Frenemies

They’re frenemies. With a whole lot of benefits.

There are some things you just have to deal with.

Like my old college booty call moving in next door with his unfairly cute daughter and a truckload of sexiness I didn’t see coming.

The problem? The only place we’ve ever gotten along is under the sheets. Two minutes on my front porch tells me old habits die hard, because that’s exactly how long it takes us to bicker.

Not that a little fact like that bothers my healthy, eighty-year-old grandmother and roommate who’s determined to see me married before she bites the dust. Unfortunately for me, she’s got her eye set on Cameron Black.

She’s barking up the wrong tree. The smug, sexy guy next door is not The One, no matter how swoony it is when he braids his daughter’s hair or reads her stories or mows the back lawn for my snake of a grandmother.

I swear I’ll stay away from him—until a rubber spider through my letterbox starts off the mother of all neighborly prank wars, just like the ones we had in college, and throws me right into his path.

And, um, his bedroom.

Woops…