Page 55 of Filthy Rich Santas

Beckett cracks a smile, and Tristan laughs hard enough it’s a holiday miracle that he doesn’t choke.

“What happened?” I ask, grinning as I look between the three of them.

“It was Caleb’s fault,” Beckett says. “We should probably leave it at that.”

I lean forward. “Oh no, you don’t! You’ve got dirt on my brother? I need it.”

Ryder chuckles. “He used to play hockey without a helmet sometimes, and Grandma Meg wasn’t having it.”

“She does have a way of making a point,” Tristan says with a grin. “Although I don’t think I’ve ever seen a hockey player take a hit quite as bad as she was implying with those headless cookies. Speaking of hockey, do you remember that time?—”

Beckett cuts him off. “Nope. We’re not talking about that.”

“How do you know what he was going to say?” I ask, laughing as I look between the three of them.

Tristan smirks. “Oh, Beckett knows because he was the one who broke my grandmother’s favorite reindeer Christmas ornament with a hockey puck.”

“Allegedly,” Beckett says, pointing a cookie at Tristan, then swinging it around to aim at Ryder. “And you do remember who came up with the great idea to play hockey in the living room, don’t you?”

“Hey, that was Caleb’s idea, not mine!” Ryder defends himself, grinning.

“Oh, I see.” I smirk. “You’re all going to blame everything on my brother since he’s not around to defend himself.”

Tristan shrugs. “To be fair, hewasthe one who was always saying we should get in more practice.”

“And look where he is now,” Ryder points out. Then, after a moment, he adds, “Rest in pieces, Rudolph.”

All three of them snicker, and that leads to a few more stories about trouble I never realized the four of them got into back then.

“A total hot chocolate ban?” I ask at one point, laughing so hard my cheeks start to hurt. “That sounds extreme.”

Ryder shrugs. “I mean, itwasa lot of snowballs.”

“And let me guess. That was Caleb’s fault too?”

Beckett and Tristan both nod solemnly, Tristan’s eyes glinting behind his glasses. But then Ryder leans forward.

“I’ll tell you a secret,” he says in a conspiratorial voice. “Caleb may have been the master strategist, but Beckett was the one who came up with the idea to add the food dye.”

Beckett chucks a pillow at him. “Traitor. If I remember that night correctly, we all swore an oath of secrecy about that shit.”

Ryder grins. “Eh, I’m pretty sure the statute of limitations on that has expired.”

“Oh really?” Beckett drawls, looking more relaxed than I’m used to seeing him and dangerously attractive as he gives Ryder a sly grin. “So we’re free to tell each other’s secrets now?”

“I’m here for it,” I tell them, wiggling into a more comfortable position.

I pull the plush robe I’m still wearing around me as I rest my head on the arm of the couch, the dancing flames in the fireplace giving everything a cozy feel.

“You want our secrets, freckles?” Tristan asks softly, looking over at me with a small smile.

I guess I’m a littletoorelaxed, because I have to bite my tongue to keep from saying something along the lines ofI want everything.

“I want to hear yours if you’re gonna hear ours,” Ryder tells me. “Something good. Something you’ve never told anyone before.”

“Um, are we all playing by that rule? One secret we’ve never shared before?”

Something shifts in the air at my question, and all three men look at me with heated intensity before Beckett breaks the electric tension.

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