Obsessed with the Player

I’m a straight-laced grump and he’s the most infuriating player I’ve ever met, but I still want to kiss him stupid—even if I’m supposed to be straight.

Newly single for the first time in forever and in dire need of a room AND a job, I’m convinced that life hates me, because my best option is to beg Andy Jacobs for help.
The bane of my existence. An unrepentant cocky player, ex-college boxer, now gym owner who loves to push my buttons to my stuck-up, unemployed, having-a-crisis, accountant self.
Also, a guy who hit on my girlfriend while I was only feet away from him.
He has everything I need, and for some reason, it got into my head that he could also teach me to be single.
There’s only one problem.
His dirty dares become a stupid game of chicken, and too quickly, barbed retorts turn into heated hookups that rock me to the core.
I left my last relationship feeling like a failure, and I know guys like him would never look twice at guys like me, not for more than this…enemies-with-benefits thing.
This has no future.
So why does the idea of ruining this hurt so much?