Trouble With the Guy Next Door

Guys like Tucker Moore didn't date girls like me.

His boring ol' washboard abs looked like they'd been sculpted by the gods, and I had more curves than a backroad in a country song.

He could charm the panties off anyone, but I was better off hiding behind my camera lens.

He was my next-door neighbor and the definition of a bad idea.

I had no business thinking about him, and I should've pushed him out of my dreams the moment he showed up. I should've taken a hard left into the friend zone instead of flirting with disaster.

Which I did, faster than he could say "just friends."

It didn't matter that he spent more time in my apartment than his or that he smiled at me in a way that made my stomach flip. That was just Tucker.

Before I knew it, he was my best friend. And completely off-limits.

A weekend away was our downfall, and I must've left my logic at home.

Tucker would be fine.

But I'd end up in Trouble with the Guy Next Door.