BLOG TOUR: EXTRACT - A BAD BOY STOLE MY BRA by Lauren Price

Happy Wednesday Everyone, for me it's the last Wednesday of term so I'm pretty happy. Only two more days till I can finally start reading my huuuge TBR pile. 

The reason I tell you this is because this is one of the books on the TBR, today I'm very excited to be part of this blog tour with a extract from the book. Instantly when I read the blurb, I am very intrigued and sounds like such a funny book, so I can't wait to get a moment to finally sit a read this book. So here is a bit more about the book and make sure you enjoy the chapter, it's a cracker. 

Image result for a bad boy stole my bra
A Bad Boy Stole My Bra
by Lauren Price
Release Date - July 12 2018
Publisher - Black and White Publishing
Buy - Amazon | Book Depository

Imagine waking up in the middle of the night to find your new neighbour dangling out of your window. And not only is he dangling out of your window, he’s also clutching your tattiest bra in his hand. What. The. Actual. Fudge.

When notorious bad boy and new kid on the block, Alec Wilde, moves in next door to Riley, sparks fly. Alec is everything that Riley despises – he’s cocky, obnoxious and annoyingly handsome – and after their ‘unconventional’ introduction, Riley is determined to get her own back. Alec picked the wrong girl’s bra to steal!

A furious prank war ensues, and it’s clear Alec has met his match in Riley. But behind the playful give-and-take, Riley is barely holding it together. Her family is struggling to cope after her cousin’s death, her cheating ex-boyfriend is back in town and maybe, just maybe, she’d like more from Alec than banter and practical jokes. But how can Riley get through to the real him when she can’t even take herself seriously?


Chapter Extract


"“Mario wins again!”"

"As the cheesy, overplayed music comes to a close and the screen goes dark, I drop my controller into my lap in defeat. Be it the stuffiness of this room or the fact that this is our sixth tournament today, I lost my first game of Mario Kart in months . . . to my eight-year-old brother. I watch through narrowed eyes as Jack catapults around the room in victory, lifting his shirt over his head to reveal his pale torso. Seriously, what is it with boys and showing their chest when they win something? Is it some sort of animalistic display of dominance originating from our monkey ancestors? I can’t help but snort in amusement as I consider this. He’s such a little show-off. My hands dart out to grab him by the sides and I tug him down to tickle him."

"“You wish, monkey boy,” I scoff. “We both know that I"

"kicked your butt on the other games.”"

"Jack squirms to free himself from my hold, shooting me a glare as he brushes himself down. He hates me tickling him. “Monkey boy? I beat you with Mario, not Donkey Kong.”"

I’m way too lazy to explain my thought process to him so I just roll my eyes.

“Riley, can you come here please?” Mom calls from downstairs. If it wasn’t for the urgency I can hear in her voice, I would probably make more of a scene asking why she can’t just come upstairs to me, but she sounds excited about something. There’s a spark of vitality in the words that I haven’t heard in a while and it intrigues me.

Mumbling my protest instead, I swing my legs from the beanbag and give Jack a warning look with a clear subliminal message: Steal my seat, I steal your life. Of course, by the time I’ve reached the door, he’s already sitting there. Oh, how I

miss the days when I had some kind of authority over him.

As I enter the kitchen, I’m hit with the heart-warming aroma that signals Mom’s baking: cupcakes and coffee, like the inside of a Starbucks, but much cosier. It’s something that I haven’t smelled for quite a while, and my sourness at having to walk all the way down the stairs disappears in a second at the sweetness of the nostalgia. I can’t help but smile as I see her standing behind the kitchen counter in an apron. She looks up and brushes her hands off immediately. There’s icing sugar in the curls of her hair.

“Come and look at this,” she says, beckoning, abandoning her half-iced cupcakes. She leads me over to the kitchen window and pulls back the plaid drapes ever so slightly, just enough for me to peek through. Shooting her a look of bewilderment and wondering if this has anything to do with the new geraniums she bought yesterday, I squeeze my head into the gap and look out at the neighbours’ driveway. I was expecting a potted plant, so what I see instead surprises me greatly.

We have new neighbours.

Parked next door, in the house that has been empty for almost six months now, is a large removal truck. The giant green anomaly overshadows the small car beside it, and my eyebrows rise further upwards as I watch the family climbing out of the vehicle. A woman steps out first, and reaches into the back to grab a small girl from the back seat. Her dark curls are scraped back into a clasp, and her features are delicate and feminine. It’s nice that someone around Mom’s age is moving in next door – my mom could use someone to talk to living so close by. The girl the woman carries is around the age of four or five, with the cutest baby face I’ve ever laid eyes on and two brunette bunches on either side of her head. Adorable.

I’m not sure who I was expecting to see get out of the car next, but it definitely wasn’t the alluring, moody boy that I see now. He looks around my age, and from what I can see of his ebony hair and angled jaw . . . he’s hot. No doubt the entire population of the student body will completely swarm this one. I can’t help but watch as he threads his fingers through his hair, slightly entranced. I’m a bit of a scientific hermit when it comes to the species of “the hot”, so the fact that I have an attractive male now living next door is enough to make my stomach flip.

I pull the drape further to the side, but to my complete horror, the boy’s head snaps up at the movement. His eyes latch onto mine as he notices me ogling. Oh. I pull away quickly, bumping back into Mom’s shoulder. I can already

feel a blush burning my cheeks. He must think I’m such a creep. Surprisingly though, by the time I’ve recovered enough courage to peek through again, he doesn’t look affected in the slightest. Bored almost, which reassures me.




I head straight back upstairs to my room and shut the door behind me. My bedroom is my haven. It’s not particu­larly glamorous or artsy, but it’s rustic and it feels like home. The entire far wall is dedicated to tacked posters of bands and TV shows. Everything in this room, from the mess of books to the mix of old vinyl records, screams introvert and I love it. My skateboard and old guitar sit propped against the wardrobe, and my double bed, complete with Star Wars sheets, sits in its usual unruly state just opposite my window. Funnily enough, my window exactly mirrors a window in the neighbouring house, separated only by a couple of metres.

Now that I have neighbours . . .

Oh crap.

I tiptoe towards the window and cautiously peer round the window frame into the room opposite. If my luck is as bad as I estimate it to be, I can’t risk being spotted staring at Neighbour Dude again. Sure enough, as my eyes rest on the room opposite, I have to fight to restrain my groan. Of

course it’s the guy. I guess my drapes will have to remain closed from now on. I tug the purple material further back to see that he’s packing away his things. He hasn’t noticed me this time, at least. It’s only this close up that I realise quite how attractive this guy is. With a strong, chiselled jawline and defined cheekbones, his face is angular and, dare I say it, sexy. Inky locks curl over his forehead, and his eyes are a deep cobalt.

He turns to face the other way and I snap out of my daze, a little surprised with myself that I have stared at him so much already. I will be the first to openly admit that I haven’t had the best experiences when it comes to boys, so it’s really out of the question for me to have a crush. I guess there isn’t any harm in looking, but I close the drapes and walk away just to be on the safe side.

Putting on my music, I settle down to do some studying. My grades dropped a lot last year, and I’m determined to get back on track in time for Senior year. Studying is a way to focus my energy so that I feel like I’m actually accom- plishing something in my free time. Twenty One Pilots blast through my docking station. I nod my head in time to the music and stare down at the equations in front of me until my eyes blur. I’ve never been good at Math, and now I’m having to fight my hardest to keep up. Nothing seems to click. I just hope this extra work will be worth it in my final exams next year.

My phone buzzes. It’s Violet again.



I escaped from that hellish date! I’ll tell you all the details on

Monday xx



Don’t get distracted by the phone. Ugh go on then. May as well reply.

I type in a hasty message before turning my phone off. No doubt if I didn’t, Mom would walk in, see me texting Violet and think I’d been doing that the entire time. We have some major trust issues in our relationship – mainly due to the bowl cut she made me get when I was twelve. Yup, it looked just as bad as it sounds, if not worse.

After a solid hour of studying, I finally finish and it’s getting late. I stifle my yawn and begin to get changed ready for bed, ensuring the drapes are firmly closed before I strip. I would not want Neighbour Dude to get more than he bargained for by moving into that room. I don’t think that’s the kind of first impression I want to make, funnily enough.

I slide into the covers in my pyjama top, frowning as I realise that the music next door is playing pretty loudly. Surely that heavy metal couldn’t belong to the mom of a toddler. No, my bet is placed on the boy in the room next door, which would explain why I seem to be taking the brunt of the volume. Judging by the raucous laughter and heavy rock music, Mr Neighbour has friends over. He hasn’t even been here for a day, and already he’s having a party. If this isn’t foreshadowing, I don’t know what is.

I sigh, frustrated, and slam the pillow over my head in an attempt to muffle the sound, curling further into the soft sheets and hoping for the best.

Twenty minutes later, I’m still unsuccessful.

Looks like this will be a long night.

I stir to a small sound near by, and groan quietly. The music from next door still hasn’t stopped! Can a girl not get her beauty sleep any more? Blinking to clear my vision, I prop myself up on one elbow and turn on the lamp beside my bed. Light floods the room, and I survey the lit scene quickly, my jaw slackening in surprise at what I see.

I stare wide-eyed at the boy, who seems just as paralysed as I am.

His eyes lock onto mine in shock and we stare at each other for what feels like hours. He’s positioned halfway through the window, reaching out towards the opposite sill, with my Minnie Mouse bra swinging in his closed fist.

What. The. Actual. Fudge.

-Don't forget to buy your copy to continue the story.- 

Lauren

About Lauren
Lauren Price is 19 years old, and first began writing A Bad Boy Stole My Bra at the age of 14. Lauren spent her childhood with her nose in a book or writing short stories and, as a self-confessed book lover, intends to study English at university. She currently lives at home in Coventry.

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