Page 4 of Three Wickedly Bad Neighbors and a Very Grumpy Girl (Three Guys and a Girl Volume 2, #8)

? Chapter Four

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T here’s a strange, tiny woman in a robe, standing on a chair in the middle of our party with her hands on her hips. She just whistled to silence everyone and then yelled at us to come to the front. This is a first for us.

Sullivan Crawford and Porter Robertson, my friends and Marine brothers, slide in next to me. We exchange glances, and by the looks on our faces, none of us know her but we noticed her as soon as she entered our domain.

Trust us, if one of us had taken her to bed, we would remember every detail.

From her long, midnight-black hair shimmering like forbidden treasure under the moonlight to her full, lush lips and delicate jawline.

Her perfect body is currently swathed in a thick robe, which fails to hide her tiny waist, where she has angrily tied the belt a tad too tight, down to her angelic, pink-painted toenails peeking out from her shoes, which have feathers on them.

We might not be able to see the color of her eyes or what she would feel like in our arms from this distance, but yeah, from everything else, we would have remembered her—and possibly never let her go.

Whoa, where the fuck did that thought come from?

Erase. Erase. Erase. But who is this firecracker?

Certainly not what we expected coming back to civilization after ten years in the Marines, the last three of which were spent deep undercover.

She makes it sound like we’re in trouble, so of course, Benny Carter, our friend and self-designated wingman and DJ, shuts the music down.

This whole party is Benny’s idea. We wanted to chill. He wanted to book a penthouse and throw the craziest welcome-back party. We said no, so he just brought the party here at 11:00 p.m. Turns out it was nice to see our friends. Maybe this was a good thing after all.

We’ve known Benny since school, and even though Sullivan, Porter, and I went off to the military while Benny took over his father's law practice and became a bona fide bachelor with only one aim—to get laid—we’re still close.

When Benny heard we were coming back for good and taking up positions in society, he decided we needed to get laid.

Multiple times. Which explains the entourage of beautiful women he also brought with him.

Since it’s been three years since we last had a woman, according to Benny, we have lost time to make up.

Integrating back into society at this level was not what we thought we’d be doing at thirty-two. After all the shit and messed-up things we’ve seen around the world, we figured we’d retire from service in a couple of years and become recluses in a cabin in the woods somewhere.

Porter always wanted to write a book, Sullivan just wants to cook in peace, and me? I just want to do nothing until my mind is clear of everything we’ve seen. Instead, there’s no cabin in the woods in our future.

We’re honor-bound to take up our family reins, whether we like it or not. We don’t like it, but when we’re this loyal to our family, “no” is not an option. We’ve been trained to fit into any situation, so this should be no different. That’s what we keep telling ourselves.

“You know her?” Benny asks as he sidles up to us. We don’t get a chance to answer before she speaks again.

“You three,” she says in a no-nonsense tone, waving her finger at us before doing a curling motion, summoning us to her throne—a chair. Bossy much?

“I don’t have all night,” she scolds, and when we don’t comply, she continues, “Fine. My name is Avery Stephens. I live next door, and this house belongs to a sweet old couple, Mr. and Mrs. Ambrose, which makes it private property. Therefore, all you people are trespassing. I suggest you skedaddle before I call the cops. I’ll give you twenty minutes to clear out. Consider this a friendly warning.”

Avery Stephens?

Sullivan, Porter, and I exchange looks again. So this is Avery? Okay then.

And oh, she thinks we’re trespassing. Interesting.

“Hmm... ma’am, we own this property. Now please kindly get off our furniture,” I say, lacking conviction. It’s the grin on my face that makes me less intimidating when I want to be.

“You do not own this property. That’s a lie. I know the owners. They’re on a trip across Europe to relive their first year together. You three are not allowed to be here. Please get off the property.”

“Ms. Stephens, is it?” Benny starts using his lawyer voice, ready to slip in and annihilate our opposition.

“We got this, Benny,” Porter says as he walks up to the girl in the robe, places his hands on her waist, lifts her off the chair, and sets her on her feet.

“Do you mind? You’re scaring our guests,” Porter says. Of the three of us, Porter is the most serious and has the driest humor.

“Guests?” she shrieks, stumbling a little when Porter releases her. She recovers quickly, slapping his helping hand away before cinching her waist tighter with another knot in her belt.

“They’re not guests. They’re house crashers. It’s literally a crime.”

“Again, we own this property,” Sullivan says, grinning.

“Oh, you must really think I’m gullible. Do I look stupid to you?”

“No, a little grumpy, maybe. Hey, stay, have a drink. You look like you could loosen up a little.” I can’t help myself. Getting her even more riled up just makes her even more fucking gorgeous.

“I do not need loosening up,” she says, clearly affronted, as if I had just told her puppy was ugly. “I have a very big day tomorrow and I need to get some sleep.”

“Oh, yeah. What’s going on?” I ask cocky as ever.

“That is none of your business.”

“Well, we have a big day tomorrow as well, that’s why we’re having a party tonight,” Sullivan says.

“Do you have no consideration for the elderly people who live around here?”

“You mean Mr. Williams and Aunt Maggie? Trust me, they don’t mind the noise at all. You really should stay; it’s a neighborhood party, and everyone is invited.”

Her eyes, up close, are golden orbs flanked with thick dark eyelashes that widen at the sight of her octogenarian neighbors having shots with a bunch of girls.

“Oh my god. They’re on blood pressure medication, you idiots,” she yells, then makes her way over to them and drags them out against their will.

They didn’t tell us that.

“This isn’t over,” she calls over her shoulder, struggling to hold on to an elderly person on either side of her.

“Are you going to call the cops?” Sullivan shouts. “Because we’re going to party all night, straight into Sunday afternoon.”

“You think I can’t get you to leave on my own? You don’t know who you’re going up against, buddies,” she says.

“We would absolutely love to see you try,” I say, knowing for a fact Sullivan and Porter are thinking the exact same thing.

She huffs her way out, but fuck if those weren’t the truest words we’ve spoken. Actually, we can’t fucking wait to see what she comes up with next. And why the hell does the thought of seeing her again make our cocks hard?

Just how fucked are we?