“Dude,that’sthe sweater you bought her?” Heath asked, causing Brock’s head to snap up from where he’d been staring into his coffee, willing Krista to wake up. He glared at his brother and shook his head. Heath ignored him. “That sweater is more freaky than ugly.”
It was true though.
He’d been desperate in his hunt for an ugly sweater—a Hart family tradition. They all had one. And Krista couldn’t be any different. Though had he started looking sooner than December 24th, he probably would have found something better than a bright red sweater with a ghoulish-looking snowman on it who looked more like that character fromThe Nightmare Before Christmas. The figure was holding his head in one of his branch limbs, like some kind of headless horseman/snowman. And of course, he’d found it at some hipster novelty store downtown and it had been fifty bucks. He’d balked, blanched, choked and coughed as he took it up to the till and the goateed, man-bunned cashier in various patterns of plaid had rung him up, going on and on about how big of a seller this sweater had been this year.
To who? Brock had no idea.
But despite the moderately terrifying sweater print, Krista pulled it off. She’d tugged it over her nightshirt and had traded her shorts for those flannel candy cane PJ pants. Her untameable mane was pulled back into a messy bun on the top of her head, and fuzzy bunny slippers scuffed down the hallway. He’d never seen anything so adorably sexy in all his life.
Rex sat down on the opposite side of the couch as Heath and barked out a laugh. “Oh, poor little Krista. Brock really dropped the ball with your sweater.” He clucked his tongue disapprovingly at Brock.
“It was all I could fucking find,” Brock said with a growl. “I ran around for hours yesterday trying to find an ugly sweater, and they were all sold outeverywhere.” He made room for Krista next to him on the couch.
He watched Krista’s eyes widen as she took in the sight. A comical one if there ever was. There was no getting around how big Brock and his brothers were. They were all well over six feet and two hundred pounds. So the fact that all four of them had crammed their muscles into various ugly Christmas sweaters was hilarious, even for them.
But they did it for their mother.
There wasn’t much they wouldn’t do for her.
“You guys look like bears in brightly colored leotards,” Krista said with a snort as she leaned forward and grabbed a shortbread cookie off a tray. Rex and Heath both chuckled.
“Insulting, but accurate,” Heath said with a head bob.
“I especially likeyours,” she said, nibbling on the cookie.
Heath beamed proudly at his outrageous sweater. He’d picked it out himself, the sick bugger. It had two reindeer, one of them being Rudolph, of course, engaging in some X-rated behavior. Rudolph appeared to be enjoying himself at least.
Brock’s wasn’t nearly as pornographic. Though he’d have to talk to Heath about his sweater next year when there was a kid crawling around. He might have to force his brother to get a more G-rated alternative.
Krista bumped Brock’s shoulder. “Your floppy-eared puppy with holly on his collar is quite a bit tamer than your brother’s. Who picked out yours?”
“Decaf coffee? Tea? Hot apple cider?” his mother asked, poking her head out of the kitchen.
Brock nodded in his mother’s direction. “She did.”
Krista chuckled before turning back to his mother. “Apple cider would be lovely, thank you.” She made to get up and head to the kitchen, only Brock’s mother and Chase were already emerging, a tray of cider and mugs in hand. Chase had a plate with more cookies and coffee cake, along with some fresh fruit and yogurt and granola. They always went light for Christmas breakfast in theHart house, because for dinner they wenthard.
Brock’s mother set the tray of ciders down, and Brock heard Krista cough beside him, cookie crumbs flying all over the sweater.
“That’s, uh … that’squitethe sweater you have on, Joy. Which one of the boys picked that out?”
Heath’s grin was wide and jolly as he sipped his coffee. “I did.”
Brock simply rolled his eyes. Heath had thought it appropriate to get their mother a sweater as X-rated as his. Only hers had two gingerbread people on it in the sixty-nine position, and both of their crotches had distinct bite marks on them, while the female gingerbread person appeared to have a face covered in icing.
“Next year you’re both going to need some tamer sweaters,” he grumbled, taking a sip of his Bailey’s-laced coffee. “Can’t have that shit around the innocent eyes of my kid.”
His mother chuckled softly as she handed Krista a steaming, Christmas-themed mug. Krista brought her nose down to the rim and inhaled.
“Oh, dear,” his mother started, “I didn’t think I raised such a prude. Sex, oral, vaginal, anal and otherwise is all very natural and healthy. I was never shy about discussing such things with you boys growing up, and you all turned out just fine.”
“Well, I’m a nymphomaniac,” Heath said with a laugh. “I’m not sure howfineI turned out.”
Their mother rolled her eyes and made a rude noise in her throat. “You are not.”
Brock glanced down at Krista, and the poor woman’s cheeks were nearly as red as her hair. “We, and byweI mean my mother, Heath and Rex, have a bit of a warped sense of humor in this family. Sex has always been an overly open topic here.”
Krista swallowed and nodded, wincing slightly when she sipped her cider.
