Page 6 of Three Wickedly Bad Neighbors and a Very Grumpy Girl (Three Guys and a Girl Volume 2, #8)

? Chapter Six

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A very

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W ell, sexy frowns with narrowed hunter eyes and jawlines for days don’t work on me. I keep my face straight. What’s happening to my body is not my concern right now.

“What exactly are you up to?” Sullivan asks, not disguising his suspicion.

“Nothing. I just want to have a good time, and you did invite me, remember? You said this was a neighborhood party and everyone was invited,” I say sweetly before pushing my way through them, which feels like moving concrete walls. I only succeed in getting away because they let me.

Right. Now I need to mingle and pretend I’m having the time of my life.

My gaze immediately collides with a huge, gigantic air mattress just lying there in the Ambroses’ living room.

It’s covered with silk and pillows in all shapes.

Ugh. It’s probably where they’re going to have their orgy later.

Yes, I’m a self-established prude, I have to remind myself.

They don’t take their eyes off me as I bump into six people and spill drinks on two of them—the living room and open-plan kitchen area of the Ambroses are filled to capacity, so it’s hardly my fault.

I also nearly trip once, and I’m sure my face will remain horribly contorted for the rest of my life after taking a sip of what someone handed me. The blue drink was pure alcohol.

Okay, enough of that. It’s time to end this.

I turn on the big house lights that immediately illuminate everything in sight. Better to see me. And since the trio hasn’t given me a single moment of reprieve since I stepped into the house, they’ll get to see my next move play out in real time. It’s ingenious.

I plant myself in between a large group of people and laugh with them, pretending I’m in on the joke.

“Oh, I’m so itchy,” I say theatrically as I slip out of my coat.

Then I start scratching lightly at the red and pink spots on my arms and legs.

I don’t mind if the coat smudged parts that didn’t quite dry enough because it only makes it more believable.

“Chickenpox,” I say. “Just got it this morning. Here, look,” I add, offering my blotchy arms for inspection. If I say people tripped over themselves to escape me, I would be wrong. They made it an Olympic sport.

My gaze locks with the three main characters, their arms folded as they stare me down with incredulous looks on their stinking handsome faces.

They have no idea how hard it is for me to remain functioning in their company, and they never will.

I make sure my smile is just this side of devious as I continue to scratch at the skin on my arms.

“Oh, the chickenpox,” I say. “It’s just the worst.” Around me, everyone scatters, offering apologies to their hosts as they fly out the door into the rain, overly eager to get away from me and my plague.

I want to feel bad, but this is far better than a criminal record for breaking and entering and then having the audacity to throw a party. They can all thank me later.

I’m so ecstatic I want to fist pump and do that pelvic thrust thing that looks like humping the air in victory. I do neither. I just dust my hands and smirk. I win.

But then my body heats up as all three of them merge and come toward me like three rogue kings. There’s not enough air in here. I need to breathe.

Sullivan curls his fingers around my wrist, scorching me as he does. He lifts my arm for inspection, running his fingers over the smudges, and goosebumps rise on my skin. I totally confuse his clinical touch with a sensual one.

He brings his fingers to his nose, then draws my arm closer and licks my skin while keeping his eyes on me.

He licks my skin.

“Edible paint,” he says, unfazed while my world feels like it’s been toppled.

“You’re kidding,” Gray says, taking my other wrist and running his warm tongue over my skin. I bite my lip hard to stifle the moan lodged in my throat. Sullivan hands me over to Porter, who licks his lips before lapping at my skin.

A blaze erupts inside me. My nipples pebble, and I want to press my thighs together so hard that I’ll lose all feeling.

I also feel dizzy and weak in the knees.

And... no. They’re playing with me, and I’m falling for it.

Guys like them don’t purposely go for girls like me. That sets me straight immediately.

“Eww, you can’t go around licking people. What is wrong with you three?” I say, yanking my hands away from their grasp, for my own sanity more than anything. I gain some balance and straighten my shoulders.

“Not going to be much of a party with just you three, so you might as well leave. And please don’t go around breaking into other people’s houses again and pretending you own them. It’s wrong. Now, good night.”

I don’t expect them to clean up, so I’ve allocated tomorrow evening to give the Ambroses’ house a thorough cleanup. The elderly couple won’t even know that three utter knaves threw a party in their house while they were away.

I can’t wipe the smirk off my face, but I do have to leave. I need sleep, and every minute counts.

But then my gaze shifts to Porter, who looks equally smug. Also, where is he going? Why is he closing the sliding door?

“I hope I never see the three of you again.” I head toward the front door. It’s getting harder to breathe. Something weird is happening. I need air. An ice-cold shower. Antarctica.

Before I can reach for the knob with a shaky hand, Sullivan, as stealthy as an apex predator in the wild, slips his huge body between me and the door, locking it behind him while staring me dead in the face.

“Oh, we’re not going anywhere, sweetheart,” Gray says behind me.

“You didn’t think we were going to let you get away with it, did you? Tit for tat and all that.”

“Hmm, excuse me, but what? You broke the law. Now please open the door right this minute.”

“Oh no. Here we are, minding our own business, when the grumpy girl next door crashes our party and sends our guests flying out of here because she starts scratching these tiny dots on her arms and claims she has chickenpox.”

I take a step back, fully accepting that I’m essentially trapped here inside with them.

Why do I feel so trembly? A million butterflies collide in my stomach; my nipples are achingly sore now, my breasts swollen and heavy, too. And no matter how hard I press my thighs together, I can’t quell the throb between my legs. What in the heck is going on with me?