There are some things you just have to deal with—like your hot-as-hell college booty call moving in next door with his adorable daughter.
The only time we've ever gotten along is under the sheets. Old habits die hard because two minutes on my front porch is 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 Mason Black.
She's barking up the wrong tree. He's not The One, no matter how much I swoon when I see him with his daughter. I have no intentions of rekindling anything with him—until a rubber spider in my mailbox starts off the mother-of-all neighborhood prank wars, just like the ones we had in college, and throws me right into his path.
