Page 72 of Butter My Biscuit

“You’re gonna allow that behavior?” I say to Hayden with a grin.

He’s not once mentioned the Valentine hazing we put him through. Honestly, he should be glad I’ll let him tell Beckett he’s proposing instead of my brother confronting him. Unless he already knows.

Hayden shrugs. “You know she does whatever she wants.”

“I’m pissed at all of you. Merry Christmas. I just created a shit list and added your names to the top. Next year, I’m gonna cross them off, one by motherfucking one.”

Chatter fills the room, and fingers start pointing in all directions as each of them talks over the other. It’s just noise, so I just keep shaking my head.

“No getting out of it. I don’t care who put you up to it. You’re all guilty.”

“Okay, anyway, can we get back to the game?” Beckett waves me off.

They sit around the dining room table that easily fits fifteen with a stack of poker chips and cards. My little sister Fenix has almost all of her chips left, plus a hefty pile. Emmett is a close second.

“You’re gambling this early in the morning?” I ask.

“We started at seven,” Vera says and turns as I sneak a peek at her cards.

Then, I continue to make my way around the table. By the time I’ve looked at their hands, I know she has the strongest with three of a kind. One more card, and she’ll have a full house. The odds are in her favor so I tap on the back of her chair. She plays it real cool by going all in. I shake my head.

Kinsley scoots every chip she has forward. “Bluffin’.”

Beckett and Sterling go all in too. Fenix looks at each one of them, trying to find a twinkle of a lie.

“Well, damn, this just got interesting. Guess it is true; I really am the life of the party,” I say with a laugh.

“You sure are,” Colt says, smirking at me over his glasses.

“Okay, let’s gooooo.” Fenix pushes her chips in.

Everyone slams down their cards. Then, London, who’s playing dealer, plays out the last card. Three queens and two aces.

Vera stands and points at all of them. “In your face!”

“Hey, hey. Don’t have to be a bad sport and rub it in all their faces,” I say, patting her chair. When she sits, I point at them. “Ha-ha, that’s what you get, suckers!”

Vera laughs so hard that she snorts as they scowl at us. Game is officially over.

“Now, next time I’m late to a family dinner, I get to choose who does the dishes for me,” she says.

“Uh, I didn’t agree to that.”

“‘Because you didn’t get a vote,” Remi says. “You were the rotten egg. We outvoted you.”

That’s one thing about my family. Since there are ten kids, we’re always competing and trying to get back at one another. It makes life interesting. Considering I’m the third oldest, I feel hella responsible for my younger siblings.

Colt stands and refills his coffee. We meet each other’s eye, and he nods—a silent agreement that he won’t say shit about what he heard last night. It’s just a part of our roommate agreement—what happens at the house, stays at the house, period.

Our parents and grandparents enter through the back door, all of them wearing shawls or house robes.

“So, what time were we supposed to be here?” I ask, looking at my ma.

“Eight,” she says. “It’s always been eight.”

“Everyone was here over an hour before that. Next year, I’m showin’ up at six,” I say, hearing the oven beep.

My grandma pulls out several trays of cinnamon rolls. “So, Harrison, how’s Grace?”

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