Gotta Have Fate (Winslow Brothers)

“I’ve got an idea, Jude,” Remy announces, his first words in the last twenty minutes. “How about you give Charlotte a call and explain to her why her fiancé is going to arrive home with destroyed boxers.”

That takes me aback. “You want me to call Char?”

He nods.

Ah, fuck. I didn’t take that scenario into consideration when I told the strippers to do something really special and crazy for my big brother’s bachelor party. Pretty sure “Blow his fucking mind” were my exact words, but I should probably keep that to myself.

Don’t get me wrong, I love Char like a sister, but I don’t want to be the one to tell her I’m the reason her soon-to-be husband got up close and personal with T&A tonight.

When I don’t respond, Remy pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and slides it across the table. “Go ahead, man. Give her a call.”

“Are you sure you want me to call her, like, now?” I question. “I mean, she’s probably sleeping, right?”

“She’s awake.” He shakes his head. “She just finished up a late presentation for work. Got a text from her about ten minutes ago.”

Shit.

“Uh oh…looks like someone’s scared to call his future sister-in-law to let her know he’s the reason Rem got molested by a gang wearing G-strings and body glitter,” Ty teases, and I reach across the booth to smack him upside the head, but he dodges it on a laugh.

“I’m not scared.” I’m definitely scared.

I’m a people person through and through, but when it comes to pissing off women, I’m more of a lover not a fighter. I like to charm them. Wine and dine them. But I certainly don’t like to be the bearer of bad news. Hell, it’s probably one of the reasons why I rarely find myself in long-term relationships. I don’t want to be the reason for someone’s broken heart. I’d rather get the fuck out before feelings are caught than wait around for the likely implosion.

“You’re scared,” Ty teases some more.

Flynn just shakes his head, taking a sip from his Mountain Dew.

Remy continues to stare at me.

And I stare at the phone.

Okay. Just call her. Just call Char and let her know about the, uh, mishap. Yeah, the boxer mishap…

On a deep breath, I man the fuck up, grab Rem’s phone, and pull up Char’s number. One tap to the screen and it starts to ring.

Be sleeping. Be sleeping. Be sleeping…

“Hello?”

Son of a bitch.

“Hey, Char,” I greet. “It’s Jude.”

“Jude?” she questions, confusion apparent in her tone, followed almost immediately by panic. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, but—”

“Oh my God! Do not tell me you guys are in jail or something,” she demands, and her voice rises in pitch. “I swear on everything, I will be so pissed if you got my fiancé arrested!”

Okay. Okay. I can work with this. She thinks he might be arrested, and I have great news that he’s not. This is good…

“Char, no one has been arrested,” I say, and a huge breath of relief is exhaled into the receiver.

“No one has been arrested?” she repeats just to be sure. “You swear to me?”

“I swear,” I answer honestly. “Everyone is perfectly fine. Currently sitting inside Taco Bell enjoying a little fourth meal.”

“You guys are spending Rem’s bachelor party at Taco Bell?” she asks on a shocked laugh.

“It’s just a quick pit stop,” I answer, even though, after this, I haven’t a fucking clue what we’re going to do. I’d estimated a good four hours to spend at the strip club.

You know, like any normal bachelor would want.

I should have known, though. My big brother isn’t normal.

“Oh, okay… Jude, hold on real quick, okay?”

“Sure thing.”

The muffled sounds of voices echo inside the receiver, and if I had to guess, even though Remy said her presentation itself was over, Charlotte is still in the middle of something work-related. I wince. That is not going to make what I have to say go over any better. No one wants to get stressful news in the middle of work shit.

“Sorry about that,” she says a moment or two later. “So, were you just calling to check in with me or…?”

“Mostly,” I answer, but Rem narrows his eyes. I don’t think he can hear his fiancée’s end of the conversation through the phone, but his message is clear. Tell her the fucking news or die. “And, well, I just wanted to let you know there was a little mishap with Rem’s underwear…”

“Huh?” she questions, understandably bewildered.

“See, the thing is, it’s actually a pretty funny story…” I pause, searching for the right words, of which, in this case, of course, there are none. So, instead of beating around the bush, I just get right to the point. All in the name of Remy lightening the fuck up and enjoying the rest of his big bachelor party night.