Tangled in Tinsel (a holidates series)
Tangled in Tinsel: Part 1 – Chapter 8

Itoss Reed’s sweats on my bed as soon as the door clicks before running to the nightstand to grab my phone. I’ve never hit a call button so quickly.

You better fucking wake up, Eleanor. I press the cell to my ear, my fingers tapping against my leg as more ringing sounds with no answer.

“Come on,” I groan, about to hang up when a groggy “Hello” drifts through.

Yes. My voice is more high-pitched than usual.

“Oh my god, where the fuck have you been my whole life?” I dash into the bathroom and close the door before turning on the faucet. “I need you awake for this conversation. Open your eyes and stand up. Yeah…get alert.”

“What is wrong with you? Is that water in the background? I was sleeping, you lunatic. This better be an emergency.”

“It is. And yes, it’s water. I need to make sure nobody hears me.”

Sheets rustle in the background like she’s sitting up. “Are you high? You know you can’t smoke weed, dork. You get paranoid.”

“Eleanor,” I snap. “Focus. It’s seven o’clock in the morning. Why would I be high?”

She yawns.

“I mean, technically, I’m probably still high.”

I don’t have time for this. I’m about to explode. So I blurt out everything in the fastest run-together sentence of my life.

“I-kissed-Cole-last-night-and-then-dry-humped-his-best-friend-in-the-kitchen-before-he-told-me-they-want-to-share-me.”

I suck in a deep breath. But there’s nothing. No answer. Just silence. Then more silence.

“Hello?” I whisper, but she screams, “SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

I have to pull the phone from my ear, but I’m laughing. Maybe it’s hysterical laughter but whatever. I put my phone on speaker as I pace.

“Eleanor, it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours, and I’ve got two down, two to go. I’m a fucking predator. I manifested this. Or you did with all that bullshit you talked.”

She’s breathless, laughing her words out, and too excited to give good advice.

“Tell me you’re going to do it. I will literally never speak to you again if faced with this offer. To fuck four of the hottest guys the baby Jesus ever made, and you say no. Like, I might actually hate your guts. You could do this for all of us. This is for the sisterhood.”

“Not wanting to sleep with four practically strangers at the same time does not make you a loser. But yeah, I mean, who am I to neglect the sisterhood? I got you.”

She screams again. And I cover my mouth to mute my laugh.

“Holy shit! I knew it. My sister’s a dirty slut. Weirdly, this might be the first time I’ve respected you.”

“Fuck you.”

“Just kidding. Okay, okay…let’s calm down. We need to analyze this.”

We both take a deep breath before I laugh again.

“Sorry. I just…this is crazy, right? What am I doing?”

I hop up onto the counter, sitting criss-cross on the marble as she answers.

“Bitch, this is like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to jingle your bells. You’d be nuts not to say yes.”

My shoulders shake as my teeth replace the inside of my cheek. “Here’s the thing, what if I don’t have the nerve to follow through? I mean, fantasizing is one thing. They want to fuck me for real.”

“Do you trust them? I mean, I know you only know them professionally, but…?”

My brows pull together as I stare at nothing in particular, thinking about what she said until I nod.

“I do trust them. They’ve always been respectful of me. They’re not weirdos, just sexually adventurous. And I’m comfortable with their offer of this weekend, no strings attached. But I guess what I mean is that I’m out of my depth. I’ve only seen this go down. I’ve never been a part of it. I’m great in bed, trust me. But this is that meme with all the hot dogs flying at your face.”

“Wait. One. Damn. Minute.”

Fuck. I didn’t mean to say that.

“Samantha Gabriella Thomas. You better clarify that statement”—her voice raises—“or I’m calling Mom and telling her you’re getting Eiffel Towered. And that you’re not even in Paris.”

I narrow my eyes even though she can’t see me. And I’m already off the countertop.

“Tell her,” I challenge, huffing a laugh, “and I’ll tell her that you only go to church because you’re trying to fuck the priest after you read about it happening in some fucking romance book.”

“Ohhhhhh…” The word is drawn out like the line of battle. “Low blow. That book is fucking spiritual self-care.”

I kick the air, barking, “Listen.” We both chuckle because we’re equally as looney. “Don’t fuck with me. I’m older by design. God only chooses his champions for this job. Now…if I tell you…you have to promise on Puffy not to tell.”

Making my sister swear on the poodle our parents took “to a big farm where he could run free” when we were kids is the most serious form of secret keeping. Even now. You don’t break a promise on Puffy. Ever.

That shit was traumatic.

“Oh shit.” She answers in a more serious tone, “I swear it. They could cut out my tongue; I swear I’ll never tell. Whatever you did goes to the grave like Puff-Puff.”

“Elle,” I level, shaking my head. “If your tongue is cut out, you can’t speak anyway.”

Her tongue clicks against the roof of her mouth before she says, “Whatever. You get the point. Spill it.”

She really is still high.

I bite down, tensing my jaw, staring at myself in the mirror before I close my eyes and just say it.

“Remember last month when I booked a remodel of that club in Chicago? I was super excited because it was the first commercial job I got.”

“Yeah…” she says nervously.

“It was a sex club. Called Church.”

“Oh. My. Fucking. God.”

I shush her, continuing, “I didn’t do anything. I just watched. But there was this woman who walked into a room. Like a viewing room. Three guys walked in after. And yeah, they…uh, you know.”

“So you just watched them fuck her brains out? Wow.”

“Don’t judge me.”

She scoffs.

“Oh my god. Shut your mouth. Who am I to judge? Do you know how much strange I’ve had? My life is an array of unknown twat and cock. I think it’s fucking awesome that you’re opening your mind and replaceing what you want. And now you can actually try it out. But just for the record—is this what you want? Like tomorrow when the hype wears off? Because I know you…you’re already internally deep diving into a hypothetical Q&A sesh.”

She’s so right. I do have unanswered questions, but I knew exactly what I wanted the night I watched that woman get worshipped. It was an out-of-body experience. I thought it would just get locked away as a fantasy, but now, these guys—ones I’m very much attracted to—like what I like. I want to do this. Take the plunge.

“Yeah. I’m sure. I’m doing this.”

“Then stop worrying about what to do. You know what to do with one dick. Plus, men are simple, like spit on it, moan…call them daddy, you’re all good.”

I chuckle. “You’re truly warped. It’s not about me turning them on…I’m saying this is four pee-nigh. And I only have three hol—”

She cuts off anything else I’m about to say because that cackle of hers is back.

“One, don’t ever say any variation of the word penis. It sounds skinny. And two, I fucking hoped you waxed those holes before you went. If not, replace a razor because you look like a Wookie before appointments.”

“I hate you. I’m never coming back. I hope your salon closes.”

I don’t mean it, and she knows it because we’re both laughing our asses off.

But my laughter fades as I stare in the mirror.

The good news is I did wax myself because I’ll never let my sister give me a Brazilian again. So I guess all the stars aligned for this one. Okay, nothing is holding me back…except all those questions still floating around in my head.

“I’ll call you later, ‘kay?”

“Yep. Have fun…but only the sexy, filthy, depraved kind of fun. And sneak me dick pics!”

I don’t answer her, smiling as I hang up.

Dear Santa, I’ve even been a very good girl this year. And all I want for Christmas is Alec, Reed, Jace, and Cole…without a pregnancy or an STD. Thank you.