Page 7 of Bad Boy Neighbor

“Is it to borrow Bubbles to attract guys? I tell you, it’s not the first time I’ve been asked, and honestly, he doesn’t like the pressure of being a pawn in someone’s dating game.”

“No.” I laugh. “Everything I own is very… um… conservative. If I’m going to experience life, I need an outfit that screams ‘look at me, I’m in California.’ ”

“Oh,” Lana mouths. “I have just the dress.”

I follow Lana into her house quietly, careful not to wake Ace. Sebastian is sprawled on the couch wearing a beaten-up tank with this arm underneath his head, immersed in some soccer match while Lana motions for me to follow her to the bedroom.

Inside her wardrobe, she pulls each garment aside before removing a black dress from the back.

It’s simple, sits mid-thigh with thin straps over the shoulder. Better than anything I have sitting inside my wardrobe. I’m not fond of shopping. In fact, I despise it. Everything I own is my mother’s doing.

“I wore this dress on a night out with Sebastian in Vegas. Kind of the beginning of us but also the end.”

It didn’t make sense, and my confused expression must have relayed that.

Lana laughs. “I know, complicated. Anyway, it’s yours for tonight.”

I kindly accept the dress, placing it against me as I stare in the mirror.

Lana was right. Tonight, I need to let my hair down and enjoy life. This is what I came here for, and no one else controls what I do here but me.

If I’m going to do this—live life to the fullest—I need to do it to the best of my ability.

Perhaps I just need a little bit of help from a bottle of champagne.

My date for tonight.

Dom Pérignon.

Four

Gabriella

Iactually let my hair down.

It took me over an hour to tame my curls, not realizing how long they had grown. The longer they grow, the looser they become which isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

My mother always hated my hair. It’s not the dead straight blonde like hers or my sisters. I was born with reddish-brown hair—a shock to my parents. Over the years, the color shifted from darker to lighter, even blonde for my high school prom.

As a child, my mother would demand her expensive hairdressers to straighten the curls to stop it looking like a mop as she often referred to it. Somehow, their style influenced my own over the past few years, unbeknownst to me. I always wear it into a tight bun similar to my mother and sisters.

Having it out, drifting past my shoulders and against my back feels nice for a change. I also don’t mind the color—copper brown which complements my Californian tan.

I didn’t want to burden Lana with a complete wardrobe borrow, so I headed to the closest mall to purchase a black clutch and some strappy heels which tied around my calves. The shop assistant said they were very in. The latest trend, in fact.

What I do know is my mother would have a heart attack if she saw me dressed like this. And, to be honest, that means I’m on the right track.

There are a few bars in Manhattan Beach, local joints with a bustling nightlife. I settle for a bar not too far from home so if the night is a bust, I won’t have to walk miles in these shoes, which I believe are spawns of the Devil. They began to pinch as soon as I left home, my poor baby toes in agony from the very few steps I’ve taken.

I settle for a Cuban bar and restaurant. The music blares across the speakers, something Latin yet enjoyable and sets the mood. The noise of the patrons overpowers the Hispanic beats, and amongst the crowd, I began to feel nervous being here on my own.

Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

I can hear Lana yelling, “Put your big girl panties on.”

Just breathe.

Three.

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