Straight guys don’t have crushes on other dudes, right? Except my roommate, Whit, is intriguing, and I find myself watching him constantly. He’s a mystery I can’t figure out and these feelings I’m having about him are confusing. Then, one night, I find myself wrapped around him, and after that, I can't get enough. But Whit has secrets. He doesn’t let people in, and the more I fall for him, the less I know. I can't let him go, though. Until I realize I’m going to be the one broken at the end of our story.

My path to success never included an enemy as a teammate, especially one as infuriating as Quinton de Haas. Clawing under my skin is his favorite pastime, only feeding the animosity between us as the years pass. We’re as completely opposite as two people can be; the golden boy and the black sheep. Constantly at odds or at each other’s throats. The only thing we can agree on is hockey is our true love, and we’ll do whatever it takes to come out on top. I never imagined that drive would lead me to do the unthinkable: falling into bed with my not-so-straight rival.

I’m Logan Lewis: popular, charming, and athletic. All the girls love me. Yep, I’ve really got it made. Then I find myself in danger of failing my chemistry class and losing my sports scholarship. I know the only person who can save me is the smartest science tutor on campus. Theo Reign is brilliant. He’s also cold, antisocial, moody, and mean. He looks at me like he hates me, but touches me like he wants me. There’s something just beneath the surface that draws me in. His secret pain mirrors my own, and I suddenly find myself craving him.

Adam Mulvaney lives a double life. By day, he’s the spoiled youngest son of an eccentric billionaire. By night, he’s an unrepentant killer, one of seven psychopaths raised to right the wrongs of a justice system that keeps failing. Noah Holt has spent years dreaming of vengeance for the death of his father, but when faced with his killer, he learns a daunting truth he can’t escape. His father was a monster.

Conor: It starts with a drunken text pic. The kind I would normally never send. Only, instead of it going to the flirty hotel bartender, it goes to some random stranger who actually responds. Wells: The first thing I notice about Conor Newell when he sits down in my high-rise conference room is how delightfully nervous he is. Then I see his tie. The same geeky tie that’s held hostage on my phone. The one that belongs to my anonymous late-night texter. And it changes everything.