Over the last decade, I’ve yet to attend a family function without my second-youngest brother bringing some random woman along. And considering Ty’s never brought the same woman to a family function twice and the Winslow clan gets together two to three times a month, that’s a lot of fucking women.
“And Rem’s day-trading schedule makes him work out at two in the morning like some kind of damn vampire. You’re my only viable option,” he says, snagging his backpack from the bench and scowling as he shifts on his feet to stand upright. “And right now, I hate you.”
“You want me to see if they’ve got a wheelchair you can borrow?”
“Shut up.”
“A motorized scooter? Crutches?” I keep going, sarcasm and amusement lifting the corners of my lips, and Jude flips me the middle finger.
“I like you better when you’re being all surly and not saying shit.”
He doesn’t have to tell me twice.
I shrug and spin on my heel, more than ready to leave the locker room before the after-seven crowd takes over. But I only make it a few steps toward the door when Jude calls out, “Wait… Where are you going, man?”
I turn around to meet his eyes. “Home.”
“You don’t want to grab some dinner with me?” he questions. “I mean, it’s the least you can do for putting me through Satan’s leg day.”
“Can’t. I’m making Daisy dinner.”
Last night, she saw an Olive Garden commercial and started rambling on and on about fettuccine Alfredo. I told her I could make it for her sometime, and she looked at me as if I’d just said I was an alien from Mars. Though, it didn’t take long for her to make me promise to fulfill my homemade pasta offer ASAP, as in tonight after we both get home from work.
“Oh yeah, Daisy.” A big, shit-eating grin consumes Jude’s face. “Your wife that none of us knew about until you’d already married her.”
Actually, he did meet her. In Vegas. But just like Ty and Remy, he was apparently too drunk to remember, and I’m not going to be the one to tell him.
“Of all the people to get married before me, you were the last motherfucker I expected to pull that trick out of his mysterious hat. I mean, you were all ‘I don’t do the relationship and marriage thing,’ but now look at you. You’re someone’s husband.”
“You don’t like Daisy?”
“Get real.” He rolls his eyes. “She’s going to be a bridesmaid in my wedding, bro. Of course, I like Daisy. Sophie loves Daisy. I’m just still trying to figure out where in the hell she came from. Seriously, Flynn, how did you go from the guy who barely even dated to fucking married in the blink of an eye?”
“It’s a fake marriage,” I answer, giving him the full truth, but it feels foreign on my tongue. Like it shouldn’t even be there. Like it’s not the truth at all.
His response? An outburst of laughter.
“Oh yeah, okay, a fake marriage,” he repeats, using his fingers to make air quotes around his words. “Sure thing, Flynn.” He rolls his eyes again and keeps laughing as if I just told the biggest joke of the century. “How long did you know her before you got married?”
“Not long.”
“Not long.” Jude sighs. “That really narrows it down.” He eyes me suspiciously, his gaze narrowing as if he’s attempting to seek out all the answers by telepathy. “Fuck, you’re difficult to read. You’re my own brother, and you’re still a damn mystery to me. I swear, if you ever went missing, your own fucking family wouldn’t even know what to tell the cops.”
Funnily enough, he’s probably not wrong, but that has more to do with my family never actually asking me anything to give them an insight into my life. It’s not that they don’t want to, I don’t think. They’re just intimidated or something. Daisy isn’t intimidated to ask. Hell, she knows you more than anyone has ever known you.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and since Jude is busy trying to read my mind, I pull it out to check my messages.
Daisy: Running a little later than I expected, but I should be home by 8:30. We still on for you cooking me a glorious feast?
I grin and shoot her a quick Yes back.
But when I look up from my phone, I find that Jude is still watching me like I’m the most interesting thing in the locker room. Ironically, I’ve now told him and Remy the truth about Daisy and me, but the fuckers don’t believe me—even after what I told Remy turned out to be true.
Whatever. It’s his problem, not mine.
I leave the locker room for good this time, but Jude follows right behind on his shaky Bambi legs.
“It’s all pretty fucking nuts, bro,” he calls toward my back as I walk past the reception area and out of the gym’s lobby doors. “I mean, you’re married, before me, the guy who had to propose four fucking times before Sophie said yes.”
Truthfully, I have not a clue what he’s trying to get at here, and I don’t care to know. He and Sophie are getting married, and Daisy and I already are. End of story—almost.
Jude looks out toward the street and then back at me. He searches my eyes with scrutiny again, until eventually, he asks, “Why did you get married, dude? Like, what the hell changed? You’re the most rational person I know, and it seems like this marriage was on a damn whim. Like it just dropped out of the sky. I like Daisy, I really do, but this is all so unlike you.” His eyes go wide and imploring. “Oh shit, you’re not in the middle of a fucking nervous breakdown, are you?”
Pretty sure anyone who is in the middle of a nervous breakdown doesn’t realize they’re in the middle of one, but in the name of not getting him all worked up, I keep that shit to myself.
“I’m good, man.”
“You sure?”
I sigh. Nod. And I almost end the conversation right there, but something inside me makes me want to put Jude at ease. “Daisy is…better than I ever imagined she’d be,” I tell him. “She’s hilarious. Fucking adorable. Talks enough for the both of us. She makes life fun.”
And you actually really fucking like her.
I can’t deny that ever since Daisy came blazing into my life, I’ve been the opposite of bored. This last month is the most I’ve laughed in a lifetime, I’m certain.
She’s also the first woman you want to spend time with. A lot of fucking time, in fact…
“Are you in the mafia? Is that what it is?” Jude questions out of fucking nowhere. “Or is it the CIA? Are you an undercover agent living a double life, and you can’t tell anyone about it?”
“Who knows,” I answer through a shrug and hitch my duffel higher on my shoulder. “Maybe I’m not even your actual brother. Maybe Mom’s in on it too.”
For an instant, Jude’s eyes look so big they might pop out of his skull, but then, he reaches out to punch me in the shoulder. “You’re such an asshole.”
I shake my head on a chuckle, and it’s then that I notice the T-shirt he changed into after our workout that had him whining like a baby. White cotton material with a variety of badges spread all over his chest and stomach and back and arms, and the words “The Secret Club” embroidered across his right pec.