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My eyes narrow, following their progress as they duck through the crepe paper curtain.
“I don’t think it’s the stall that holds the attraction,” Lisa drawls, watching where we are. “I think it’s Michelle Hunter.”
Palmer’s hand moves off her shoulder, tangling in her hair and tugging it so Lisa’s head tips back. He presses his nose against hers – the only way he’s close enough for her to hear – and grins.
“Who is Michelle Hunter?”
Palmer releases her hair, and Lisa’s head tips forward again. She lifts her hand, jabbing her finger at my little tourist.
“With the butterflies.” She looks back up at Palmer’s mouth, clearly aware he will have follow-up questions. I sure as shit have follow-up questions. Palmer manages to ask the right one first.
“Why is she so special then?” Palmer asks with a frown. Oh, I can think of many ways she’s so special, starting with her talented little mouth and finishing with her tight little body.
Lisa giggles and shrugs. “She’s single and rich?”
Okay, two very good reasons, but they would still be a long way down my list of ‘things that make Shelley special.’
Sure enough, as we watch, the group of five guys surround her, towering over her and the small children she is painting with. I’m about to go over and demand they stop bothering the staff when she looks up, laughing, and replying to them.
She’s shaking her head slowly but still laughing. Maybe I should ask Lisa what she’s saying. Lisa can read lips. No. Perhaps I should mind my own damn business. I turn my back on the arts and crafts stall, my eyes darting everywhere else, looking for something to take my mind off my little tourist.
It doesn’t work. For some godforsaken reason, I don’t like the idea of her laughing with them after I had my dick in her mouth. What the fuck is that about?
Chapter 9
SHELLEY
Great. Mom set the wolves on me. What a fucking bitch. They are either clueless or deliberately ignoring all the hints I am dropping for them to leave. I’m going to have to come out and say it.
“Sorry, guys,” I smirk up at them, not feeling the least bit sorry. “You need to leave the stall. This is for kids.”
I look pointedly around at my group of four kids diligently painting, thankfully managing to ignore these assholes and their inappropriate language and comments.
Alice’s eyes are darting over often, but she hasn’t said anything, and I got lucky that Colleen needed the bathroom. I hope I can make them leave before she gets back.
“Come on, Shelley,” Brian whines. “We came all the way over toSan Remoto see you.”
The urge to roll my eyes is riding me so hard that one of them starts to twitch. Firstly, it’s so unsexy when a man whines. Secondly, who the fuck cares about his problem? Not me.
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“God. You’re such a bitch.”
Language! We are surrounded by children. Maybe I can splatter his pristine boat shoes with paint? I bet that would make him fuck off.
“Born and bred,” I quip back. “Now, shoo.”
To emphasize, I wave my paintbrush around. Sure enough, they all take a careful step away from me. Pussies.
“Fine, but we’ll be back.”
“Can’t wait.”
They collectively miss the sarcasm in my drawled tone, grinning and winking and assuring me they won’t be long. Ew. I hope I’m gone by the time they take a lap and get back here. Our activities are winding down anyway.
Unfortunately, I’m not so lucky. True to their word, the Wolf Pack reappears as Alice, Colleen, and I are packing up the stall. Damn it.
“Come out with us. We’ll show you a good time,” Brian smirks, leaning against a box Alice is still trying to pack.
