Page 10 of The Winslow Brothers

“Shall we do a little shopping tomorrow, Jude?” he asks. “A little trip to the mall, perhaps? I think you can probably find exactly what you’re looking for at Victoria’s Secret.”

“What?” Ty asks, glancing between the two of us. “What’s going on?”

Rem turns the phone toward Ty and Flynn so they can read the text.

Instantly, Flynn cracks a smile, and Ty bursts into outright cackles.

“Oh, hell yeah!” he hoots. “Maybe we should go back to that strip club and see if you can borrow one of Sunshine’s G-strings?”

That suggestion makes Rem light up like a goddamn Christmas tree. “Even though I’d rather cut off my right nut than go in that place again, I think that’s a grand-fucking-idea.”

Flynn nods accordingly. “Same.”

And I do what Jude Winslow does best…I go with the flow and have some motherfucking fun with it.

“All right. Fine. I’m prepared to righteously seek forgiveness from my future sister-in-law,” I announce. “Rem text Char backand let her know I’m in. But I’m buying my own panties. Jude Winslow doesn’t share his thongs with anyone else.”

Remy shakes his head on a laugh. “You’re insane, you know that?”

“Definitely not the first time I’ve heard that.” I smirk, leaning back in the booth and relaxing one arm on the ledge.

“Won’t be the last either,” Ty retorts. “Thank fuck. I need someone to keep my life interesting.”

While Rem texts Char back, the rest of us clean up the trays and get ready to hit the streets again. I still have no idea what in the hell we’re going to do after this, but I’m not the type of guy to get rattled by a change of plans.

Spontaneity might as well be my middle name.

Which is why, when we all finally leave the Bell and I look across the street and spot a red neon sign that readsFortune Teller, I know exactly where our next stop needs to be.

Oh yeah. Come to Papa.

Remy

A big neon sign blinks with the words “Fortune Teller,” and below that, another, smaller wooden sign declaresMiss Cleo’s Prophecies.Ty and Jude bounce on their toes excitedly while Flynn tries to get a look in the building through the windows.

“Fuck yes! This is the perfect activity for your bachelor party, bro,” Jude cheers, feeling like he’s now confirmed his initial assessment from across the street. “This is exactly what we need to get the night back on track.”

Flynn stands up straight and shrugs, and I breathe out a sigh.Great. Something else I’m going into blind.

“What if she says I’m going to lose a testicle in a freak stripper-related accident?” Ty asks with a chortle.

“We can take you right back next door and get it over with, I guess,” I supply.

“Come on, come on,” Jude interrupts. “We have all the time in the world to give one another shit, but the opportunity to go inside and have our fortunes read is now! Stop bullshitting, and let’s go!”

He yanks open the door, diving in headfirst. He’s closely followed by Ty and then, slowly, a somewhat reluctant Flynn.

That leaves me for last, and though I briefly consider leaving my brothers behind and catching the subway home, ultimately, I decide to follow along.

When we step inside, it’s dark enough that it takes my eyes a full thirty seconds to adjust. The smell is musty and stale, but I’m not all that surprised as I get a look around.

Dark burgundy velvet curtains hang heavily over every surface, gold-tinted ropes tying them back at the doorways. I can only imagine the types of people this place pulls in on a regular basis, and if I had to guess, I’d say the sex-den-style curtains have never been washed.

I wrinkle my nose and sigh.Why in the universe of fucks did I leave Charlotte to come out with these bozos tonight?

Ty and Jude taunt and take fake punches at each other as they dance around the room, and Flynn looks around calmly. He gives nothing away on his face, but I can’t believe he’s thinking anything other than the things I am at this point.

“I don’t even think anyone’s here,” I say to Jude, a heavy sigh following my words. I glance around the curtain into the back room and over to the room at the side. Nothing.

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