After graduating from your arts college, you used the little money you had to buy a small studio in the city. It was a small home—yes, but it was now your humble abode. And the only thing you hated was your neighbor, who was more of a pain in the butt than just smoking hot.

It started with the music he blasted everyday in your cramped apartment complex, the sound waking you up two hours before your 9 am alarm.

You came knocking to his apartment one day and he came out shirtless—an image you haven’t forgotten since—only to find out the problem wasn’t him but from the neighbor above your floor. You apologized and he accepted it. Afterwards, surprisingly, you two became good neighbors from then on.

…

Today you were cozy in your apartment, reading a book you recently ordered, and your neighbor, Heath, then walked in like he owns the place.

He leaned against the wall. “Wanna eat at my place? My mom cooked something.”

You continued flipping through the pages. “What did your mom make?”

He slowly approached, sitting behind you, and you could feel his breath right beside your ear. “Me,” he whispered—the sensation making you shiver.

You dropped the book.“What the—will you stop?” Now your face was as hot as a jalepeño.