DEAR BAD BOY NEXT DOOR: A Curvy Girl Romance (SINCERELY YOURS Book 3)

  DEAR BAD BOY NEXT DOOR

  SINCERELY YOURS SERIES

  LANA DASH

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Epilogue

  Also By Lana Dash

  About the Author

  DEAR BAD BOY NEXT DOOR is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2021 by LANA DASH

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval systems, without express written permission from the author/publisher, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  1

  LUCY

  It’s no secret that if you asked any of my three best friends, they’d say that I’m the shy one in the group, and they aren’t wrong. It’s hard to step out of their shadows when Maren isn’t afraid to voice her opinion, Willa is always looking to expand her education, and Cassidy enjoys the spotlight she gets when she’s on stage. And it’s not just my friends that designate me as a follower. My own family likes to think that it's my sole purpose in life is to stand on the sidelines, so I don’t do anything to draw attention away from my practically-perfect-in-every-way younger sister, Margot.

  My cell phone rings in my jacket pocket, and without looking at who's calling, I already know that it's my mother calling again. I've already sent her call to voicemail a few times today, but since it’s after five o’clock, I can’t use the excuse that I can’t pick up because I’m working.

  "Hello, Mother," I say with a sigh.

  “Lucy Eleanor, why haven’t you returned any of my calls?”

  Because you leave long, rambling messages that end with me wanting to rip my hair out.

  “Did you call?” I feign surprise.

  “I did.”

  “Did you leave a voicemail?”

  “Several of them,” she says, her voice losing all patience with me.

  "Well, shoot, I must have missed all five of them.”

  “How did you know I called five times if you didn’t get any of my messages?”

  “Because it's a prime number," I say, but the tone makes it sound more like a question.

  I know it’s a weak excuse, but I'm not about to admit to my mother that I'm ignoring her calls. The last time this happened, it nearly caused an international incident. And if it means I have to "accidentally" drop my phone off my fourth-floor balcony, then that is what cell phone insurance is for.

  “I really don’t get you,” she finally says, and that’s probably the most honest she’s been about our relationship.

  I'm the polar opposite of her in so many ways that I once asked my dad when I was eight if she really was my mother or if I'd just been adopted, and they hadn't gotten around to telling me yet. He just laughed and patted me on the head, never actually giving me an answer, so I'm holding out hope.

  “How can I help you?” I ask.

  She sighs loudly into the phone, like the sheer energy of having to repeat herself is such a burden to her. If anything, I'm pretty sure that what she's about to say is going to result in me having a list of things from her to do for Margot’s engagement party.

  “I need your help for the party.”

  I knew it.

  “Don’t you have a house full of staff that can help you prepare?”

  “I really can’t deal with your attitude today, Lucy. Do you want to be the reason that the biggest day in your sister’s life is ruined?”

  “It’s just an engagement party.”

  “Your sister is marrying into one of the most affluent families in this city. We have to make this day perfect.”

  “And what is Margot doing to make this day so magical?”

  “You know that your sister needs to rest so that she looks her best.”

  “Don’t I need rest to look my best too?”

  “Honey, no one will be looking at you,” she scoffs. “Stop being so difficult.”

  I don’t think my mother will ever understand just how much she just hit the bull’s eye of my worst insecurities. As the daughter of a former model turned trophy wife and looking more like my father with dark hair, dark eyes, and curves that no amount of dieting will ever remove, I’ve spent my life being pushed out of the frame.

  I can feel my throat tightening, and I want to hang up, but I know that will only make this unbearable situation worse.

  “Fine,” I say, my voice squeaking with emotion. "Email me the list of what you need to be done. I've gotta go."

  I end the call before she can say anything else. She’s said enough as it is already.

  “Luce!”

  I turn and see Cassidy getting out of her car with a pizza box in her hand. The happiness in her smile is like a salve on my heart. If she or Maren or Willa knew that my mother just put me through the wringer again, they'd insist on calling her back and telling her where she can stick her list of things for me to do for the party. It’s perfect that we are all meeting up tonight. I need my best friends to help me forget the family shit I’m dealing with and just have fun.

  “You are a sight for sore eyes!” She runs up to me and gives me a one-armed hug while balancing the pizza box in her other hand.

  “I know, it feels like forever since we’ve all been able to get together and hang out.”

  We head up to Willa and Maren's apartment. Willa opens the door, and the familiar hum of the blender lets us know that Maren is making her secret recipe, Margaritas.

  "I've been waiting all week for one of your margaritas," Cassidy says as Maren walks in with a pitcher full of the blended lime goodness.

  We each take our familiar spots on the sofa sectional and dig into the pizza and sip on our frozen drinks. The conversation amongst us begins with a familiar hot topic—Maren needing to quit her office job with her insanely hot boss.

  Maren and Willa go back and forth, each making their little digs at one another. You’d think that they didn't like each other the way they snip at one another. I even nearly get pulled into the argument when I choke back my laughter when Maren points out that Willa is still living off her parents while she's in grad school. Willa gives me a sharp look like she wants to point out that my parents are wealthy too, but I've long since stopped taking money from them. I didn't want to be like the other pampered princesses I went to high school with that loved to show off using daddy's credit card. Not surprisingly, Margot can be put in that category as well. She never understood why I got a job working at the mall after school instead of spending my afternoons there hanging out with my friends. She’d tell me endlessly how embarrassing it was that her friends saw me there. What she didn’t know was that was half the reason I did it. But then she started lying about actually knowing me. It’s not like we looked anything alike. She took after our mother with her blonde hair, bright smile, and slender figure.

  “Okay,” Cassidy holds up her arms between Maren and Willa. She has always been the mediator of the group, able to calm any situation down before it got out of hand. “Let’s a
ll take a breath before this turns into a repeat of sophomore year when you two didn’t speak for a month because of Brandon Davidson.”

  “I’m sorry,” Maren says.

  Willa nods. “Me too.”

  “Good, we are all friends again. Let’s clink this out.” Cassidy holds up her glass. We all laugh and clink our glasses.

  “What I want to know is why we are all here, staying in on a Friday night?” Maren asks, refilling everyone’s glasses. “I mean, I know why I don’t have a life, but we are all smart, funny, beautiful women. We should have guys lining up down the block for us.” She turns on the sofa and glances out the window, down at the street below. "It's empty."

  Beck’s face pops into my mind. He’s the hot bad boy that lives across the hall in my building. He’s not like any guy that my mother would find socially acceptable for me to date—with his tattoo sleeves on both arms, leather jacket, and motorcycle. I think for a moment what it would be like to ride on the back of it with my arms around his waist and the wind blowing in my hair.

  Willa interrupts my thoughts when she starts talking about her crush on her hot British professor. I talk about Beck. Cassidy shocks me when she mentions her long-standing crush on her brother's best friend since she was in high school. And eventually, Maren spills the beans about her crush on her billionaire boss.

  “So, what are we saying here?” Maren says, standing up from the sofa and turning to look at each of us. “Are we all going to sit here every Friday night, lusting after our secret crushes until we are old spinsters?”

  “What are you suggesting?” Cassidy asks.

  “We’ve got to tell the guys in our lives how we feel so we can move on. We can’t keep holding onto a hope that they might one day wake up and see us differently. There are guys out there waiting for us.” She points out the window towards the city skyline. “And we are too busy hiding behind our unrequited love to go out and meet them.”

  “How are we supposed to tell them?” I ask. “I can barely get the courage to speak complete sentences around him, let alone admit how I feel.”

  Maren looks unsure for a moment.

  "Here," she runs over and grabs a box of stationary off a shelf. "We will each write out a letter. We don't have to send them, but maybe, by putting down on paper how we feel, we can finally move on and meet someone new."

  “It’s not the craziest idea you’ve ever had,” Willa says.

  It is a crazy idea but one that just might be exactly what I’ve been looking for to change the monotonous direction my life is going in. I'm always playing it safe. I let others take the spotlight without a fight. What's the worst thing that could happen if I actually give Beck this letter—he goes from not knowing my name and ignoring me to knowing my name and ignoring me. No one will be looking at you. My mother’s voice echoes in my mind.

  “Are you in, Lucy?” Maren asks.

  I look up and realize they are all watching me, waiting for me to agree to this crazy but brilliant plan.

  I smile. “Let’s do it.”

  2

  BECK

  I don’t know much about the woman that lives across the hall from me, other than the few things I’ve noticed about her when we pass on the stairs. She’s willing to dislocate her shoulders, carrying two arms full of her shopping rather than making more than one trip. She just mumbled something and shook her head at me the first time I saw her struggling and asked if I could help. She loves to sing when she’s cleaning. I often hear her through the door when I come home, and the vacuum is running. She's probably the most painfully shy person I've ever met, that or she hates me, and that's why she doesn't say anything more to me other than a one-syllable word in passing, and that's only if I ask her a direct question.

  I hope it isn't that she doesn't like me. I've seen some older blonde lady come and go a few times, and the look on her face when she sees me and my tattoos coming, you'd think that she smelled something foul.

  “Yes, mother. I picked up everything on the list you sent me.”

  I turn, grabbing the mail from my slot, and see my neighbor walking in. Canvas bags weigh down her arms, with an assortment of items spilling out of the top. She momentarily freezes halfway in the door when we lock gazes. I’ve never noticed how intense her eyes are before. It’s probably because she always keeps her head down whenever she’s around me.

  “I’ve got to go,” she says, but it’s clear that whoever she’s on the phone with is still talking away. She rolls her eyes, and I turn away, trying not to laugh. "I said I've got—"

  There’s a shuffling sound and then the sound of her falling on the ground. Her cell phone skitters across the lobby floor. I spin around, and she is flat on her stomach with half of the contents in her bag scattered on the floor.

  “Are you okay?” I kneel next to her.

  She looks momentarily stunned but recovers quickly enough. I was surprised by her next reaction when instead of getting embarrassed, she starts laughing. Her laughter is infectious, and I join in, realizing that she's okay. It takes us both a minute to settle down.

  “I can’t believe that just happened,” she finally says.

  “Are you okay?” I ask again.

  “My pride is a bit bruised, but I’ll be fine.”

  “Let me help you up.” I offer her my hands.

  She pulls her arms out of the bag handles and lets me help pull her to her feet. The scent of roses wafts off her. It does things to me that I haven’t felt in a long time. I want to lean in commit the scent to memory, but she'd probably think I was weird.

  “Thank you.”

  “Of course.”

  The sound of someone yelling into her phone on the floor interrupts us. I walk over and pick it up before handing it back to her. She looks down at it and takes a breath before putting it up to her ear.

  “Yes, I’m still here.” She pauses. “I tripped coming into my building.” She pauses again but closes her eyes like she's trying to calm herself down. "I'm not sure if anything is broken, but I'm fine, by the way. Thank you for asking."

  I busy myself by picking up all the items that fell out of her bags. Once I have everything collected, I ignore her holding out her hands to take the bags from me. I nod towards the stairs and gesture for her to follow. She does, the phone still pressed to her ear.

  We walk up the four flights of stairs to our floor. I hand over her bags.

  “Thank you,” she whispers to me, holding her hand over her phone.

  "Any time." I give her a half-wave and back up towards my door.

  She opens her door and heads inside, leaving me to stare at the 4B on her door. That is probably the most she’s ever spoken to me in all the years we’ve been neighbors. I can’t help but feel that I wouldn’t mind talking with her some more. I just need a good enough reason to go over and talk to her again.

  A few hours later, I find my reason in the form of a purple envelope pushed under my apartment door. When I come out of my office, I find it after putting in a few hours of work on my side project—an online game that I’m developing.

  I know I don't look the part of a computer coding nerd, but it's always just been something I've been interested in, and I'm good at it. But I learned young that girls weren’t into computer nerds. So, I started branching out in my interests. I got into rebuilding old motorcycles, which eventually led to an interest in tattoos. Suddenly, I started looking the part of this bad boy persona that women are definitely into.

  I pick up the envelope. All that is written on the front is “4A." I flip it over, but there isn't anything on the back. I open my door and poke my head out, but it's empty. I head back inside and sit down on the couch to read the letter inside.

  Dear Beck,

  It’s me, the socially awkward girl from across the hall. You probably don't know my name, and that's okay. Most people don't. Hell, most people don't notice me even if I'm standing right next to them. I was told from a young age that I’m not meant to be seen. I’m meant t
o blend into my surroundings like a chameleon. But I’m tired of going unnoticed. I’m tired of people looking past me. I want to be seen. More specifically, I want to be seen by you. I understand that asking someone to see them in a letter is probably a weird request, but nothing about what I’m doing is normal. I've spent a long time playing it safe, but no more. My love for you is no less real, even if we haven't spoken more than a few words at a time with one another. It's your wild spirit that draws me to you. The uninhibited freedom you live in your day to day life. I want that for me too. I want to live my life without thinking about how others will think of me. So, if there is any chance that you are looking for more and think you might find that with the quiet girl from across the hall, all you have to do is knock on my door.

  Sincerely Yours,

  Lucy in 4B

  Well, my day just got a bit more interesting.

  3

  LUCY

  I’m not sure if I expected him to acknowledge the letter or not. I might not have bothered if I was in his position. I mean, he just watched me do a face plant in front of him. And he doesn't have any other interactions or references to go on about my character—well, I guess, I can now add my love letter to the mix.

  I'm sitting on my sofa, flipping through the channels, when I hear the knock at my door. I freeze, unsure if I did hear what I thought I heard, but then another confirms it. My heart starts pounding in my chest despite my brain telling me not to get my hopes up. What I did this afternoon, sticking my letter under his door, was impulsive and entirely out of character. If Beck is really standing on the other side of the door, he could just be here to tell me thanks but no thanks.

  I stand up and straighten out my sundress. My mother would be appalled by the wrinkled state it's in, but I don't care. I peek out the peephole, and sure enough, Beck is standing on the other side.