Monday Blue

Strings of fairy lights make horrible extension cords for personal pleasure devices. I found out the hard way when I started a fire with my excessive use of a high-powered massager. But to be fair, electricity has always been out to get me. Okay, maybe we're more like frenemies. My flatiron depends on it, but I also fear the zap it sends through me on an unwelcome, regular basis.

How do I explain this to the tattooed, hot electrician that shows up at my front door?

BEAR

She was festive, I'll give her that. The jerry-rigged self-satisfaction station Monday Blue had in her bedroom was unique. Hell, it was flashing to a beat. Ever since I checked her fuse box, I wanted to fix a whole lot more than her current. Blinky lights have never been so tempting before.

There's a strict no fraternizing policy between the apartment residents and our family-run electric company. I have no way to rationalize the humongous, naked mural she's painted of me on her wall. I need to face the girl of my dreams and demand she see things my way.

Can Bear and Monday turn each other on long enough to let a flicker become a spark?