Chapter 11 Olivia #3
Simon groans, downing his drink completely again and smacking his lips.
“Only three. Why?” He says clearly this time, smiling when I examine his face.
“Don't worry, Oli. I'm a lightweight, but I can handle my booze.” His grin widens when a song comes on over the speakers, and he instantly perks up.
Setting his glass down, he bounces on his toes. “My favorite song!”
And just like that, Simon proves how well he can handle his three margaritas.
Before I can say anything or grab him, he's gone like the damn wind, throwing himself into the crowd and finding a girl to dance with. I tilt my head when their mouths connect and fuck… should I stop him? That’s a pretty quick, hi, hello, how are you?
Let’s kiss. God. He’s like an overgrown toddler I’m afraid to leave alone in the kitchen with potential dangers.
Except the dangers here are the alcohol he’s been drinking and the girl he’s grinding with on the dance floor.
Whatever. I’ll keep my eyes on him so he doesn’t end up getting naked or streaking or…
What do college kids do these days? I sigh, drinking the rest of my margarita, begging for the alcohol to do its thing.
If I could reach Simon’s level of awesomeness, I’d be in a better plane of existence.
Being in the guys’ domain has my skin crawling with anxiety, like ants dancing across my damn skin.
My need to run and hide has me cowering in the kitchen when I should be snooping or observing the crowds. From here, I can keep my eyes on Simon as he practically has sex with that chick on the dance floor, looking happier than ever.
Yup. He's good.
I cringe. He's not the only one getting frisky on the dance floor. They’re all doing it now.
Standing on the blood of the two guys who almost murdered each other ten minutes ago.
Now, it’s a damn orgy. Where’s Mack to stop that?
Oh yeah, nowhere in sight. Probably having his own orgy or whatever somewhere else.
Ew. That’s the last thing I want to think about.
Murmured voices drag me out of my thoughts. This has been happening a lot lately—getting stuck in my thoughts and not paying attention to whatever is happening around me. I think it’s a symptom of being back here and doubting every step I take.
Three girls–the ones Simon pointed out earlier–sashay into the kitchen with their chins raised.
Oh, someone alert the press, Amanda is in the building!
I roll my eyes toward the ceiling and take a step back, hiding myself from view.
The last thing I need is Amanda zeroing in on me, standing here and spying.
“Did you see Wilder sitting on the porch when we came in?” the redhead asks with a giggle, biting her lip. “I can’t believe they’re neighbors and haven’t bombed the house next door.”
Oh, so she wants Wilder the neighbor, too. How bold. She was just all over JJ and Mack, practically offering herself to them. And now, she wants to pounce on the poor neighbor Wilder? Ugh. College. It’s such a horny time for them. Wait… I stiffen.
Wait a damn minute.
Wilder? As in Jackson Wilder? Malic’s Wilder? His keeper? The very man who interrupted our bathroom fuck by knocking on the door? That man?
Fuck.
This day just keeps getting better and better.
One perk is that the trio of Charlie’s Angels don’t pay one bit of attention to me as I hide in the corner of the kitchen nursing my margarita.
I’m invisible as I can be. Just a lonely boy in the kitchen, drinking his girly drink.
Well, at least I hope that’s what they think.
I push my stupid glasses up my nose and make sure to face them.
Whatever they say in this kitchen will definitely be used against them later when I rewatch this and take notes before sending it to headquarters.
“Oh my God, yes,” the brunette girl whispers excitedly.
“He didn't have a shirt on! Did you see his muscles and tattoos?” Well, no, I did not. Is that what he’s packing under all his clothes?
I wonder if he’s similar to Malic in that regard.
I shift, rubbing my thighs together. Get yourself under control, Olivia.
You’re spying, not fantasizing about the two of them. Together. With you.
Shit.
They’re criminals, I whine to myself. Bad boys.
Bad for your health. Psychopaths! Don’t you dare envision yourself squished between them as they pound into both your willing holes because they would definitely be very willing in a Malic and Wilder sandwich.
Whoa! Hold the damn phone. What am I doing?
Thinking? Man, I really want to smack myself for these thoughts.
Am I ovulating? Is that what's happening?
Because that can be my body's only excuse for wetting my boxers, which is mighty uncomfortable. And this wild fantasy? Yeah, I’m blaming my ovaries and the release of my eggs—stupid ovulation horniness.
I guess me and my vibes are going to get along swimmingly soon.
If I can find a private time to use them, that is.
“He's forbidden, Sabrina.” Amanda scowls haughtily. “You know that. We can't mess around with them. They’re the enemy.” She waves a hand toward the house next to this one.
Sabrina instantly deflates and nods obediently. “I know.”
Amanda rolls her eyes and opens the fridge.
“Ugh. Why don't they have Smirnoff or White Claw? Or anything good? All they have is cheap beer and cheese sticks,” she whines, stomping her foot when they throw the door closed.
“I'll have to have Hux stock more drinks catered to me, since we’ll be here more often.” She tosses her blonde hair over her shoulder and promptly displays the massive ring on her finger.
An engagement ring.