“Please, that’s child’s play,” Barney announced, leaning back in his chair with that insufferable smirk. “I could do all that with my eyes closed. Hell, I could do it while simultaneously closing three business deals and getting three numbers.”

Lily rolled her eyes so hard Marshall was surprised they didn’t fall out. “Barney, you can barely make toast without setting off the smoke alarm.”

“Challenge accepted!” Barney slammed his hand on the table, making the little soy sauce dishes jump. “I’ll prove it right now.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Lily muttered, turning to Marshall with a look that said can you believe this guy?

Marshall straightened his duckie tie—a gift from Lily’s kindergarten class that she insisted he wear to celebrate their anniversary. The yellow rubber duck bobbed its head at the motion.

“You know what?” Lily’s eyes narrowed as she watched Barney flag down the manager. “I’ll make you a bet, Stinson. If you can’t do all those tricks—and I mean all of them—you have to wear Marshall’s duckie tie every single day for a year.”

Barney’s eyebrows shot up. “And if I win?”

The table went quiet. Marshall felt something shift in the air, like when a storm was brewing back in Minnesota.

“Then...” Lily hesitated, that dangerous glint in her eye that Marshall knew all too well. “Then you get to see my tits.”

Barney hesitated, “And pussy.”

“For 5 seconds,” countered Lily.

Barney leaned in. “Full strip show. Dancing naked for everyone. Fully pussy spread at the end.”

Lily looked taken aback, thinking about it.

Barney smirked, “Do that and I’ll wear the tie for a year even if I DO win.”

“DEAL!” Marshall shouted before the words had fully left Lily’s mouth. Everyone turned to stare at him. “What? It’s a win-win! Either Barney looks ridiculous or I get to see my wife do a strip show. That’s marriage math, people.”

The restaurant manager had reluctantly agreed to let Barney use their teppanyaki grill after hours, probably because Barney had slipped him a hundred-dollar bill. Now, two hours later, the friends were gathered around the sizzling surface, watching Barney work.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Barney announced, twirling a spatula like a baton, “welcome to Stinson’s Hibachi Extravaganza!”

Marshall had to admit, the guy was surprisingly good. He’d already mastered the onion volcano trick, made a perfect shrimp tail flip, and even managed the spinning egg trick that had taken Chef Hiro years to perfect.

“Last trick,” Barney announced, holding up a raw shrimp. “The pocket catch.”

This was the hardest one—flipping the shrimp high into the air and catching it in your shirt pocket on the way down. Chef Hiro had failed twice before nailing it.

Barney positioned himself, eyes locked on the target—his own chest pocket. The shrimp went up in a perfect arc.

Just as it reached its apex, Lily stood up from her seat.

“Barney!” she called out, and when he glanced over, she pulled her shirt up, flashing him.

Marshall’s jaw dropped. The shrimp was falling, falling, falling—

Barney’s hand shot out instinctively, and the shrimp landed perfectly in his pocket.

Silence.

Then Barney looked down, saw the shrimp nestled neatly in his pocket, and raised his arms in victory. “Still. Got. It!”

Lily’s face went through about seventeen different emotions—shock, disbelief, horror, and something that looked suspiciously like grudging respect.

Three days later, the gang was gathered in Marshall and Lily’s apartment. Marshall had moved the coffee table to the center of the living room and draped the red blanket from the back of their brown couch over one side, creating a makeshift stage. The lighting was dim, the music was ready, and Lily stood in the hallway entrance in her fuzzy white sweater and jeans, looking like she was about to face a firing squad.