Page 88 of It's Mother-Pucking Christmas!

“Mine is last because it’s the nicest, so just sit there.” I winked at him. “Family, read it and weep.”

“Striptease while we wait, Ryder?” Granny Murray hiccupped.

“No!” my mom yelled.

33

RYDER

Christmas with Dakota’s family had been insane and wonderful and a little overwhelming. I’d had Christmas in foster care, but it had always been a little depressing. In the foster homes, when people would do Christmas with their real family, I was just the tagalong. People wouldn’t expect that I’d be there, and I’d get a last-minute gift of socks or something then spend the next two hours watching as the real kids all opened their mounds of presents.

I had never ever gotten presents the way Dakota’s family did.

“Sit in front of the tree,” Violet ordered me, as Hudson, a big grin on his face, shoved me into a chair.

“Do you want a shirt on him, Vi?” Aunt Stacy asked.

“The hell she does. This is Christmas, goddamn it!” Granny Murray shouted. “Give the people what they want! What kind of PR princess are you?”

“Got the camera ready?” Dakota called.

There was shushing from the kitchen.

“Close your eyes, Ryder,” my girlfriend said.

“Just blindfold him.” Hudson tied leftover Christmas ribbon over my eyes.

“It’s a little disturbing how well you do that,” Aunt Stacy said.

“You mean erotic?” Granny Murray knocked back the rest of her eggnog.

I sucked in a breath. There was a familiar bark, then something very large and very furry was dropped on my lap.

There were happy canine yips and then lots of slobber all over my face.

I pulled off the blindfold.

“Dasher?”

The dog’s tail was a blur as he went crazy, licking my face then crawling all over me.

“Look at his little sweater,” Dakota’s mom cooed as the dog rolled over, wanting me to rub his belly, then decided nope, he wanted to sit on my shoulders like a parrot. He noticed Gracie’s pugs and started howling.

“Merry Christmas!” Dakota kissed me. “It’s not a satisfying Christmas unless someone gets a puppy.”

“That’s not a puppy. That’s a dog,” Hudson said appreciatively.

“He’s still a little bit of a puppy,” I said, defending Dasher and his less than socially acceptable behavior.

Dasher chased wrapping paper across the floor and got tangled up in the Christmas tree lights. I lunged, grabbing him before he could take the tree down.

“Look at the paws on that thing.” Hudson whistled.

“Gracie’s husband is tired of pugs,” Uncle Bic said conversationally.

“I half expected another one to be in my stocking.” Hudson grimaced as the pugs flopped down on his feet. “I bet that husky can run for miles.”

“Guess we know what we’re getting you for Christmas next year, Hudson,” Dakota joked while Gracie assured the pugs that of course their daddy still loved them.

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