Dylan and I finally finish up for the day and double-check that we’ve completed everything Dad’s given us to do over the past two weeks. Ever since I asked for two weeks’ vacation, he’s overworked us, but we’ve not complained once. The fence is finished, hay is baled and stacked, and we even dug out a ditch on top of our regular morning duties. We’ve started work before sunrise and stayed out past sunset, but it’s been worth it because I plan to take full advantage of this trip.

“Jackson was volun-told to drive us to the airport in the mornin’,” I remind Dylan as I drive him back to his truck parked near the cattle barn.

“Good. Don’t wanna leave my pickup in the parking lot that long,” he says. “I’ll be here around five, so we’ve got plenty of time to make it to the airport.”

“Just be prepared for Jackson to bitch the entire drive.” I smile, knowing how irritated he is that he has to do our work on top of his own, but that’s payback for the fence incident, so I don’t feel bad about it.

After dropping Dylan off at his truck, I head home, knowing I still need to finish my laundry and pack. I’ve been putting it off because I have no clue what to bring to Florida. My closet is full of Wranglers and work shirts. I have some Oxfords for when I go out, but I’m sure those will stick out like a sore thumb on the beaches of Key West.

For the last few years, Jackson and I have lived together in an old ranch hand house we remodeled. Since then, Friday nights have been known as Whiskey Fridays. He and a bunch of his friends listen to country music, shoot off their rifles into the fields, and drink like it’s the last few bottles of whiskey left on Earth.

As soon as I walk through the door, Jackson strolls over to me and places his arm on my shoulder with a wide, drunken smile.

“Now the fun has arrived,” he shouts to a room full of people who then lift their glasses in the air with a loud round of hollering.

He pours me a glass and hands it to me. “I have to pack,” I tell him with a smug smile on my face, realizing he’s already drunk his limit, and the night is still young.

“Come on, little brother, you can do it later,” he reassures, clinking his glass against mine. “After the shit show of a day we’ve had, drinks are in order!”

I look down at my clothes and hands that are stained with oil. For most of the day, Dylan and I worked on a damn truck that decided to break down while we were in the middle of hauling hay from one barn to another. Oil was everywhere and made a big fucking mess. We did nothing but fix shit all day. Not one task was completed without a mini disaster, which meant we were out way after the sun set to finish everything, but that’s common ’round here.

One thing leads to another, and soon, Jackson and I are sharing a bottle of Jack Daniels. A few of the guys who live in the ranch hand quarters are singing with the radio at the top of their lungs. By the time I drink the last bit of whiskey, I realize I’ve totally screwed myself.

“I gotta go to bed,” I tell Jackson. “Don’t forget you’re driving us to the airport tomorrow, too.”

Alcohol and exhaustion swim through my veins, which isn’t a good combination.

“It’ll be fine,” Jackson says with a wave of his hand, stumbling over his words and not concerned about anything. The words of a true drunk.

I smile, pat him on his shoulder, and tell everyone good night. Even though the music is blaring and everyone in the house is loud as hell, I manage to remember to set the alarm and fall asleep in no time.

The morning comes early, and my head is killing me from drinking way too much. I already know today will be rough. Looking over at the clock, I realize Dylan will be here in about ten minutes. I grab my suitcase from the closet and shove clothes into it along with my toothbrush and deodorant. Procrastination mixed with Jackson’s peer pressure got the best of me again. I’ll just buy whatever I forget at the resort because I don’t have time to overthink it.

Just as I’m slipping on my blue jeans and boots, I hear a knock on the door and know it’s Dylan. I walk through the house and see Jackson asleep in the recliner in the corner of the room. After I rub my hands over my face to try to wake myself up, I open the door. Dylan steps in and laughs.

“Whiskey Fridays.” He knows the aftereffects all too well.

“Unfortunately,” I say with a groan. I walk back toward Jackson and shake him, but all he does is groan and slap my hand away.

“You’re supposed to drive us to the airport,” I remind him.

“He’s probably still drunk,” Dylan says, looking at Jackson who’s still wearing his clothes from yesterday, including his boots.

“Without a doubt,” I mumble, walking to the kitchen to make some strong coffee. I lean against the counter and wait for the coffee to drip into the pot as I grab a few ibuprofen from the medicine cabinet.

“I assume Jackson isn’t bringing us to the airport.” Dylan stares at Jackson who’s snoring loudly.

The coffeemaker beeps as I grab a travel mug. “Mama’s gonna kill him today if she finds out he didn’t drive us down there,” I say, pouring the coffee.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing that.” Dylan chuckles. “Mrs. B on a rampage isn’t a force to be reckoned with.”

I nod. “She’s the scariest when she’s pissed. Even Dad won’t mess with her when she gets that way. It’s fine. I’ll drive my truck since Jackson has the extra key. I’ll have him and John drive there and pick it up later, so it’s not sitting down there for two weeks.”

Jackson snores himself awake, and he sits up, forcing his eyes open. “Shiiiiiiiiiit.”

“What?” I ask, feeling a little more like myself after the coffee warms my veins.

“That’s what I feel like.” Jackson tries to stand but stumbles and trips over his feet.

Dylan and I nearly fall over laughing. That’s what he gets for making me drink with him. Misery loves company, my ass.

“You’re not driving us anywhere.” I chuckle as we watch him struggle to pick himself up off the floor. “Sit back down before you hurt yourself.”

“If the room would stop spinning, I’d be just fine,” he groans, finally sitting his ass back down.

“We’ve got to get going or we’re gonna miss our flight.” Dylan checks the time on his phone. “Ready?” He gives me a big cheesy grin because we both know I’m not.

I double-check my suitcase really quick, refill my travel mug, then holler, “Goodbye,” to Jackson before stepping out the front door and walking toward the truck.

Dylan grabs his suitcase from his truck and throws it in the back before we both get in and head to the airport. Our drive isn’t too far—a little over an hour—but we have to get on one of those little planes I hate before connecting in San Antonio. Once we’re at the airport and parked, I can see the sun rising in the distance. We check our bags and sit at the gate while we wait for our departure to be announced.

“Nervous?” I look over at Dylan.

“Nah, just ready to get there and relax,” he says, but I can see he’s sweating beads.

I hate the small planes, too, but luckily, we’ll only be on it for about an hour.

After we board and the plane takes off, I feel a little more relaxed. By the time I get used to feeling every little bump, we land in San Antonio and head to our next gate. My head is killing me again, so before we board the next plane, I buy a pack of ibuprofen and a bottle of water then say a little prayer and hope it goes away before we land in Key West.

It’s confirmed—Jackson is a bad influence.

The next plane is bigger, giving us more room to stretch out our long legs. My head isn’t throbbing as badly anymore, and I can actually take in the view from the small window next to me.

“So yesterday after work, Mama had me run to the grocery store, and guess who I ran into?” He gives me less than a second to guess before continuing. “Gretchen Garcia. Dude, she’s still so pissed at you.” He starts cracking up. “I wonder how many women have you on their hate list right now. I can count about six without even thinking about it too hard.” Dylan chuckles again.

“Hey, it’s not my fault they don’t understand the concept of casual sex. It’s not like they didn’t know that up front when I said I wasn’t looking for anything serious. I’m always honest. I use my manners and am polite, so if that’s not good enough for them, then that’s on them. They know what I have to offer before anything happens. Every one of them says they’re okay with it, and then afterward decide they aren’t. They always think they can change my mind or that they’ll be the ‘one’ to change me, but nothing’s going to change the fact that I don’t want or have time for a relationship. I ain’t lookin’ for anything other than a little fun. But I guess that’s what being honest gets me,” I tell him with resentment in my tone. Gretchen knew all of that, too, before we ever hooked up. Not my fault my words fell on deaf ears. And considering we hooked up over a year ago, she needs to get over it.

“Well, either way, she said she wanted to cut off your balls and feed them to the pigs,” Dylan says with a teasing grin.

I adjust myself. “I knew she was crazy but damn. I need my balls.”

“I promised her I’d relay the message if she promised not to cut mine off.”

I burst out into laughter. “Smart.”

After a while, I close my eyes and end up falling asleep until the plane lands. Relieved to be back on the ground, I look out the window again. Besides all the water surrounding us, I also notice how bright and sunny it is. We’re definitely not in Texas anymore. Even though I have no idea what to expect, I’m more psyched than ever to be here.

We deplane and retrieve our suitcases before taking the shuttle to the resort we’ll be staying at. I actually feel a lot better since sucking down those ibuprofen and getting in a short nap, so now I can’t wait to get settled and explore the city and beaches.

As we get closer to the resort, I’m completely taken aback by the view. Palm trees and tourist shops line both sides of the street. People walk with smiles on their faces as they shop and take photos. They all look so damn happy to be here. I catch glimpses of the clear-blue water behind it all, and as we get closer to the resort, I notice beach chairs and cabanas along the beach. This is just the kind of vacation I need.

The shuttle parks outside of the hotel, and we grab our luggage and step out. As we’re standing in front of the hotel, I look over at the people walking in and out of the hotel, and then over at Dylan and I realize we stick out like a sore thumb. Cowboy hats, boots, and plaid shirts—we’re Texas twins right now in the same getup, and I’m sure our accents aren’t going to do us any favors.

Walking in, we chat about what we want to do tonight and wait in line for reception. Once we’re waved up, we walk up to the woman and greet her with a loud howdy. The corner of her lips tilts up as she eyes our Stetson hats before asking for our information. Dylan gives her his name and slides his ID across the counter. She continues to type on her keyboard, only briefly glancing at the two of us before going back to the screen. As soon as she makes eye contact and hands over Dylan’s ID, I give her a smile and a wink. She tries to hide the blush that hits her cheeks behind the computer screen, but it doesn’t work.

“Mr. Hart, how many room keys would you like?” she asks, chewing on her bottom lip.

I look over at Dylan and whisper, “Wait, did we get separate rooms?”

“About that…” He laughs, then looks back at her. “Two, please.”

The woman clears her throat and slides our room keys across the counter. “All meals and beverages are included with your stay, along with nonmotorized water sports. You do have a couple’s massage that you’ll need to schedule by using this number here,” she says, pointing down at the brochure before placing the keys inside.

Since Dylan thinks this is so damn funny, I decide to play along by wrapping my arm around him and pulling him to my side. “Honey, when would ya like to schedule those? In the morning perhaps?”

Dylan elbows me hard in the side, and I can’t help but laugh. The woman smiles at us sweetly.

“The elevators to your suite are right down the hall to the left. In the morning, breakfast is served from six to ten. If you have questions or need anything, just dial zero.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Dylan and I both say in unison before walking toward the elevator, dragging our luggage behind us.

“This is going to be interesting,” I mumble as we pass guests in their shorts and swimsuit tops.

“You embarrassed that poor girl,” Dylan tells me as we step into the elevator, and I hit the button for our floor.

I shrug, holding the rail as we shoot upward. “She was looking at us like we were real-life cowboy lovers. Thought I’d help her fantasy a little.”

“This is why girls like Mallory threaten your balls,” he teases as we get off the elevator and walk to our room. As soon as we slide our keycard and step inside, I’m shocked to see how large the place is. It’s as big as one of the cabins the ranch hands live in at home. There’s a giant bathroom, TV room with chairs and couches, and a separate room that leads to the bed. The windows lining the wall overlook the ocean, giving us an amazing view of the beach.

I can’t help but laugh when I see a champagne bottle in an ice bucket and red rose petals spread across the bed. There are even towels at the end of the bed folded in a heart shape. “This is a perfect touch; don’t you think, sweetheart?”

Dylan looks at the flower petals and laughs so hard that he nearly chokes.

I pull my phone from my pocket and snap a quick picture.

“Gonna show Jackson what he’s missing out on.” I laugh as I send him a text.

“Yeah, I’m sure that’ll make him jealous.” He snorts.

Checking the time on my phone and seeing it’s already nearing late afternoon, I ask, “So what if I find a chick I want to bring back to the room?”

Dylan removes his boots and sets his hat on the dresser. “I thought about that, too,” he admits, brushing his fingers through his messy dark hair. “Maybe we come up with a code phrase or something, so we know not to walk in on each other? I’ve decided I’m going to be more like you on this trip.”

“Gonna get your dick wet finally?”

He scoffs. “I meant a no-strings-attached kind of thing. Just having fun. Be completely up front with women without the pressure of what it means.”

“About time you let loose. You’ve been single way too long. So if and when we decide we want to bring someone back, we just text each other the phrase.”

“Okay, so what’s the code word?” Dylan asks.

I contemplate for a moment before thinking of the perfect one.

“I’ve got it: Cowgirl—after my favorite position.” I flash him a smug grin as he thinks it over.

“Reverse cowgirl.” He shakes his head, laughing at me, but reluctantly agrees anyway. “You’re such a dirty bastard.”

I pop the cork on the champagne bottle and pour us both a glass before handing him one. “C’mon, you know you’re dying to find a girl to ride you bareback like a stallion!” I slap a hand on his shoulder just as he tips the flute back, and he nearly chokes on the liquid.

“Well, if someone catches a glimpse of our phones, at least they’d have no idea what the hell we’re talking about.” Dylan takes another swig from his glass.

“And that’s why we’re friends,” I tell him, clinking the edge of my glass against his. “Now, let’s go have some damn fun and show Florida how cowboys really party.”

“Okay, but first…” He tilts his head back and finishes off his champagne. “…let’s go shopping and find some different clothes,” Dylan suggests.

I look at my Levi’s and boots. “Yeah, good idea.” I smile then take the final sip of my drink. “Then we show them how to party!”