The first time I met Jax Blackwood things went a little sideways. In my defense, I didn't know he was Jax Blackwood-who expects a legendary rock star to be shopping for groceries? More importantly, a blizzard was coming and he was about to grab the last carton of mint-chocolate chip. Still, I might have walked away, but then he smugly dared me to try and take the coveted ice cream. So I kissed him. And distracted that mint-chip right out of his hands. Okay, it was a dirty move, but desperate times and all that. Besides, I never expected he'd be my new neighbor. An annoying neighbor who takes great pleasure in reminding me that I owe him ice cream but would happily accept more kisses as payment. An irresistible neighbor who keeps me up while playing guitar naked-spectacularly naked-in his living room. Clearly, avoidance is key. Except nothing about Jax is easy to ignore-not the way he makes me laugh, or that his particular brand of darkness matches mine, or how one look from him melts