Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 122125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122125 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
I pull out her chair, helping her into the seat beside mine, and try to find an opening to figure out who the hell she is, but my brother Flynn’s arrival pulls my attention toward the other end of the room. Everyone greets him as he steps inside the dining room, and my mind struggles to remind me of the priority at hand—get it together, man, and try to figure out your date’s name.
I attempt to meet her eyes, but she’s too busy looking at something else. And it only takes one tap to my shoulder to realize she was watching Flynn walk toward us.
“You mind moving so I can sit beside my wife?” he says without preamble, and I blink what must be one thousand times.
Did he just say wife? As in, bless the bride, lady in white, till death do us part, husband and fucking wife? I can be kind of a scumbag, but how the hell did I manage this one?
Flynn is going to kill me.
“I’m sorry…” Winnie speaks up over the audible silence that has taken over the whole room. “Did you just say wife?”
It’s only then that it registers that I’m not the only one surprised, and the fact that I’m accidentally trying to date her is the least of my concerns. When in the fuck did Flynn get married?
I turn to look at the woman in question again. Her cheeks are now flushed, and her mouth is parted in shock. “You’re here with Flynn?” I ask, trying to make sense of a shred of something.
“I-I… Well, I tried to…um…say something, but—” Her voice shakes, and Flynn puts a steady hand to her shoulder and meets my confused eyes.
“Ty, it’s your own fault that the whole family, including you, automatically assumes any new woman at family dinner is here with you.”
“That’s because he’s a manwhore.”
“Jude!” our mom snaps. “Language! There are little ears at the table!”
More commotion fills the room, more chatter and laughter from my family, but my brain is too busy trying to understand the fact that Flynn has a wife.
My heart pounds erratically inside my chest, and my mind races with Cleo’s stupid words. “Well, my handsome professor, you’re about to see fate work her magic with another one of your brothers. And then, she’ll move to you.”
Sweet mother of mercy, I thought those fuckers would have the courtesy to haunt me for a year or two. You know, burrow inside my brain like little parasites. But proving themselves true tonight? Without even giving me time to take a breath? That’s pure evil.
“You know you’ve got problems when you don’t even know which woman at the family function is yours.” My uncle Brad’s voice breaks through the ringing inside my ears. “Now, Ty, please remember, this woman right here is your aunt Paula. My wife.”
Frankly, I don’t even know what I respond to that. It’s as if my mouth is currently on autopilot while my brain tries to make sense of the bomb Flynn just dropped in my sister’s dining room.
The room erupts into obnoxious laughter, most likely on my account, but I couldn’t care less. I mean, Flynn is married and Cleo’s not a sham?
If there was one Winslow brother whom I was certain Cleo’s predictions wouldn’t come true for, it was Flynn, more so than even myself. He’s a broody, reserved bastard who never dates, never brings women around, and acts completely fine with being alone.
If he’s not safe, what does that mean for Remy?
And more importantly, me?
Nearly nine months later…
Friday, January 4th
Rachel
A New York winter night is the kind of cold that makes men’s balls disappear and women’s nipples freeze right off. It’s as if the massive concrete structures and pavement have given up all their heat in some sort of ritual sacrifice, leaving them—and us—with only ice.
My knees shiver and shake as we head down the sidewalk toward a nightclub with velvet ropes and a long line of people waiting outside, surely turning any piece of sexiness in my walk into the likes of a newborn filly.
“Yep.” My sister, Lydia, flashes a giddy grin at me. “It’s going to be a good night,” she says, brushing her long brown hair over her shoulder. “I can feel it in my bones.”
“That’s interesting. Because the only thing I can feel in my bones is the expansion of ice.”
Lydia snorts in a way that’s contagious and manages to put a smile on my lips.
Halfway toward our destination, my phone vibrates inside my purse, and I shimmy the zipper to check the screen like the psychopathic technology addict I am. I’d like to say I could live without my phone—with only the books and brilliance of the olden days—but my entire adult skill set is a little too wrapped up in Google searches.