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I fu*king hate my next-door neighbor, Piper.
She always turns her nose up whenever we bump into each other in the hallway, tells me to lower my music when I can barely hear it myself, finds something wrong with me, and glares at me every chance she gets. It’s like she gets offended by the very air I breathe.
It shouldn’t turn me on, but it does.
Especially since it’s hard to ignore just how beautiful she is, how her eyes light up when she’s genuinely happy, or how she tries to mask her sadness with anger.
I fu*king hate Piper.
Mostly because she ignores me.
So I do what every mature, self-respecting man in his mid-30s does when he’s attracted to someone who won’t ever give him the time of day—I piss her off, then flirt with her, then ask her out.
Piper thinks I’m joking.
She never says no, just rakes her eyes up and down my body and turns her back on me with a scoff.
Fine, Piper. Fine. I get the message.
Challenge accepted.
