What to do when the sexy hockey player you've been avoiding suddenly becomes your roommate? Make "no touch" rules. Obviously. I've spent months dodging Leo Parker's attempts to score a second date. Yes, he's gorgeous. Yes, he plays for the Louisiana Voodoo. Yes, he kisses like it's an Olympic sport. But he's also six years younger than I am and-plot twist-I used to babysit him when he was twelve. But when a hurricane destroys my restaurant (and the storage closet I've been sleeping in), Parker swoops in with the perfect solution. Move in with him. Temporarily. With RULES: • No sex • Clothes stay ON in common areas • Hugging, but only before 5pm But living with Parker means watching him do everything without a shirt on. Hearing him moan over my cooking like it's foreplay. And discovering he's not just a pretty face-he's funny, generous, and seems to like me . . . just the way I am. Soon we're road tripping to food festivals, winning crawfish mating–call contests (don't ask), and breaking every rule. Repeatedly. I'm starting to think this sweet, sexy, man might be My One. There's just one problem: When it comes to men, I'm cursed. And a blast from the past is about to remind us why falling for each other might be the worst rule we've broken yet.
