Page 62 of Butter My Biscuit

Headlights turn into my driveway, and I put the cookies into the oven and set an alarm.

A few moments later, the door swings open. She’s carrying a huge box, wrapped in silver paper, and it’s so tall that I can’t see her five-six frame.

“You’d better have your onesie on,” I tell her, looking down at my candy cane–striped legs and making sure my ass flap is snapped in place. This was her bad decision that I went with because, last year, I’d chosen Yeti costumes for us, and I even have pictures to prove it.

“Is that a refrigerator box?” I ask as she drags it to the corner of the room.

It’s too tall to fit underneath the tree so she sets it beside it. I walk out of the kitchen and cross my arms over my chest.

“Maybe.” She turns around. “Oh my goodness. I forgot my hat! It looks adorable on you!” Her face softens, and I know she’s being sincere.

It’s a red-and-white Santa hat with a cotton ball on the end.

I tug it off my head, my shaggy hair going everywhere. “You want mine?”

“No, no, go ahead.” She stands on her tiptoes.

I bend down for her until we’re eye level as she squishes it over my hair. “Do you remember when we were the same height?”

She meets my eyes, taking my face in her cold hand. “How could I forget? Didn’t last long though.” She smiles as I straighten my stance, towering over her. She looks up at me. “Now, you’re ready for our picture. Let’s go for it?”

“Let’s do it.”

She props her phone against the can opener on the counter and talks to me over her shoulder as she adjusts it. “We have ten seconds, okay?”

“Then, you’d better hurry.” I wave her toward me.

She jogs and slides on the floor, wrapping her arm around me. I grab her, steadying her. The fast shutter sound starts, and then we hit every pose. We have years of practice.

The Christmas playlist I created continues in the background, and we sing along in the living room.

Thankfully, Colt isn’t here, or he’d have some shit to say. A few years ago, he told me he’d chill at our parents’ house until midnight, going forward. Makes me laugh, thinking about it, because he’s not here.

As we dance, Grace swings her hips around and points down to the open ass flap, revealing her cream-colored lace panties. I force myself to think about something else because these pajamas leave nothing to the imagination. And it goes both ways. Getting hard is the last thing I need.

She tries to snap the button properly, but it never clicks. “I’m kinda mad at myself for buying these. They look cute. Cheap as hell.”

Her eyes slide up and down me like she just noticed how revealing it is.

“Never mind. Not upset anymore.” She grabs her phone and takes a picture of me.

“That’d better not be used for blackmail later,” I warn.

She shakes her head, then turns it around to show me. “You know I’d never do that to you. But there are some women online who’d pay good money for these.”

“Luckily, I’m just foryourpleasure.” I meet her gaze, feeling that magnetic pull surge between us.

The oven beeps, breaking the connection as we enter the kitchen.

Taking the lead, Grace grabs an oven mitt and removes the oversize tray. “Oh my goodness, these look and smell so good.”

“Hell yeah, they do.”

Grace snags a cookie with her bare hands. She tosses it back and forth like a hot potato before plopping it back onto the tray. “Shit, they’re too hot.”

“Well, yeah, silly girl.” I move her palm under the cool water. Then, I place her fingers to my lips and kiss them. “Better?”

“It always is when you do that.”

---