Kiefer Marks. Rich Bad Boy Biker. Tattoo Artist. Chiseled Abs. My next-door neighbor for the last year. The hottest guy I’ve ever seen. That pretty much sums up the guy I'm in love with. And oh yeah, he’s also the guy I’ve barely spoken to. The thing is, I’m not his type. I’m the town librarian. I’m way too curvy—and much too shy. They call him Mr. Big Stuff around town and I’m pretty sure the nickname is all about what he’s packing in those gray sweatpants he rocks when he goes to the gym. (I go to the bakery across from the gym and eat a doughnut—while waiting for him to come out all sweaty and hot.) That’s why I watch him from a distance, daydreaming and putting his face in every fantasy that I can imagine. You would think that wouldn’t be very many for a virginal introvert who gets tongue-tied around the opposite sex, but I read a lot of romance books, and trust me, Kiefer Marks is the star in some very hot dreams. It’s all harmless and never going anywhere. Until he kisses me and I start to believe in dreams....