Page 91 of Bad Boy Neighbor

Gabriella shuffles awkwardly.

“Thank you for dinner, Oliver. I have somewhere I need to be, so I guess I’ll see you another time.”

That’s it?

After everything we’ve been through, I guess I’ll see you another time? And where the fuck is she going? It’s nine o’clock. Shouldn’t she be packing like Lana and Seb?

My pent-up anger distracts me from her leaving the table without a hug or even a kiss on the cheek.

Seb instantly notices my not-so-relaxed expression. “Let it go, mate.”

I can’t fucking let this go.

We say our goodbyes and promise to catch up when they’re back in Australia later in the year.

It only takes me fifteen minutes to walk to my apartment. Inside the confinement of my own space, I pace the polished tiled floors in short bursts, clenching my jaw with crazy thoughts derailing my rational thinking ability.

I stand on the balcony, staring out over Sydney Harbour for almost an hour. Somewhere in this city she is roaming around. Her plans may have involved her father, but if they did, why didn’t she just say that? Why did she have to go and put thoughts in my head?

Perhaps I’m overreacting.

Deep fucking breaths, Olly.

My phone vibrates inside my pocket. I pull it out, and an unknown number texted me.

Unknown

You know what? I don’t need you Oliver. I have Byron. He is way less stuck up than your arrogant ass.

Gabriella. The anger ripped through me like a wild storm on the brink of a cyclone. My knuckles turn white from clenching my fists way too hard, combined with the grinding of my teeth unstoppable as I try to suppress the rage to no avail. I need to find her and now.

Me

Where are you?

Gabriella

What do you care? Me coming out here was a waste of time.

I call the number. No answer.

I call Seb who doesn’t pick up.

Fucking hell! I’ve mentally snapped, desperation fueling my unwanted jealousy. How the fuck am I back here?

Then I call Lana.

“Olly?” Her voice sounds breathless. For fucks sake, they were probably fucking. “What’s wrong?”

“Where is she?”

“Who?”

“Gabriella,” I grit.

“Oh… um… some bar, I think. Tang… Tink…”

“Tank?”

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