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Yeah. That too.
God help me.
Quickly, my hands are undone, but before I can make a move, Sunshine flips my chair down onto its back in time with the close of the song, ripping off her top in dramatic fashion as she stands over me, straddling my head in a symbolic gesture of defeat.
And, in a way, I understand it. My “freedom” has been sufficiently killed. Because I have never been more eager to run down the aisle with Charlotte and never fucking look back.
Only a sadist would see this experience any other way, but by the expressions on Ty’s and Jude’s faces, it’s evident I’m directly related to at least two of them.
I swear, they both look like they would have bartered their own balls to be in my position right now.
Personally, I can’t pull up my jeans and tuck the shreds of my underwear inside quick enough.
I also can’t get out of there soon enough. I need to eat. I need to breathe. And I really need to figure out a way not to fucking slice my baby brother’s throat open.
Remy
I’m the first one to step through the doors of Taco Bell, and instead of holding the door open for Jude, I let it slam shut in front of his face.
“What the fuck?” he questions on a hearty laugh.
I don’t bother turning around or righting my wrong.
The bastard knows what the fuck.
He knows exactly what the fuck. After his strip club stunt, I’m lucky I didn’t end up in the ER with a dick kabob in my pants.
The aromas of beef and cheese and grease assault my nostrils, and my arteries clench up in anticipation. Though, if I’m being honest, a heart attack might be a welcome distraction from murdering Jude. Sure, it’d put a damper on my wedding, but hell, it’s taking everything inside me not to kick the shit out of my baby brother.
It doesn’t help that I’m reminded of why I should kick the shit out of him every time I move my legs because the giant tear in my boxers has my dick rubbing against the scratchy denim of my jeans.
I don’t have anything against commando, but it’s one of those things that a man likes to choose for himself.
On a deep sigh, I step up to the counter while the sound of my brothers whooping it up like a bunch of rowdy frat idiots echoes off the grimy, cheap ceramic-tiled walls.
Technically, Flynn is an innocent bystander, but it’s so much easier to lump them into a group rather than having to call them out specifically.
I’d like to place my order—food would really go a long way to helping my mood right now—but there’s not a single employee to be found at the register, and the only employees I can see inside the place are standing somewhere near the back grills, doing god knows what.
They notice me standing there, but none of them makes a move to come toward me. Apparently, they’re in no rush tonight.
“Aw, don’t be mad, Rem. I just wanted your bachelor party to be a night you wouldn’t forget,” Jude says as he steps up to wrap an arm around my shoulder in a half-assed hug. I immediately shrug him off.
“Pretty sure you more than achieved that.” Flynn snorts. “Rem’s gonna have nightmares for years thinking about his dick turning into a set of bunny ears.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Jude retorts, and Flynn is quick on the trigger.
“Wasn’t that bad?” he questions on an incredulous laugh. “Another inch and, not only would Rem have ended up with two dicks, poor Charlotte would’ve had to get reconstructive surgery to route her shit in two different directions like a cable splitter.”
Jude shuts up immediately.
When Flynn voices that something is bad, it means it was really fucking bad. Always the quiet one of our brood, he only speaks up for two reasons: to call someone out on their bullshit or to drop perfectly timed sarcasm that’ll keep you laughing for months.
His wit is quick as a whip, but his mouth rolls slow. If he bothers to take the time to insult you, he means it.
“Wait…why do you guys keep talking about the stripper’s shoes?” Ty asks. “She had shoes on?”
Jude bursts into laughter, and I glance back to catch Flynn’s amused smirk.
Ty, frighteningly enough, still looks genuinely confused. How in the fuck does he not know what we’re talking about?
“Fuck, Ty. My boxers have lost all vestiges of function. She literally shoved one of her stilettos into them and ripped them to shreds. Are you seriously telling me you missed that?”
His jaw drops, and his eyes go wide in shock. “No fucking way.”
“Jesus,” I mutter. “All it takes is a nice set of tits and you’d miss a fucking five-alarm fire.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Rem,” Ty retorts. “I like tits, but they’re no match for a nice, firm ass. Which Sunshine definitely had.”
