Page 183 of The Winslow Brothers

“Trust me, your look implied it all.Was it the shots—or the bourbon you chose to keep drinking with the shots?”he mocksin a sarcastic voice that I think is supposed to represent my own. It’s even more ironic that, because of my absence, I don’t have a fucking clue what he was drinking.

A laugh escapes my throat. Evidently, his subconscious sounds a hell of a lot like me.

“Now’s not the time for your fucking logic, man,” he grumbles, holding his head with his hand and stumbling back toward the bathroom.

My phone chimes inside the pocket of my jeans, and I pull it out to find a text from our baby sister, Winnie. A successful physician for the New York Mavericks and married with an eight-year-old daughter, she may be the youngest Winslow sibling, but she definitely isn’t a baby anymore. The pigtailed, knobby-kneed version of Winifred that we all grew up with is a distant memory at this stage in our lives.

Winnie: Anyone in jail?

A small grin raises one corner of my mouth as I type out a quick response.

Me: Nope.

Winnie: Everyone still alive?

Me: Yes. Although, the hangovers Rem, Ty, and Jude are going to be facing today will probably make them wish they were dead.

It takes a special amount of alcohol to make three grown men not even realize they were missing the fourth member of their group.

Winnie: Let me guess…Ty started with the damn tequila shots, and Jude succumbed quickly to the peer pressure.

I might not know the exact details of last night’s debauchery, but after forty-one years on this earth studying these morons, I have a pretty good idea.

Me: Something like that.

Winnie: I’m thankful at least one of my brothers is sane. Taciturn, but sane.

I shrug to myself. What can I say? I am who I am. Still, I wonder what Winnie would think of her one sane brother if she knew all the things about me I don’t tell her.

Winnie: Oh well. I’m just glad it’s your job to deal with them on the flight back home and not mine. I’ve never been good with barf bags. Love you, Flynn!

I shake my head on a soft smile.

Me: Love you too, smartass.

“You texting with that hot blonde from last night?”

I lift my eyes away from the screen of my phone to find Ty looking at me from the large leather sofa in the center of the living room. Jude sits beside him with his head resting back against the big plush pillows and his eyes sealed shut.

With dark circles under both of their eyes and stiff jaws punctuating their faces, it appears my prediction was correct.

Looks like the hangover gang is officially all here.

“What was her name, by the way?” Ty asks.

“Who?”

“The hot blonde who wanted to fuck you,” he comments on an annoyed sigh. “You know, the woman in the tight red dress at that karaoke bar off the Strip.”

Jude quirks one eye open to look at Ty. “We went to a karaoke bar last night??”

Ty’s face morphs from discomfort to hilarity, and a raspy chuckle jumps from his lungs.

Though, it takes Remy to actually answer Jude’s question. “Yeah, bro. And it was your stupid fucking request.”

Jude glances at all three of us in bewilderment.

“You do one hell of a Journey rendition, my man,” Ty chimes in and nudges Jude’s shoulder with his fist. “And apparently, Flynn needs to get his eyesight checked because he can’t remember when a woman who looks like Farrah Fawcett back in the day is flashing fuck-me eyes at him.”

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