Page 20 of Bad Boy Neighbor

I nod at the same time Gabriella smiles.

With them gone, I prop myself up on an elbow and turn to face Gabriella. She’s lying on her stomach, arse in full view, oblivious to my longing stare. So what if it has the perfect curves—a nice palm would look good slapped against it leaving a pink mark.

Fuck—cool the arse talk.

“Hey, I’m sorry for whatever happened that night for you to hate me so much,” I blurt out, wanting an end to the awkward tension between us.

“I don’t hate you,” she says, remaining still. “Hate is such a strong word.”

“Well, upset you.”

“You didn’t upset me.” Gabriella lifts her head, and behind her sunglasses, I can see her eyes staring back at me. “I was already upset with myself, so whether it was you or someone else, I would have still been upset.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Okay, but you were not fine that night despite your reluctance to admit it.”

“No, I was not,” she admits.

“Does Prince Charming know you’re not fine?”

“Prince Charming?” It takes her a moment to register. Propping herself up on her elbows, she removes her glasses with a satisfied smirk. “It seems to bug you… the sentiment.”

I flip a strand of hair out of my face, blowing out a nosy breath in my defense. “It doesn’t bug me. You were willing to take me home, yet somewhere roaming these streets is Prince Charming.”

She rolls onto her side, flicking her hair back while checking her tan line beneath her strap.

“His name is Nicholas. The Prince Charming name is kind of a joke between us. We’re not together together. We’re on a break of some sort. So, does that answer all your questions?

“You’re married? Or a separation,” I quiz, trying to understand

“Not quite… engaged. Well, it’s complicated.”

The pang hits me, knocking me hard from a place unknown.

You cannot possibly be jealous of a guy called Prince Charming. Man the fuck up. You don’t even know this chick, so why are you letting her crawl under your skin and affect you like this. Find your balls, Olly.

“Okay, so you’re engaged but on break?”

“I guess, technically,” she replies with uncertainty. I don’t think even she knows what it all means. “Look, I’m here, and he’s back in Colorado. We both agreed to have some time apart so I could come out here. That’s it.”

“That’s it?” I retort. Her dismissive attitude is laughable. “I think you’re missing a big chunk of the equation.”

“Really? Like how you’re an ex-soccer player? Maybe you want to elaborate on that?”

I remain quiet, and it’s as if she has the upper hand and watches me with a curious gaze. There is nothing I want to add, nor any inclination to continue this part of the conversation. If anything, I want to welcome back Lana and her annoying habit of trying to set me up.

“We’re back,” Lana announces with a heavy puff. “Uh, oh. Did you guys get into a fight already?”

“No,” we yell in unison.

Lana raises her hands. “Take it easy, I was just asking a question. Sheesh.”

The surf competition goes on for a few hours. There’s a presentation, medals, and every so often, I wander off to grab a drink or use the bathroom. I’ve met some banging chicks and scored a few numbers, but I don’t feel in the mood to continue partying with them tonight.

Same old bullshit.

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