Page 6 of A Very Fumbling Merry Christmas

“I’d have gladly helped with the first plan if given the chance.” Coop thinks he’s being funny, but I want to throat punch him right about now.

“Say that again, and your Christmas present from me will be a shallow grave.” Faith is practically bouncing, she’s so excited at the prospect of a new game.

“Okay, okay. We can make this work. It’s going to be even better with all four of us. First, we need some ground rules.”

“We’re listening.”

“First of all, there’s a hundred dollar spend limit for any one gift. Second, you can only gift once a day. Rule three, this is anonymous in the spirit of Secret Santa. We don’t have to pick names out of a hat or anything. You’re free to gift to whomever you choose. On Christmas Eve, we’ll reveal who gave each of the gifts. Sound good?”

Coop immediately chimes in with the same thought as me. “Are we allowed dirty gifts?” Faith looks to me with mischief dancing in her eyes like sugar plum fairies before wiggling her eyebrows suggestively.

“Anything goes!” She’s going to be the death of me.

“Are you sure about that? Coop has a pretty twisted sense of humor.”

“It’ll be fun. Yes, anything goes.” Then, I see the light go on in Zee’s eyes. She’s already thinking up something dirty.

“We need to add another rule. Whatever gift you receive, you have to use it.” I suddenly feel old as fuck.

“Are you all remembering that I’m an old man pushing forty?”

“All the more fun,” Faith teases. I should’ve kept my mouth shut. Coop is going to crucify me.

“Okay, old man river. I’m going to be in my thirties next year. Is this what I have to look forward to?”

“I could still take you down on and off the field, Danford!”

“I just let you think that. I wouldn’t want you to bust a hip trying to keep up with me.”

“You’re right. I wouldn’t want to injure myself walking to the closet to get my Hall of Fame jacket. You don’t have that problem.” Verbal sparring with Coop is one of my favorite pastimes. Only the three Fs give me more pleasure—Faith, fucking, and football.

Coop flips me the bird before grabbing four shot glasses from the kitchen and a bottle of tequila from my not-so-secret liquor cabinet. Handing us each a shot glass, he fills them to the rim.

“To our festive wager. May Secret Santa bring you everything you want this Christmas, and maybe some stuff you don’t. To us… the naughty and the nice!”

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