Page 51 of Bad Boy Neighbor

“No one gave you the right to walk into my life and act almighty as if you know me. Jesus, Gabriella, when will you fucking learn to drop that subject?”

His comment is nasty, berating me for asking him a simple question. The hurt consumes me, followed by a stream of anger.

This is so like him.

Hot and damn cold.

One minute he’s an open book, and the next, I’ve crossed some imaginary line. I just can’t win with him.

I suggest we leave, and he takes me home.

Once again, I read more into us than I should have. The way he spoke to me, the angered tone, belittled the small amount of confidence I found when I am around him. Just like my father and Nicholas, my opinion or presence means nothing.

He drives back erratically at a speed well over the legal limit, causing my stomach to backflip from the sheer terror. I close my eyes the entire journey, only to open them when we slow down and park in the driveway.

The second we are dead still, I hop off, just as upset as he is.

He doesn’t say a word, going inside and leaving me alone. I hold back the tears stemming from my anger and head back home, sullen with a weight on my shoulder, again.

The house feels lonely. No longer the breath of fresh air I have grown accustomed to. The walls are bleak, the darkness creeping in as the sun begins to set.

For now, I welcome it with open arms, craving the solitude to allow myself to process what happened today.

Oliver Madden is a blessing and a curse.

He has a hold over me no matter how I try to shake it off.

But that’s the thing—I don’t want to shake it off.

It’s finally time to admit my heart rules.

My head is just the moron failing to catch up.

Fifteen

Gabriella

Two days and I haven’t heard a single peep from Oliver.

Not one text, call, or even smug walk past our adjoining picket fence.

I can play just as stubbornly.

His callous words, plus mood swings, are all a bit much, and I refuse to throw myself at him like this is my fault.

The solitude gives me time to think. But thinking ends up leading to restless nights and lack of sleep. I dream but more vividly than usual. The one jogging my memory is me being caught in a maze. Every which way I turn, I face a dead end. The panic consumes me, and when the walls began to close in, I wake up drenched in sweat.

Lana has come to my rescue. She suggested we head over to Melrose for some lunch and shopping. It’s nice to spend time with her without the distraction of Ace. He’s cute, but toddlers are hard work.

“It’s weird eating and not being interrupted,” she says halfway through her pesto chicken salad. “If Sebastian were here, my chicken would be gone, and Ace would have already gotten bored, plus spilled this fancy champagne all over the table.”

I laugh, then take another sip from the wine I ordered.

“You miss them. It’s cute.”

“Am I that obvious?” She cringes.

“It’s okay to miss them. They’re your family.”

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