Page 2 of The Chance

“You guys aretwins? That’s so crazy.”

I roll my eyes. It’s the same shit I hear all the fucking time from girls like this one, with her bleached out hair and her manicured nails.

At least it’s better than asking if we share.

People are so fucking weird when it comes to brothers born at the same time.

Even if she was my type, that’s a giantno thanks. My brother is fucking gross.

I, on the other hand, would prefer to have privacyandsomeone with the same junk as me.

Ya feel?

The first guy I ever had a crush on punched me in the nose during study hall. I wasn’t even trying to necessarily hit on him but in my defense, I was fourteen. Horny. With no clue what to do with my hands.

His hair just looked so damn soft.

He had sneered at me, called me all the derogatory names every gay man has already heard, and never talked to me in a nice way again.

It only took Rex threatening him once for him to leave me the fuck alone.

I’ve kept to myself for the most part since. Learning the hard way was enough for me to wait for them to come to me when they get curious about dick.

Everyone knows I’m the gay twin already anyway.

The rest of the time they steer clear and for a band geek that loves getting the D, that’s just fine with me.

“Keep it single file. Have those tickets and IDs ready!”

Oh, shit. Oh, fuck. This is it!

I bounce in place as I hand the two requested items to the man at the door with one hand and smack my twin’s back with the other.

The bouncer looks at me, then hands back the ID, keeping the ticket.

“Oh, hey,” I mutter as I pass just by him, my brother already offering up his entry requirements. “Can I keep that?”

He rips the paper in half and hands me one.

Inside, I cry a little but accept the torn paper as Rex pushes me ahead. “Here. He gave me the other half of mine.”

A half smile lifts my lips. “Thanks, bro.”

I stuff the two halves of the ticket in my worn-out pocket and weave my way around the people that are already packed into the small space.

VIP fuckers.

Rex grabs hold of my sleeve when I veer off to the side, the merch table catching my wide eyes.

Please be less than twenty bucks. Please be less. Pleasepleaseplease …

“Fifty dollars for a shirt?”I screech to my brother whose brows bunch. “How the fuck is that?”

He sighs, the weight of being the poor kids turning his lips down. “What about that square thing? It says fifteen.”

Huffing, I step up to the cashier, my sights set on the thing Rex mentioned. “The bandana?”

I’m asking my brother, but the woman takes it as the order and walks away to grab one from the maze of boxes sitting open behind her. “Oh—”

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