Guys Next Door

I never intended to become a stripper. Two years ago, I was in Nashville chasing the songwriter dream. Sleepless nights between day jobs were spent writing rock ballads and trying to make a name for myself. That all changed with one phone call that forced me to return to Atlanta. Needing consistent income to pay the mountain of debt I'd come home to, I traded stripping my soul for stripping my clothes. Then Archer West comes crashing into my VIP room, tempting me to break all of my rules.

Messing around with Arsen is like playing with fire, and I can't help but crave the burn. The day I met my best friend's new stepbrother I fell into hate with the moody jerk. The feeling is mutual. I loathe him and unfortunately want him in equal measures. At least he seems to be suffering the same undeniable pull. He infuriates me. He's crawled under my skin. Arsen has the ability to ruin me for anyone else, and I want to let him.

I'm not your typical matchmaker. For one, I'm a man who's covered in tattoos. Despite my appearance, there's a reason ninety-five percent of my clients seek out my services based on referrals. I'm good at what I do. But lately I've grown bored with the same daily routine. Then an unexpected request piques my interest. CJ, the former college basketball star who recently rented the office suite next to mine, isn't looking to place a ring on someone's finger any time soon. He's interested in something else entirely. It's a challenge. Something new.