Page 36 of Bad Boy Neighbor

This could be a chance to get some information Gabriella is no doubt holding back, but I have to play it smoothly by asking the questions yet appear uninterested at the same time.

“Not technically. I don’t know the details… it’s hazy. She’s engaged, or at least for all intents and purposes, she’s on a break. Whatever that means.”

“Exactly, what does that mean, Lana?”

“It means she’s not sure if marrying him is where she pictured her life, hence, why she’s here.” Lana grabs the remote, changing the channel to something more adult than Mickey Mouse. “As for the black and white regarding how much of a break and what it means, or if they can see other people since I assume that’s what you’re trying to get out of me, you’ll have to ask her.”

Damn. Lana is useless.

I almost express my disappointment but carry on and wait until seven o’clock before I say goodbye and head next door.

Exactly at seven on the dot, I knock on Gabriella’s door. She opens quickly, dressed in a white sundress with navy-blue polka dots. I’m mesmerized by how damn gorgeous she looks in a slight pose looking all innocent like she isn’t going to break me.

“Am I dressed all right for the secret squirrel date we’re on?”

“Perfect.” I beam, elated she’s called it a date.

We walk toward the car, her bag draped over her shoulder before she settles into the passenger side.

“Nice wheels. Is this yours?”

I want to tell her that nothing here is permanent. Home is back in Australia. Everything I have here has an expiry date including this car.

“A rental. Always wanted a Jeep.”

“Me too.” She laughs, buckling her seat belt. “My father would never allow me to drive such a car. If it isn’t part of the Rolls Royce family, then it’s not worthy to be driven by a Carmichael.”

“You have a Rolls Royce?” I laugh at the sheer notion of Gabs driving such a car. “Do you also wear white gloves when driving?”

She punches my shoulder, soft yet affectionate. “Don’t mock. It’s a smooth ride. Besides, what do you drive back home?”

“A Jag, and my… bike…” I trail off, remembering I no longer ride since the accident.

Gabriella places her hand on my shoulder, massaging it softly, knowing it’s a sensitive topic. I force a smile, placing my hands on the steering wheel as the engine starts. The stereo plays Maroon 5 blaring over the speakers from my last ride. Turning the volume down to an appropriate level, I sing along, ignoring her persistent stare coupled with an amusing grin.

“Olly can sing.” She nods, surprised.

“There you go, calling me Olly again.”

She’s cute when she’s relaxed and not a stuck-up princess, like when I first met her. The song ends, and instantly, she grabs my phone, scrolling through my playlist to pick a song.

“Um… since when do you just go through my phone? I have to see you naked before you get that privilege.”

“Why, you got nudes in here?” she questions, casually. “The ladies sending Mr. Big Shot Soccer Player some tits and ass pics?

“More like pussy and leg shots.” She almost drops my phone to the floor. “Relax, Gabs. I’m a good boy.”

“Good boys are the worst. They’re the hungriest because they deprive themselves, which is unnatural of the male species.”

“I could say the same for good girls. However, something tells me you’re a wild one, but you’re in the closet.”

“Me? Please, I’m boring. The wildest place I ever had sex was in college with this guy I was seeing. Janitor’s closet after a drunken frat party. The last time I completely lost control.”

“Until the night at the bar.”

“Yeah, something like that,” she mumbles, turning to face the side window.

“So, Prince Charming doesn’t get you off?”

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