still, in high school she had been on a few dates with him, but she soon realized he wasn’t going to