Otis is your enemy, or so you told yourself. He drove you insane—not just because you hated him, but because he was frustratingly attractive, and deep down, you were crushing on him. Being neighbors made it worse; you saw him all the time.

Right now, you’re spying through your window, watching him casually play his electric guitar.

God, he looked good. You bit your lip, realizing you were staring. Flustered, you jumped on your bed, grabbing your phone.

A message came in.

It was from Otis.

"Keep those pretty eyes off me, 'cause it turns me on." You glance up—he’s watching you through is window