The Pact (Winslow Brothers 2)

“What?” he questions. “Why not?”

“Because it’s pretty damn obvious it’s related to sexual shit, and I’d prefer to stay oblivious to your sex life.”

“Like I’d even fucking tell you. What happens in the Secret Club stays in the Secret Club.”

“Fantastic,” I respond and decide it’s high time I got the hell moving. Not only do I have a dinner to make, but I need to stop at the grocery store to pick up a few things.

Jude calls out toward me, something about being a dick, but I just lift my hand in a wave and head toward the subway. Though, once I find an empty seat toward the back of the train, I can’t stop myself from starting some shit on my youngest brother’s behalf.

Phone in hand, I fire off a text in the ongoing group chat with my brothers.

Me: Jude’s in the Girl Scouts now. And, personally, after seeing his T-shirt with all the badges he’s earned, I’m really proud of him.

Knowing my brothers, it’s only going to take that one text to get them going.

Ty: Aw, congrats, bro! Let me know when you’re selling cookies because I’ll buy a shitload from you. Especially Thin Mints. Those fuckers are like candy-coated crack.

Remy: That’s awesome, man. What’s your troop number?

See what I mean?

Jude: I’m not in the fucking Girl Scouts, you idiots.

Ty: But you earn badges?

Jude: Sophie and I earn badges.

Remy: So, you and Sophie are in the Girl Scouts?

Jude: I’m thirty-eight fucking years old, and I’m a man, bro. I’m not in the Girl Scouts.

Ty: But you earn badges?

Jude: Yes. It’s a thing between Sophie and me, and Flynn is just being a lying prick.

Remy: Are you sure you’re not in the Girl Scouts?

Ty: Right? It sounds like the Girl Scouts.

Jude: Fuck you guys. It’s not the damn Girl Scouts, it involves orgasms, you dicks.

Ty: Dude, does your troop leader know about this? I feel like you guys are going to get kicked out.

Jude: FUCK YOU GUYS.

Ty: Okay, but don’t forget to let us know when you’re selling cookies.

Jude: I HATE ALL OF YOU. ESPECIALLY YOU, FLYNN. I KNOW YOU’RE READING THESE TEXTS BUT NOT RESPONDING, YOU CRYPTIC BASTARD.

I smirk to myself and slide my phone into my pocket. I know I keep shit close to the vest, but I can’t deny this conversation gave me a hell of a lot of enjoyment.

My phone buzzes a few more times in my pocket, most likely Ty and Remy still razzing Jude, but when the subway comes to a halt at my stop, I grab my duffel and head in the direction of the grocery store.

I have a meal to cook and a wife to feed.

Daisy

“Honey, I’m home!” I exclaim as I walk through the door. Keys on the cute table I set up by the door, I kick off my heels and head straight into the kitchen with two bags of groceries where the delicious aromas of cheese and pasta and garlic fill my nose.

“Oh wow, it smells good in here.”

Flynn glances over his shoulder as he drains hot water from the pasta. “Dinner is almost ready.”

“After the afternoon I’ve had dealing with Tara and her dramatics, this is the best news I’ve heard all day.”

“I take it the Wicked Witch of the Real Estate East is still alive and well?”

His commentary makes me giggle, but it’s also a pleasant surprise. Over the past few weeks, Flynn has received more than an earful regarding my lovely—more like, horrible—coworker, and apparently, he really did listen to everything I told him. “Oh yeah, alive and well and probably out buying a new broomstick as we speak.”

I get to work on putting away groceries that consist of some fruit, yogurt, and frozen meals that can be cooked very quickly.

Once everything is put away, I refocus on the man at the stove. In just jeans and a white T-shirt, Flynn looks…well, hot. With his tight ass and muscular back and biceps bulging beneath cotton, I could take a photo of him right now, post it on my Instagram account, and have thousands of men and women go nuts in a matter of minutes.

And thirst traps aren’t even my aesthetic, but I know Flynn would spur a reaction.

Probably because he’s doing exactly that to you right now…

I make a valiant effort to shift my focus and note the creamy white sauce that bubbles in the skillet. I grin and walk over to the stove to discreetly dip my finger in for a quick taste test, but I’m stopped in my tracks when Flynn’s arms wrap around my waist.

“Don’t even think about it,” he whispers into my ear, and before I know it, my bare feet are no longer touching the floor and I’m being carried over to the kitchen table. My ass is in the chair a few seconds later.