Page 57 of It's Mother-Pucking Christmas!

“Oh,” Dakota said sweetly as she slapped sausage on the griddle. “I can understand how it would be confusing. Ryder has all these rules about dating. He’s like a bored 1950s housewife, but he’s adorable, and we love him.”

She loves me!

“See, the no sex until the third date isn’t a rule, just a manufacturer’s recommended guideline. The hard-and-fast rule is actually no coming up the ass without a condom until the marriage certificate is signed.”

Pete inhaled the blueberry he was eating.

Not missing a beat as she continued to whisk the batter, Dakota elbowed him sharply above his waistline, and the blueberry flew onto the floor.

“This is why we need a dog,” she told me as I tried to chase down the berry so I didn’t have to look at the guys.

“See? Marriage,” I hissed at Mike, who was rubbing his hand over his mouth.

I chucked the berry into the sink.

“Hey! Those are expensive.” Dakota washed it off, sliced it in half, and stuffed them in Pete’s mouth. Then in one swift motion, she scooped the sausage off to the side of the griddle.

“You need to mop up the grease before you…Oh no.” Erik hugged his maple syrup.

The griddle sizzled as Dakota poured out perfect batter circles into the hot grease.

“Aren’t they going to…”

“Taste like meat? A little salty and sweet?”

My face was hot.

“Soo,” Rick drawled. “When’s the baby due?”

Mike kicked him, but Dakota just grinned at me. “I think that’s also an only-in-marriage rule, right, Ryder?”

My heart sang. I didn’t care that I was going to eat meat-juice-soaked pancakes. Dakota wanted to marry me and have my children. How many would we have? She was one of six, so at least that many, right?

The first round of pancakes hit the plates.

“We have to eat a lot,” Pete said, rolling his eyes while I daydreamed. “But you don’t have to cook that many.”

Dakota hoisted the spatula. “I regularly cook breakfast for fifty. Hazards of a large family.”

Maybe eight kids? How many was too many?

I reached for the maple syrup. Erik yanked it away.

“You better go pour your high fructose corn syrup all over that monstrosity.”

“Shit,” Rick said around a mouthful of steaming pancake. “This is so fucking good.”

“Frying dough in pork grease built this country, my dude. You act like I made this up just to fuck with you.”

“You are an Arctic Avengers fan,” Erik said, sniffing his plate. “I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“I think Ryder took care of that last night.” Dakota winked.

“My man!” Utah fist-bumped me.

“Fuck.” Pete shoveled the whole stack in his mouth, chewing furiously, and held out his plate. “Hit me, Mama.”

Dakota snorted and loaded up his plate. “You need to share that.”

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