“Brin works in a museum,” Wren says when he sees me eyeing a Cleopatra cutout that is proudly standing up in the yard. “She brings home some of the advertisement pieces she works on when a show is over because, well, I don’t know why.”
“So she can find ways to use them against me,” Rye says absently.
Leaning away from me, Wren redirects his attention to a very distracted Rye.
“Do you have the Christmas supplies?” Wren asks, chuckling when I take a step behind him to prevent another water balloon mishap.
Rye’s eyes are on a mission to find any movement behind the structures, and I really don’t want to end up in the line of fire again.
“In the house. Good luck. She has the place rigged for failure. Why do you think I’m fighting for the right to go in?”
“Do they allow this in subdivisions this nice?” I ask curiously.
“They do when it’s me and Brin,” Rye says, shrugging. “The neighborhood enjoys the war.”
A water balloon zips by me and Wren when I pull him back, and it narrowly misses Rye, who immediately crouches low and starts scouring the yard again. This is crazy.
“Too many targets. Which direction did that come from?” he asks… one of us. Not sure who.
Wren laughs while tugging me closer to his protective body, soaking himself with the contact. He doesn’t seem to mind getting wet, and Rye starts belly crawling, entertaining us more.
“Is this a common thing?” I ask, a little worried about their sanity.
“They change things up most of the time. Tomorrow you’ll find something totally different.”
A balloon pelts Wren suddenly, splattering up on me just barely, and Wren sucks in a breath while stepping back.
“Brin! I know that was you!” he calls out, mocking an angry tone that is betrayed by his grin. I laugh without meaning to.
“She’s vicious,” Rye whispers as he wiggles in behind a car hood, holding a balloon in his hand like it’s a gun.
“Where’s your stash?” Wren asks, pulling his shirt over his head despite the cool air. It is frigging colder with a wet shirt on.
His body… I wish he’d stop making me look at it. He wasn’t supposed to be shirtless again, damn it!
Rye motions toward his apparent stash. I look up just in time to see Brin on all fours, waving me over from behind another car hood. Eyeing both guys to make sure they’re otherwise distracted, I discreetly making my way over to her.
She pulls me down with her, motioning to a crate packed full of balloons.
“How many does he have left?” she asks, her body and hair completely dry.
“I don’t know,” I say through my soft laughter.
“You here for the Christmas stuff?”
“Yeah. And now I think my heart is going to pound out of my chest.”
It’s sad that this is giving me an adrenaline rush.
She looks at me with a broad smile on her face. “Great, isn’t it?”
I work hard not to laugh, and then I do something stupid; I grab a water balloon.
She wiggles with excitement before peeking out from behind her shelter, gauging the landscape. “Oh shit!” she screams just as we suddenly get hit with a massive attack, one balloon after another splattering against the hood and spraying onto us.
I throw the first balloon, giggling like an idiot the whole time. It hits the ground nowhere near anyone, but a thrill still shoots through me. After grabbing another one, I look around the side to see Wren hammering us with balloons right beside Rye, who is just as intent on emptying the arsenal.
I throw two balloons as hard as I can. One hits Wren right in the face, and I squeal in excitement when he’s forced to cough.
“Seriously? This is how you want to play?” he asks, a smile in his voice.
The adrenaline burns through me, setting me on fire as I laugh and help out Brin, who is a frigging water-balloon-launching machine. Before I know it, we’re out of balloons, and the guys are, too.
Naively, I assume that means the war is over… Until Brin takes off running, screaming and leaving me behind. Wren suddenly grabs me, and I laugh while trying to wiggle free from his grip.
“Got her!” Rye exclaims proudly from beside the house.
“I’ve got Allie.”
“Wren, stop. Please. I’m laughing so hard it hurts,” I beg.
He just continues carrying me toward the back of the house, and I try not to revel in the way it feels to be pressed up against him—again. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Rye opens the back gate to a patio behind his house, and Wren walks us in.
“Password,” Rye demands to a sulking Brin who has her arms crossed over her chest.
Wren stands me up on my feet, grinning at me while I playfully shove him.
“Fine. It’s your birthday,” Brin concedes on a long, dramatic breath.