The Biker Next Door

She was just trying to keep her life simple. wake up, go to work, and come home to peace and quiet in her little house on the corner. But peace packed its bags the moment he pulled up next door, dragging in loud music, leather jackets, and the growl of a motorcycle that shook the street.

She hadn't even seen his face yet, but she felt him. Heard the sound of his boxes hitting the porch, the low rumble of his voice through the walls, the crackle of something new in the air. So she dusted off her old diary, something she hadn't touched since she was a girl, and started writing again just to make sense of the storm settling in next door.

But when she finally laid eyes on him?

Whew.

Tall, lean, and fine enough to make a woman forget her prayers. He had trouble written all over him, Sultry eyes, long nights, the kind of eyes that undressed her from his porch without saying a single word. And when their eyes locked for the first time? It was like the South stood still.

She knew better than to fall for a man like that.
He wasn't her type.
He wasn't her plan.
But something about him pulled at her like heat off the pavement in July-slow, rising, and impossible to ignore.

Now every glance is a dare. Every night, a temptation. And that old diary? It's filling up faster than she can stop her heart from racing.

Because sometimes love don't come in a perfect package.
Sometimes, it moves in next door with a loud bike and a past nobody wants to talk about.
And sometimes?
It sees you before you even know you've been seen.