Blueball Band of Brothers

He's a tattooed, blue-eyed jerk who has no business being a single dad. He's also my next-door neighbor, and after negotiations, my grumpy employer for the summer. I don't put up with cocky males normally, and I certainly won't put up with that man making noise at all hours of the day and night while he builds his glamp-ground. I offer advice, but the stubborn fool just turns his tractor on to drown me out. He returns the favor by pushing my buttons and making me so angry I can't see straight. And I really want to be able to see his gorgeous body in those well-worn jeans and backward hat.

The tattooed stranger rode a motorcycle while helping me collect stray cats. My boots gave me blisters and he carried me on his back. I needed help and he didn't ask questions before assisting me. Could there be a more perfect man? It just made sense to lick him and claim him as mine right then and there. I probably should have asked him more questions before we slept together. Like, what's your last name? Where've you been living before moving here to my hometown? Is my older brother your best friend? Those kinds of questions. But sadly, I didn't. And now I'm staring at two pink lines.

He's a giant of a man who grunts for words and barks out orders, yet circumstances require I be his fake girlfriend and spend the weekend with him in an isolated cabin. And of course there's only one bed. Just my luck . . .But I need this commission check that only Boston can guarantee me. So I hike up the mountain 'til I can't feel my legs, eat questionable canned beans for sustenance, and vow to simply ignore him for two days. What I didn't count on was a freak blizzard to lock us in the cabin for a bit longer.

He's a dashing millionaire who thinks everything in life is one big joke. He's also my new neighbor, and after a humiliating experience in the cemetery that is my backyard, he becomes my shadow, showing up everywhere just to annoy me. I'm not a fan of happy people. They bother me with their constant grins and rainbows coming out of their ears, and Vander Booth is the king of smiles. Despite my efforts to scare him away with both my profession as an undertaker and my general need for frowning through most of my workday, he sticks around like a bad case of poison ivy.