Page 25 of Bad Boy Neighbor

My heart beats erratically with so many mixed emotions while the heat does nothing to cure the pressure mounting inside me. His eyes are fixated on mine, a sultry stare drawing me in. A grin is plastered on his face, and although I never noticed before, he has one dimple that sits perfectly near his cheek.

I pull away, regretting my decision to go on this run. My desire to experience freedom is being overshadowed by guilt.

“It’s complicated, and besides, how could you even understand? I don’t have to justify my relationship to you.”

Oliver retracts, the grin disappearing from his face. The heat between us is dying down faster than you can say fiancé.

“Right, I wouldn’t understand. I’m just the single boy next door looking to get laid. Obviously, I picked the wrong girl to play with.” And just like that, he’s turned back into his arrogant self, demanding we run back home.

This time, he doesn’t play nice, riling me up and pushing me the last mile until I almost collapse on the pavement. At my front gate, he pats my back hard, almost pushing me forward in my weakened state, calling me a ‘good girl’ as I almost faint to the ground.

Walking away, he pulls his white tank off, throwing it around his neck. His back muscles make it hard not to stare.

He will be the death of me.

As I shower, trying to rid myself of the guilt washing over me, it only makes things worse. I avoided brushing over my private parts, running the soap quickly because the pent-up frustration is turning into some sort of orgasmic finish. I’m ashamed of how his words affect me and how every time he argues and turns into the arrogant asshole, it becomes a breeding ground for my frustration which only leads to other mixed emotions.

What the hell is wrong with you?

This has to stop right now.

My hands reach for the cold tap, and with one blast, the cold water sends me into shock, a small yelp escaping until I can no longer cope and step out.

Dressing in a simple white sundress, I have absolutely no plans today, and that, in itself, could be my worst enemy. Sitting on the sofa, sinking beneath the scattered cushions, I grab my phone and see another text message from Nicholas. He’s heading into the city with some colleagues.

I hate to think Oliver is right.

Nicholas has never given me the impression he’s seeing anyone else, let alone paying for sex. Maybe I had heard stories of other men like his brothers doing so.

Nicholas is different.

Yet, at the end of the day, neither of us defined the rules of being on a break. The decision was quick, my motive was to clear my head, given that he was raised in the same world as me and somewhat understood the pressure.

A break meant just that.

This was never about seeing other people.

My eyes close on their own accord—the image of Oliver leaning in so close to me replays, and the way he said ‘if you were mine.’ It’s like a broken record, a forbidden broken record, because he should be the last thing on my mind.

I let out a frustrated groan.

Staring at the ceiling, it dawns on me he’s a famous soccer player back in Australia, so if I want more, I could rely on my trusty friend, Google.

I couldn’t have typed his name any quicker. There are thousands of search results that come back with articles—photographs of him playing soccer and others with him and a woman named Bianca.

He obviously enjoyed his social life, always surrounded by friends and women. The media appeared relentless—one minute, he’s crowned a hero for his gameplay and the next, criticized for his mistakes.

But the images which compel me the most are of his accident.

I’m glued to the screen, examining the picture with his motorbike against the tree. In one photograph, there are emergency services surrounding a body on the ground. Upon reading the article, the body is him. A drunk driver ran a red light, smashing into Oliver, flinging him off his bike causing almost fatal injuries.

According to one news outlet, the way he landed on the grass patch saved his life, though it ended his career.

The more I read, the more my stomach churns from all the information. I can’t help but pity him, for everything he’s lost because of someone else’s stupidity.

I want to walk over, tell him I’m sorry for being such a self-centered bitch when it’s clear he has a heavier weight on his shoulders. But instead, I continue to lay here and stalk him.

It was supposed to be only for an hour.

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