At a commercial, I heard and felt Brock rumble, “What’d you get ’em?”

Hmm. Apparently the game took all his attention, considering the fact that I spent the last forty-five minutes on the floor right in front of him wrapping presents that I did not in any way try to hide.

“Nerf stuff,” I answered.

“Nerf stuff?” he asked.

“When you were out running before we went to look at trucks that last Sunday you had them, I asked them to write a letter to Santa and they did,” I informed him.

“Babe, hate to break this to you but they’re ten and twelve. They know there’s no Santa Claus.”

I lifted my head and looked down at him. “Yeah, I know. But they aren’t stupid. They humored me because they know I have a credit card.”

Brock’s body shook slightly and pleasantly against mine with his chuckle and I smiled at him.

Then I settled back in.

“What do you usually do for your nieces and nephews?” I asked the TV screen.

“I give their moms fifty dollars for each kid and they put my name on a card.”

My head jerked up as my eyes shot to him.

Then I asked a horrified, “What?”

“You think fifty dollars is too much?” he asked back.

“No. I think their uncle should buy them presents that he’s put some thought into.”

“Darlin’, the last time I walked into a mall was two presidents ago.”

I stared at him in shock.

Then I asked, “Is that even possible?”

“I got a dick and I was single so, yeah, it’s possible.”

“So how do you buy the boys presents?”

“Four options, give a wad of cash to Mom, Jill, Laura, or all three.”

I stared again.

Then I asked, “Where do you buy clothes?”

“I don’t. I got a mom and two sisters. I get them for Christmas and my birthday.”

“T-shirts?”

“I don’t get my tees at a mall, Tess. No decent tee can be bought at a fuckin’ mall. A good tee is bought during an experience.”

I had to admit, this was true. When I went the way of tee and jeans just months ago, I’d done copious research with Brock’s tees as my guide and I’d found no tee in any store that was even close to the cool tees he owned.

“Boots?” I kept at him.

“Harley store, babe, doesn’t count.”

This was also true. The Harley-Davidson store was one of those rare and exceptional experiences where women and men could go and enjoy but in entirely different ways. Therefore, considering it was an experience, it was acceptable to buy tees there.

That and Harley tees were freaking awesome.

“And, Tess, sweetness,” he went on, “before you get any ideas… you wanna shop for my family, have at it. But I’m not breakin’ my streak.”