Page 25 of A Brooklet Dreams Christmas

“I don’t need a stripper,” Garrett interrupts me.

“Come on now, give me some credit.” As if I’d ever even chance that. I know if I even made the attempt I’d have six very pissed off women coming at me at once. There would be no escape, and one of those women shares my bed. I didn’t want to sleep with one eye open for the rest of my life. My wife can be salty, she would wait until I thought I was forgiven and let my guard down. Then she would strike and I’d be permanently scarred for life.

I still have not fully tested the waters with my wife’s anger, but something tells me she could do some damage if she really wanted to. Besides, the last thing I want is to get cut off. I enjoy my girl entirely too much to not be able to have her.

“No female strippers,” I state, giving Garrett my word. “Just guys hanging out, showing how proud we are of our little bear.” Garrett is the youngest, he is the last to get married and the fact that he is marrying the girl he has been in love with since before he hit puberty is awesome.

“Fine,” Garrett gives in, “a few hours.”

* * *

“Ah hell,”I hear someone grumble and I immediately cover my ears to muffle the sound. My head feels like it has a million and one drummer boys banging all at once.

“Why does my ass hurt?” Someone else groans and I roll over onto my stomach, pushing my body upward. Slowly I get onto my knees but still haven’t opened my eyes.

“What the fuck is that?” Rhett growls, “It’s not coming off.”

I peek through squinted eyes and see him rubbing at something on his from hip. But what really gains my attention is the skimpy pink shirt he is wearing. It’s tight, too short and his entire stomach is showing. It’s more of a belly shirt than anything, but I’m not sure that’s what it's meant to be.

“What are you wearing?” I ask, yet he continues to scrub and something on his hip.

“That’s Kyra’s,” Garrett says from somewhere in the room. “Why are you wearing my fiancée’s shirt?” Rhett freezes and slowly starts to analyze his clothing.

“He dropped pizza on his,” Terrance sits up from behind the couch. “ I remember you grabbing it out of the bag in your truck and telling him to wear it.”

“Where did I go looking like this?” Rhett seems horrified.

“Fuck my ass burns,” I glance over to find Mike rubbing his ass cheek.

“That sounds like ayouproblem,” I’m not sure I want to know why my brother-in-law's ass is currently burning. “Call your wife and have her take a look.”

“How did we get here?” Landon, face down on the couch, ignores everyone and everything and slowly sits up. His hair is sticking out in every direction and if I’m not mistaken he has a black eye.

The door to the bunkhouse at Bud and Gemma’s flies open and there in the doorway is Reed and Gavin, with my dad peering just over Reed’s left shoulder. “The dead have risen,” Gavin chuckles. “Never thought we’d be picking up the six of you from the local jail.”

“What?” I ask, now fully alert.

“Apparently you can’t keep your pants on,” my father says to me and I know I had to have heard him wrong. “Thankfully you left your boxers on.”

That is when I look down to see I’m in fact only wearing boxers and a t shirt, and one sock. On top of my bare foot I see a smudge and lean over to have a closer look.

“Garrett,” Gavin says with a chuckle. “You may have to explain to your wife why your bare ass prints are smudging the windows of Sugarland’s bakery.”

“What?” Garrett suddenly looks like he might throw up.

“You thought Lily Mae would find it funny,” Terrance explains, holding his head with his hands.

“What did we get arrested for?” Landon asks.

“You and Terrance thought it would be funny to run through the town square singing at the top of your lungs, and then dumbass started stripping to the tune you were carrying.” When my father says dumbass he points to me. “And you didn’t get arrested, just taken into the station to avoid any more incidents.”

“What the hell happened to your eye,” Mike asks Landon. “And seriously why the fuck is my ass cheek on fire?”

Before any of us can say anything, Mike drops his pants and looks back at his ass.

“What the shit?” He growls. “Who tattooed my ass?”

I hear a chuckle coming from the three men still standing in the doorway watching all the crazy take place and I remember the smudge on my foot.

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