Trouble with the guy next door
Guys like Tucker Moore don't date girls like me.
His boring ol' washboard abs look like they were sculpted by the gods, and I have more curves than a backroad in a country song.
He can charm the panties off anyone, but I am better off hiding behind my camera lens.
He's my next-door neighbor and the definition of a bad idea.
I have no business thinking about him, and I should have pushed him out of my dreams the moment he showed up.
I'd have been better off not tempting him into anything more when I should have been walking straight into the friend-zone.
Which I do, faster than he can say "Just friends."
It doesn't matter that he spends more time in my apartment than his or that he smiles at me in a way that makes my stomach flip.
That's just Tucker.
Before I know it, he's my best friend.
And completely off-limits.
A weekend away is our downfall, and I pack my bag so full, I can't fit my logic.
Because Tucker would be fine.
But I'd end up in Trouble with the Guy Next Door.