LS Phoenix's Blog, page 20

The Best “Irresistible Neighbor” Romances

There’s something dangerous about living so close to temptation. The guy next door has a habit of showing up at the worst possible times… looking way too good to ignore.

He’s there when she’s taking out the trash in pajamas. He hears the arguments. The bad dates. The heartbreak.

And when the tension finally tips over into something more? There’s no escaping it—he’s right there.

Some neighbor romances sizzle with tension. Others charm with slow-burn feels. The best ones? Do both.

From forbidden glances across balconies to unexpected late-night knocks, the irresistible neighbor trope brings all the drama… with a side of convenience.

Here are a few suggestions I loved:

• Archer’s Voice by Mia Sheridan -  Emotional and quiet bad boy lives next door. A truly unique neighbor romance.

• Roomies by Christina Lauren - They fake a relationship for convenience, but the tension? All too real.

• Play With Me by Becka Mack - He’s her brother’s best friend and her new neighbor. Banter, angst, and off-the-charts chemistry.

• The Guy on the Right by Kate Stewart - Sweet, slow-burn tension with a guy-next-door who’s a total underdog—and completely irresistible.

The Bad Boy Next Door - Short Story

When Your New Neighbor Looks Like Sin and Smirks Like He Knows It

Moving into a new place should be simple. A fresh start. A clean slate. A chance to unpack your dishes without eye contact from the guy next door.

But what happens when your new neighbor is tall, tatted, cocky—and inconveniently hot?

In The Bad Boy Next Door, Lennox West isn’t looking for trouble. She just wants to settle in quietly, wear her oversized tees, and avoid the kind of man who comes with warning labels.

But Zayne Hart? He is the warning.

One cocky smirk, one filthy promise, and suddenly avoiding him isn’t just hard—it’s impossible.

If you love:

• Forbidden tension with a side of sarcasm

• Broody men who drop to their knees for the woman they want

• Spicy, no-apologies hookups that turn into something more than expected…

You’re going to want to meet the boy next door. Just… maybe don’t knock.

The Bad Boy Next Door

The box in my arms weighs about the same as a small child, and it’s blocking most of my view as I shuffle toward the front door of my new place. I’m two steps from freedom, or a faceplant, when a voice cuts through the air.

“You planning to carry all that by yourself, or are you just into punishment?”

I flinch. Hard. The box wobbles, but I catch it in time. Peeking around the corner, I come face to chest with a wall of tattoos and sin.

My new neighbor, and he’s shirtless. Of course he is.

Dark hair. Square jaw. A smirk that should be illegal in at least three states.

“Thanks, but I’ve got it,” I mutter, turning quickly toward the door.

He doesn’t move.

“You sure? I’m great with heavy things,” he says, gaze dragging down my body like he’s already undressing me.

God help me.

“Seriously. I’m good,” I say again, this time with more edge.

He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, Lenny. Just trying to be neighborly.”

I blink. “It’s Lennox.”

“Well, I think Lenny’s cute.”

I narrow my eyes. “Too bad you’re not.”

That grin just gets wider. “We’ll see about that.”

The second time I run into Zayne Hart, I’ve locked myself out in nothing but a sleep shirt and socks.

It’s not even cute sleepwear.

Just a baggy tee that says “Introvert Mode: Activated.”

Which, honestly, couldn’t be more ironic considering what I’m about to do.

I knock and his door opens faster than it should. Like he was already standing there. Watching. “Problem, Lenny?”

I grit my teeth. “I locked myself out.”

Zayne doesn’t say a word. Just leans against the doorframe and drags his gaze from my bare thighs up to the messy bun on top of my head.

“You look cold.”

“I’m fine.”

“You also look embarrassed.”

“I was until you showed up. Now I’m just annoyed.”

He laughs, slow and deep, and steps back. “Come on in. Let’s keep the neighborhood gossip to a minimum.”

An hour later, I’m still in his kitchen.

One drink turned into two and one sarcastic comment turned into three too many stolen glances.

Zayne leans against the counter, barefoot, a glass in his hand and that stupid smirk in place like it was made just to torture me.

“You always this tense, Lenny?” He cocks his eyebrow.

“You always this cocky?” I retort.

He shrugs. “Only when I know it’s working.”

I roll my eyes, but it’s a struggle not to smile. I hate that he’s funny. Hate that he’s hot. Hate that when he laughs at one of my jokes, my stomach flips like we’re in a damn romcom.

“I should go,” I say, standing up fast.

Zayne doesn’t move, but his eyes lock on mine. “Why?”

“Because this…” I motion between us. “Is a bad idea.”

He nods slowly, but there’s nothing casual about the look he gives me. “That’s the fun kind.”

I try to squeeze past him, but he shifts just enough to block me. Just enough to make my breath catch.

His hand comes up, slow and deliberate, fingers curling around the back of my neck. The pressure is gentle, but there’s no mistaking the command in it.

He pulls me in. Closer. Until his mouth is hovering just above mine, a breath away. I can feel the heat of him, the tension crackling in the sliver of space between us.

“Tell me to stop,” he says, voice low, rough, deadly serious.

I don’t.

His hands then slide to my hips. His mouth brushes mine. Barely. Teasing.

“I think you want to find out what kind of bad I really am. Don’t you Lenny?”

My heart is slamming against my ribs. Every cell in my body is screaming yes, but I force out, “You’re my neighbor.”

His lips ghost over mine again. “Exactly. No excuses when you get locked out again.”

And then he kisses me. Hard. Hungry. Hands on my hips like he already owns me. By the time he pulls back, I’m not even pretending to play it cool.

Zayne’s smile is softer now, but no less dangerous. “Next time, don’t bother knocking.”

His words echo in my head. ‘Next time, don’t bother knocking’.

Shaking my head back and forth slowly, “I won’t.”

Zayne’s hand slides up my back, fingers curling into my shirt like he’s deciding whether to rip it off or take his time. My breath catches when he backs me into the counter, slow and steady, like he was ready for this.

“I told myself I’d leave the new girl alone,” he murmurs, lips dragging across my jaw. “Barely lasted two days.”

“You lasted two,” I whisper, “that’s impressive.”

His teeth graze the edge of my neck, and I swear my knees threaten to give out. “Keep talking like that and I’ll show you what else I’m good at lasting.”

My stomach flips. My thighs clench. And suddenly I’m gripping the edge of the counter like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.

Zayne’s hand finds the hem of my sleep shirt, his palm hot against my bare thigh and moving upward. “You’re not wearing anything under this, are you?”

I suck in a breath as his hands skim my thighs and bite my lip at the feel of his hands on me. “Maybe I forgot.”

His laugh is low, wicked. “No, sweetheart. I think you wanted me to find out.”

Strong hands lift me onto the counter in one smooth motion, and before I can blink, he’s wedged between my legs, mouth crashing into mine like we’re past the point of teasing. Like he’s done pretending he doesn’t want this.

His tongue sweeps in, hot and demanding, and I moan into his mouth when his hand slides higher, thumb brushing just beneath the curve of my ass.

“You’ve been walking around here in this shirt,” he growls, “thinking I wasn’t going to do something about it?”

“I didn’t think you’d be so… invested,” I breathe.

He grins against my skin. “I’m not your boyfriend, Lenny. I’m the guy who ruins your expectations and makes you forget their names.”

My head falls back as he dips lower, trailing kisses from my collarbone to the soft spot beneath my ear.

“And you’re mine now,” he adds, voice rough. “At least until morning.”

I don’t argue. Because right now? I want to be his. Just this once.

Or maybe… not just once.

Zayne drops to his knees like it’s the only place he wants to be. Like the space between my thighs was always meant to be his. His hands glide up my bare legs, fingers curling possessively around my thighs as he spreads me wider on the counter.

“You’re f•cking soaked,” he murmurs, voice thick with hunger. “Tell me you’ve thought about this.”

“I haven’t,” I lie, breath catching.

He grins. “You’re a terrible liar, Lenny.”

Then his mouth is on me.

I gasp, my hands flying to his shoulders, grabbing hold as his tongue slides between my l•ps and finds the spot that makes my back arch.

He groans like he needs this, like he’s the one unraveling.

His hands grip my thighs tighter, keeping them open as his tongue works me over with slow, devastating precision. Every flick, every swirl has me clenching around nothing, desperate for more. He sucks my cl•t into his mouth, lips locking onto me like he owns this part of me now.

“Zayne,” I gasp, fisting his hair. “Oh my God—”

“That’s right,” he growls against me, sending vibrations through my core. “C•me for me, baby. Let me taste how f•cking sweet you are.”

The pressure builds fast, almost too fast, and when he sucks me again, harder this time, my whole body tenses.

And I break.

My orga•sm slams into me like a freight train, and I cry out, head thrown back, thighs shaking around his face as he keeps going, licking every last aftershock from me like he’s starved for it.

When I finally look down, he’s watching me, mouth wet, eyes dark, smug as hell.

And then he stands, pulling a condom from somewhere I didn’t see and rolls it on.

Without warning, he grabs me by the waist, yanks me to the edge of the counter, and shoves his grey sweats down with one hand.

“I’ve been h•rd since the second I saw you,” he mutters, grasping his c•ck and dragging it through my slickness. “You have no idea what you’re in for.”

He grabs my thighs and holds them open, then lines himself up, pushing in with one hard thrust that knocks the air out of me.

I cry out, clutching at his shoulders as he bottoms out. “Zayne—”

“You feel that?” he growls, snapping his hips forward. “That’s what you’ve been teasing every time you walked past my door in nothing but those little shorts and cropped tanks.”

He thrusts again. Hard. Deep. Ruthless.

And I take it.

Because I want it. Because I need it.

He f•cks me like he owns me, like he’s wanted to since the moment we met. His grip on my thighs tightens with every thrust, keeping me wide open for him as he drives into me over and over, filthy words falling from his lips like a promise.

“Look at you,” he pants. “So f•cking wet. You love this, don’t you? Love having my c•ck deep inside you, f•cking the attitude right out of that smart mouth of yours.”

I moan, eyes fluttering shut as another wave builds.

Suddenly, his hand wraps around the back of my neck, firm and commanding, forcing my gaze up to his.

“Look at me while you take my c•ck,” he orders. “Don’t you dare close your eyes.”

My breath hitches as my eyes lock onto his, and everything hits harder, the tension, the thrusts, the sheer dominance in his eyes.

“Good girl,” he growls, pounding into me. “That’s it. Take every inch.”

The org•sm crashes over me with terrifying force, and this time, I scream his name.

Zayne’s hips slam forward one final time as he groans against my throat, spilling into the condome with a low, guttural curse.

We’re both panting, bodies shaking, still clinging to each other when the silence finally settles.

He brushes his nose along my jaw. “Told you… I’m the kind of bad you won’t recover from.”

And somehow, I know he’s right.

The End

Copyright © by LS Phoenix

No portion of this story may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Published by LS Phoenix

New Hampshire, USA

https://linktr.ee/authorlsphoenix

First Edition: March 2025

Cover Design by LS Phoenix

How to Make a Bad Boy Feel Real, Not Just a Trope

A leather jacket and a cocky smirk aren’t enough. If your bad boy is all attitude and no depth, he’s forgettable—and that’s the last thing readers want.

The key? Layers.

A real bad boy isn’t just rude—he’s guarded. He’s been through something. He pushes people away to protect himself. But he feels more than he lets on, and when he lets his guard down? It wrecks us.

Give him flaws. Give him fire. But also give him something to lose—and someone worth losing it for.

That’s what makes readers fall for him. Not the bad attitude, but the hidden heart.

Writing Chemistry Between Opposites (Sweet vs. Broody)

She’s soft smiles and sunshine. He’s scowls and silence. And somehow? They’re magnetic.

Opposite dynamics work because they challenge comfort zones. The sweet one softens the edges. The broody one adds fire to the softness. It’s a push-pull that naturally creates chemistry without needing grand gestures.

What makes it work isn’t just the contrast—it’s the way they see each other.

The broody bad boy notices the little things.

The sweet girl refuses to be scared off by his moodiness.

They bring out sides of each other no one else gets close to.

And let’s be honest… it’s hot watching the grump finally smile—but only for her.

The Best Neighbor-to-Lovers Stories That Got It Right

There’s something special about falling for the guy next door. The proximity. The tension. The casual moments that suddenly feel anything but casual.

Neighbor-to-lovers romances give us slow-burn banter, accidental sightings (yes, we see you shirtless-lawn-mowing scene), and the kind of tension that simmers until it finally boils over.

What makes them work? It’s the intimacy of everyday life.

Running into each other barefoot at the mailbox. Sharing a cup of sugar that turns into something way sweeter.

It’s relatable. It’s deliciously dangerous. And when it finally snaps? Worth every second of the buildup.

If you’ve ever wanted to fall for someone right down the hall or across the porch—this trope gets you.

Some of my suggestions:

• The Fine Print by Lauren Asher - Forced proximity and clashing personalities with emotional depth and delicious tension.

• Mr. Masters by T.L. Swan - She’s the live-in nanny next door. He’s broody, forbidden, and completely irresistible.

• Pestilence by Laura Thalassa - Okay, it’s not traditional neighbor romance, but the forced proximity dynamic hits hard—and the tension is wild.

• The One Month Boyfriend by Roxie Noir - They’re next-door neighbors faking a relationship. The line between real and pretend? Gone.

Why We Love a Good Bad Boy in Romance

There’s something magnetic about a man who breaks the rules—and makes you want to break a few with him. The bad boy in romance isn’t just about leather jackets and smirks (though we’re not mad about those either). He’s unpredictable, intense, and, more often than not, the one person the heroine’s warned to avoid.

So why do we fall so hard for him?

Because the bad boy doesn’t play by anyone’s rules—until her.

Because beneath that rough exterior is almost always a heart that beats only for one.

Because watching him fall—hard, fast, and unexpectedly—is one of the most satisfying arcs in romance.

We don’t want perfect. We want real. Messy. Passionate. Raw.

And the bad boy? He delivers all of that in spades.

Why We Can’t Resist a Cocky Hero Who Loses His Own Game

There’s a special kind of satisfaction in watching a confident, cocky hero set the rules—only to lose at his own game.

He’s smug. He’s smooth. He thinks he’s in control.

And then she happens.

Whether it starts with a bet, a dare, or just a teasing challenge, there’s something wildly addictive about the moment a hero realizes he’s no longer playing the game—he’s losing it. On purpose. Because somewhere along the line, the goal shifted from winning… to keeping her.

So why does this archetype work so well?

1. Because Confidence Is Hot—Until It Crumbles

We love confidence in a romance hero. Swagger, charm, a touch of arrogance—it’s fun to read and even more fun to challenge. Watching the hero unravel when he starts feeling things he didn’t expect? That’s where the real chemistry kicks in. His fall is what makes the story irresistible.

2. Because We Love Watching Him Get Blindsided

He thinks he’s got it all figured out. He can fake date her. Seduce her. Outsmart her. But then she surprises him. She challenges him. She sees through him. And that moment of realization—when he knows he’s in deeper than he planned? That’s gold. It flips the power dynamic in the best way.

3. Because Losing to Love Is the Most Satisfying Twist

There’s something deeply satisfying about watching a man who never intended to fall… completely fall apart over one woman. Not because she tricks him, but because she changes him. She makes him want more. Makes him want to try. Makes him care.

And for readers? That emotional shift hits every time.

4. Because We Know the Real Him Was Hiding Underneath

The cocky persona? That’s just surface-level. A shield. And we all know it. Watching that outer layer peel away to reveal vulnerability, devotion, and genuine love? That’s the arc that keeps us coming back. Especially when he’s the one chasing now—and he’s not playing anymore.

We don’t just love a cocky hero.

We love the moment he realizes he’s not bulletproof—and the girl who makes him surrender without ever asking him to.

The Best Books Where a Wager Leads to Real Feelings

There’s just something about watching a cocky hero (or heroine) get taken out by their own bet. Whether it starts as a dare, a challenge, or a playful game, these romances prove one thing: hearts were always on the line.

Here are some reader-favorite books where a simple wager sparks something real:

🎯 The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood

A fake relationship built on a deal, layered with slow burn tension and awkwardly adorable moments.

🔥 The Kiss Quotient by Helen Hoang

She hires him for a specific purpose. He agrees… but things get complicated—and tender—fast.

💬 The Roommate by Rosie Danan

Living together was supposed to be a setup. What happens next? Off-limits chemistry that explodes in all the right ways.

💥 The Unhoneymooners by Christina Lauren

Enemies forced into a fake honeymoon—and a bet to survive it without killing each other. Spoiler: they don’t stay enemies for long.

🧨 Hook, Line, and Sinker by Tessa Bailey

A friends-to-lovers story with a hero who bets he won’t fall for her… and then falls the hardest.

Got a favorite wager-gone-right book that made you swoon? Share it—I’m always looking to add to the stack.

Just One Kiss - Short Story

Beck’s halfway through a pint of cookie dough ice cream, scrolling on my phone when he says, “I dare you to kiss me and not fall in love.”

I pause mid-scroll, thumb hovering over my phone screen. “That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said.”

He grins like it’s a challenge, not an insult. “Come on, Sloane. You’ve lived here for seven months and I’ve seen you dodge more feelings than red flags. You’re overdue.”

 I roll my eyes and lean back into the couch cushions. “Please. If anything, you’re the one catching feelings. I’ve seen the way you look at me when I walk around in that Nirvana tee.”

 “It’s not the tee. It’s the fact that you don’t wear pants with it.”

 “Comfort is essential.” I scoff.

 Beck shifts toward me, setting the ice cream on the coffee table, his voice dropping just enough to stir something low in my stomach. “So what’s the problem, then? Scared you might actually like it?”

 “I’m not scared,” I say, sounding exactly like someone who is absolutely scared.

 “Then kiss me,” he says, all cocky confidence and spark. “And prove it.”

 It’s stupid. It’s dangerous.

It’s also Beck. my six-foot-three, too-charming-for-his-own-good roommate with tousled hair and a habit of walking around shirtless when he’s bored.

 I’ve avoided this tension for months. But right now, with the way he’s looking at me, all that restraint feels like it’s hanging on by a thread.

 So I kiss him. Just one kiss.

 Or that’s what I tell myself when I lean in, my hand fisting in the front of his hoodie like I’m still deciding. I’m not. The second my lips touch his, it’s like everything inside me jolts. I expect it to be light. Teasing. 

It’s not.

 His mouth moves over mine like he’s been waiting for this. Like he knew I’d cave eventually. One hand braces against the back of the couch behind me, the other slides to my waist, tugging me closer until I’m half in his lap, half too dizzy to care.

 The kiss deepens and everything else falls away, logic, pride, the fact that we share a bathroom.

 I finally pull back, breath catching, and immediately regret it.

 Because he’s still looking at me like that. Like I’m not just a dare anymore.

 “Well?” he says, voice low and rough. “Still winning?”

 I swallow. Hard. Then shrug. “It was just a kiss.”

 He leans in, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “You gonna run now, or admit you want more?”

 I shove off his lap like it’s no big deal, heart thundering. “I’m going to bed.”

 “Sure you are.”

 Smug bastard.

I make it exactly thirteen minutes in my room before I snap.

I brush my teeth. Change into a tank top and shorts. Climb into bed. Scroll Instagram. Try a podcast. Stare at the ceiling.

And the whole time, I can still feel Beck’s mouth on mine. The way he kissed me like it meant something. Like he knew I’d come crawling back for more.

Ass.

I throw the covers off and stalk down the hall barefoot, hoping he’s asleep so I can pretend I’m just grabbing water and not, you know, spiraling.

The kitchen light’s off, but the fridge casts a faint glow across the space, and there he is. Shirtless. Leaning on the counter like he knew I’d come looking.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks, voice low and thick.

“I’m thirsty,” I lie, reaching for a glass.

He doesn’t move. Just watches me with that unreadable look he gets when he’s pretending to be chill but already three steps ahead.

I fill the glass. Take a sip. Set it down.

Then blurt, “That kiss didn’t count.”

His brow lifts. “Didn’t count?”

I wave a hand. “Too much ice cream on your breath. Mood killer.”

He laughs under his breath. “You want a do-over.”

“No, I just…” I trail off. Shit. “You’re really not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

He crosses the room slowly, giving me every second to stop him. I don’t. I should.

But instead, I breathe, “Then kiss me again.”

And this time, it’s nothing like the first.

He grabs my hips and lifts me onto the counter like I weigh nothing. His mouth crashes into mine, all heat and hunger and something else that makes my toes curl. I gasp, and he uses it, deepening the kiss until I’m arching into him, hands gripping his shoulders like they’re the only steady thing in the world.

I don’t remember saying yes. Don’t remember agreeing to anything beyond that second kiss.

But then he’s dragging his hands up under my tank top, thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts, and I’m nodding like a damn bobblehead, pulling him closer, legs wrapping around his waist.

“Bedroom?” he growls against my neck.

“Too far.”

He laughs, low and sinful and then he’s dropping to his knees in front of me like he’s worshiping something. Like this whole dare was just a setup for exactly this moment. Then he slides my panties down my legs and off.

I let my head fall back as his hands grip my thighs, spreading them. His breath is hot. His mouth is hotter.

And when he finally touches me, tongue and lips and fingers working in sync like he knows every part of me already, I stop pretending I’m winning this game.

Because I’m not.

I’m unraveling.

Coming undone on a kitchen counter with my roommate’s name on my lips and nothing between us but every line we just shattered.

I wake up the next morning tangled in Beck’s sheets, wearing his shirt and nothing else.

Sunlight filters through the blinds, and he’s already awake, lying on his side with his head propped on his hand like he’s been watching me sleep.

“You fell in love, didn’t you?” he says, teasing.

I narrow my eyes. “You’re delusional.”

“You moaned my name last night. Twice.”

“That’s not love. That’s biology.”

He laughs and leans in, brushing his lips against mine. “Then let’s test the theory.”

I roll onto my back, already grinning. “One more kiss?”

“Kiss?”

He shakes his head. “No more bets. I’m in this for real.” His eyes pinging between mine.

And damn it… I think I am too.

All I can do is nod my head.

It’s all he needs to continue.

His mouth meets mine again, slower this time, like he’s not proving a point anymore, just making a promise. One I’m suddenly ready to believe in.

Because somehow, in between shared groceries, late-night trash TV, and one reckless dare, I stopped guarding my heart and gave it to the one person I never saw coming.

My roommate.

My mistake.

Maybe my future.

Copyright © by LS Phoenix

No portion of this story may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

Published by LS Phoenix

New Hampshire, USA

https://linktr.ee/authorlsphoenix

First Edition: April 2025

Cover Design by LS Phoenix

Enemies-to-Lovers, But With a Bet—Why We Love It

Enemies-to-lovers is already one of the most iconic tropes in romance—but throw in a bet and suddenly the tension hits a whole new level. Now it’s not just personal—it’s strategic, competitive, and almost always guaranteed to backfire in the most delicious way.

So, why are we so obsessed with this combo?

1. Because the stakes are doubled

In a typical enemies-to-lovers setup, you’ve already got that fiery tension. But a bet adds a ticking clock and a sense of challenge. It forces interaction, fuels the rivalry, and makes every touch or look carry extra weight. It’s no longer just “I shouldn’t want you.” It’s “I can’t lose to you.”

2. Because it’s the perfect excuse to get close

Neither of them would admit they want to spend time together—but now the bet demands it. Whether it’s fake dating, one-upping each other, or fulfilling the terms of a dare, they’re stuck together. And that forced proximity? That’s where the magic happens.

3. Because we love watching them lose control

The moment the game turns real—the moment one of them realizes this isn’t just strategy anymore? That’s the payoff. Readers live for that crack in the armor, that line that gets crossed, and the emotional mess that follows.

Enemies-to-lovers is all about resisting what’s inevitable. A bet just speeds that up—and makes the fall even harder. And honestly? That’s why we can’t get enough.