Page 56 of Bad Boy Neighbor

For the first hour of the road trip, Gabriela doesn’t say a word, making me regret this trip. A simple plane ride would have been much more comfortable than the tension inside this car you can cut with a chainsaw.

My frustration escalates, so I crank up the stereo and start singing along to Bon Jovi. It’s a classic tune and tension-release melody at the same time.

“You’re singing the lyrics all wrong,” she berates, crossing her arms in defiance. “It doesn’t make a difference if we make it or not.”

“That’s what I was singing,” I argue back.

“No… you were saying naked or not.”

“You know, for someone who claims they need space, you sure have a lot of naked on your brain.”

“No, you have naked on your brain,” she huffs, crossing her arms. “I never have naked on my brain aside from now because you’re singing the wrong lyrics!”

“What’s crawled up your arse and died, Gabs? That time of the month?”

Her eyes are a knife pointing directly into my chest, the sharp point digging deeper. “You’re treading on thin ice.”

She’s an easy target. Push one button, and the rest of the mechanical system fails. I’m bored, and this argument has livened up this mundane road trip. There’s only so much desert you can stare at before you start to go insane.

“You use one of those cup things? Argh, my sister told me about it… I was absolutely mortified.”

Gabriella’s mouth freezes wide open in an expression of stunned surprise. “We are not talking about periods. Period.”

It’s impossible not to keep poking her. She’s fucking sexy when she’s folding her arms, pushing her tits into this triumph pose.

“Let me guess, a pad girl? You don’t strike me as someone who shoves a tampon up her pus?—”

“Stop the car right now!”

I pull over to the side of the road and turn off the engine. The dust fills the air around us, finally settling down moments later. Turning to face her, her anger has morphed into some sort of wild beast.

“We need to establish some rules. Okay, buddy?”

I cringe. “Buddy… ouch.”

“One, we do not ever talk about my cycle, periods, pads, or God forbid cups?—”

“Hey!” I place my hands in the air. “Just tapping into that feminine side. It’s important for me to know when it’s best to avoid you.”

“Second...” She holds up two fingers. “If we’re on this road trip together, it’s strictly platonic. It means no reference to naked, sex, or ass. Deal?”

I hold out my pinky finger, pouting my lips apologetically.

“Why are you doing that?” She stares in confusion.

“Pinky swear. Isn’t that what you girls do?”

“Ah… yeah. When you’re ten,” she mocks. “Gosh, you’re a pain in the ass.”

“You said no reference to your arse.”

“Just drive.”

With a satisfied smirk, I start the engine and crank up the stereo again. With our problems aired enough to ease the tension between us, I’m surprised when my phone begins to ring through the Bluetooth, and the name Bianca flashes on the screen.

Talk about poor timing.

I haven’t spoken to Bianca since I left Australia, but word on the street is she hates my guts, and the breakup hit her hard.

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