I hate Drew Woods, and she hates me. Too bad I'm not the cold jerk most make me out to be.
When she needs help, I have no problem moving the single mom and her baby into my home despite how she makes me feel. Alive.
She's too mouthy, too nosy, and her curves are way too distracting for my own sanity. Giving in to Drew would be a short-lived fix, and I knead something permanent to heal my pain.
I'd be insane to think we could be anything more than temporary . . . right?
Contains mature themes.
Most people would probably be embarrassed to land themselves back in their hometown and working at a pizzeria after an ugly divorce.
Not me.
It's home, and I have one last shot to make Wren Daniels see me as more than just her brother's best friend.
When the opportunity to show her what's been right in front of her this whole time presents itself, I take it, holding nothing back this time.
Wren thinks we're pretending, but there's nothing fake about the way I feel.
After all, she's always had . . . a pizza my heart.
Contains mature themes.
'Hi Monty. Wanna see my python?'
That's how I ended up in the bathroom of some dive bar with a stranger.
Me, Monty Andrews, the quintessential virgin girl next door.
I was so out of my element, but there was no denying our explosive attraction, even via text.
Commence Operation Bang Each Other Out of Our Systems, because that was all it was-unfinished business.
I had no intention of falling back into the sheets with the tattooed, muscly, dirty-in-the-best-kind-of-way single dad over and over again . . . but I did.
Everything was going great-until we discovered I was his son's teacher.
Contains mature themes.
When I put up a ROOMMATE WANTED poster, he was the last person on earth I thought would respond.
He was also the last person on earth I'd agree to let live with me . . . on purpose.
But, here we are-roommates. I'm certain we can coexist without it being awkward, and I'm determined to make it work. There will be no sexual tension building with each accidental touch, no flutters when he wears that stupid backward baseball cap, and definitely no flirting when we text back and forth.
Caleb Mills can't be the guy for me. He's my best friend's ex-boyfriend.
And that would be wrong . . . right?
Contains mature themes.
A wrong number is supposed to be just that-a wrong number.
Delete. Done.
Do not continue to text. Do not flirt.
A wrong number shouldn't be the first person on your mind in the morning, or the last at night . . . and you're definitely not supposed to talk them into buying a baby goat.
Because that would be weird.
When Zach Hastings and I get into a wrong-number mix-up, we don't follow the rules. We keep texting and flirting, because he's wicked funny and perfectly nerdy and a wonderful distraction.
I'm not looking for love, and Zach definitely had the wrong number.
But maybe . . .
Maybe he's the right guy.
Contains mature themes.
