Page 27 of The Winslow Brothers

Winnie laughs, but it’s pretty clear she doesn’t thinkanythingis funny. “Look, Ty, as touched as I want to be that you’re a nice enough guy to stand up for even the women you fuck at complete random, we’re kind of in the middle of a situation here.”

Normally, her quick sarcasm would make me laugh, but I’m also not feeling like laughing right now. Especially seeing the way Winnie is reacting to this whole “Where is Charlotte?” thing.

I mean, she’s close with Charlotte. And she’s worried…

“Come on, Win,” I whisper. “You don’t think she’s really…like…standing him up, do you?”

“I don’t want to think anything, Ty. All I want right now is for you to go back to the groom’s suite with our brothers and keep things calm. Don’t. Say. Anything.”

“All right.” I sigh and run a hand through my hair. “Fine, I’ll go back and keep it chill. But what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to the bridal suite, and I’m going to see what’s going on for myself.”

“Win…” I start to say, my voice tight and soft with a nasty, sentimental emotion I donotwant to feel.

“Ty,don’t. Go to the groom’s suite right now. And for God’s sake, act normal.”

I nod vigorously, willing myself to calm down enough to do what she says. If I go in there like I am now, one of my brothers will definitely know something is up, and the last thing I want to do is get Remy all worked up for nothing if this is all a big misunderstanding.

I lean forward and give Winnie a kiss on the cheek, she smacks me on the back of the head—likely because of my choice to bang a bridesmaid in the hallway at our brother’s wedding—and then we both take off in opposite directions.

I run down the hallway, around the corner, turn left down the adjoining hallway, and finally, skid to a stop just outside my brother’s prewedding hangout.

Boisterous laughter comes from inside, the kind of shit I’m used to hearing anytime I’m around all my brothers at once, and I refuse to be the guy who walks in there looking like the Grim fucking Reaper and kills it.

It’s then I realize that fucking condom is still on my dick, so I make a pit stop in the bathroom to the right of the groom’s suite and set shit straight.

But when I come out, their laughter is still present and my mood is still bordering on seriously buzzkill vibes.

You can do this, Ty.

I recheck the tuck on my shirt, straighten my tux jacket, and run a hand through my slightly disheveled sex hair. And then I take one giant deep breath in and slowly let it out.

When I finally find the courage to grab the knob and swing open the door to walk inside, my three brothers erupt into a chorus of cheers.

“Hey-o!” Jude yells, leading the charge over to me to wrap an arm around my neck and rub a closed fist in my hair. “Looks like someone’s been out consorting with the opposite sex.”

I smirk a little, pulling out of his clasp and running another hand through my truly fucked-up hair.

“Is it that obvious?” I ask, shoving everything but my encounter with Ivy out of my mind.

Flynn shakes his head while Jude hoots. “You have lipstick on your collarandyour neck, dude. And we’ve been waiting for you to come back for the better part of thirty minutes.”

“Not that we think you lasted that long,” Remy teases mercilessly.

I throw up a middle finger in weak defense, and all three of them laugh at me.

“I’ve never had a woman complain about the length of my stamina,” I protest over their chortles.

“Just the length of your dick, then,” Jude fires back.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say over the sound of Remy and Flynn fucking losing it. “You guys can give me shit, and it doesn’t matter because while you were in here bro-ing it up—some of you while wearing a thong—” I glance pointedly at Jude who rolls his eyes “—I was out there getting my dick wet.”

“How long does it take for a micropenis to dry?” Jude claps back again, going for the jugular instead of focusing on my taunt about his wardrobe-related punishment. “I’m kind of like that owl who asks about the Tootsie Pop. I’ve always wondered.”

The room devolves again, and that’s probably why none of us hears the knock on the door before Winnie peeks her head inside.

She smiles—at least, she tries to—but when her eyes meet mine, I know the news isn’t good.

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