Page 39 of The Sleight Before Christmas

“Millions of gay men can’t be wrong,” Whitney says.

“Side’s,”hiccup, “that’s where their G-spot is,” my wife slurs. “I’ll give Thatch a pinky now and then. A little wiggle here and there, and he fucking blows.”

Brenden full-on gurgle gags as Eli palms his mouth to stifle his laugh, and I whisper a pointed “fuck you” to each of them. Mortified of what’s coming next, yet intrigued at their openness—especially Erin’s surprising curiosity—I take my spot next to Brenden and tune in.

“Well, I’m determined to find out,” Whitney states as Eli pales and shakes his head, his ramblings coming out scattered due to his terror.

“I have n-no idea where’s she ge-etting dis,” he swears, his words barely audible as he white-knuckles his beer. “I’ve never even broached the subject,” he points straight up into the air as if in a great debate, “or shoved my ass anywherenear herin suggestion during sex.”

“Hockey books,” I deliver point blank, palming his shoulder. “Look for hockey books on her Kindle. And whatever you do,” I look between them, “do not let them fuck you with a grapefruit. No matterwhatthey say.”

Both of their eyes bulge as I give what explanation I can.

“It’s a veryshort storywith a very, verypainfulfucking ending. That’s all you need to truly know. Bros don’t let bros grapefruit. That’s love I’m giving you.”

I hold out my beer, and they tentatively tap their heads to it. Though I’ve stuck to brew, the two of them started strong with back-to-back tequila shots before starting on their own beers. Both of them taking full advantage of bro night—a first for us since the girls started their tradition.

“Anal play isn’t that out there,” my wife states. “Tell Eli not to be a prude.”

Brenden shakes his head, his expression looking queasy. “These are mysisters. I can’t un-hear this. I’m out.” When he goes to stand, Eli yanks him back down, pointing a finger very close to his face in warning.

“You wanted to come, so sit your ass down. You’re not fucking this intel up for me.”

“Let’s talk size,” Erin blurts, and Brenden immediately lifts, sealing the window closed before turning to us.

“We’ve heard enough,” Brenden declares, “we need to respect their privacy.”

“Convenient,” Eli snaps. “It’s cool, bro. We know you have some confidence issues in the winky department.” Eli winks. “It’s clear your wife loves you foryou,” he chides further as raucous laughter bellows outside the house.

“Will you two shut the hell up. We’re missing it!” I say.

Brenden leans in, clearly affronted, as he issues his threat to us. “I will knock both of you off this damn cliff with my glorious fucking stiffy.”

“Glorious?” I chuckle. “Whatever keeps you confident, bro,” I jibe and pat him with a consoling hand. “Now man up,” I snap. “Eli, go ahead and crack that bitch back open.”

“I knew it was a bad idea to let you two in on this,” he shakes his head.

“I’m good,” Brenden says. “Good,” he takes a long swig of beer.

“Wehavegotten some priceless adviceandgift tips over the years,” I relay to Brenden as the girls break into more laughter, “and we’re thankful, aren’t we, B?” I nod toward Eli, who scowls at us, trust broken.

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead, we’ll be good,” Brenden promises, crossing his heart with a finger while holding out an obvious pair of crossed fingers at the same time.

“I’ve been at this four Christmases running, and you two are not going to fuck this up for me,” Eli instructs as he covertly lifts his hand, pinching the window just so and opening it while flashing a warning glare between us.

“—husband’s got perfect girth,” Whitney says of Eli’s junk, which has him perking with pride. “I meanperfect. He’s blessed and shares it with me—often.”

“Brag away, butmy manhas the perfect dick,” my wife announces as I swell with pride. “If I could hand-pick a dick, I would order Thatch’s every time,” Serena boasts as my junk weeps with happiness. “God, I swear the first time I saw it, the angels sang.”

“Yeah, this is getting weird. That’s my best friend,” Whitney says. “Like, I’ve known him since I was still in an A cup fighting for B. Let’s move onto a safer topic.”

“Thank Christ,” Brenden says.

“... but before we do,” Whitney cuts back in, “how are your men on hang time? Like ... is five minutes short to you—”

Eli immediately shuts the window, and Brenden and I share twin shit-eating grins.

“What’s wrong, bro?” Brenden quips. “Not fun when you’re on the wrong side of it?”

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