Sebastian “Bash” Vogel, the magnetic, cross-dressing CEO of AnaVoge, has long been a lone island when it comes to his personal life. Self-assured and playful, he’s never left wanting for suitors - but Bash isn’t looking for something permanent. He’s more than fulfilled with his company and his closest friends, and no one is going to shake up the status quo. That is, until he’s thrown over the shoulder of one of Chicago’s finest and hauled out of a burning building.

I’m never one to turn down a bet. Especially not when it comes to retaliating against the dean for pulling a dick move before summer break. So when the dean’s golden child arrives at Astor for his freshman year, my fellow troublemakers throw down a wager I can’t resist. The target: the dean’s son, John Thomas Hawthorne, or “JT”. The bet: corruption in any way I choose. It should’ve been easy. With his mess of brown curls, pouty lips, and good-boy reputation, JT is the perfect revenge. And even better? He’s straight.

If I had to describe Sean Bailey, it would be: A surly, temperamental pain in my ass. Never in that equation would I ever include the word boyfriend - and not just because he’s straight. The older brother of my life-long best friend, Sean is a detective for the Chicago PD, and is also known as Detective “Dick” for being...well, a surly, temperamental pain in everyone’s ass. He also happens to be the best they have, which is why I find myself on his doorstep the night my life is threatened by an anonymous stalker.

Massive world tours. Over a hundred million albums sold. Groupies galore. Every day is a party for Viper and the guys of TBD, the biggest rock band in the world. But it all comes to a screeching halt when the lead singer walks out of the studio one day and never comes back. Ear-blistering vocals. Butchered lyrics. Fame chasers. After months of lackluster auditions, Viper, the lead guitarist and resident bad boy of the group, is ready to find solace in the bottom of a bottle.

Charles Preston Carmichael is the most infuriating man I've ever met. I want to sock the golden boy of college hockey right in the mouth. He enjoys telling me everything I'm messing up—publicly. And since he's my roommate for the next year, I can't avoid him. Yet there's something about him that makes me watch him. Something dark. A secret I want to uncover. When he returns from a weekend away, broken and haunted, I can't keep my distance anymore. He needs someone, and I'll be damned if it's not me.

Kind, caring, and protective. Those are the three qualities I’m looking for when it comes to my dream man. In a city as big as Chicago, you wouldn’t think he would be that hard to find, right? Wrong. Sure, my boss found a super-sexy detective and my best friend fell madly in love with the most eligible bachelor around. But the only person I’ve met recently is a broody bad boy who saved me at a sketchy pub. He’s grumpy, rude, and honestly, not that likeable at all. Hardly my “dream” guy. So why can’t I stop thinking about him?

My name is Hudson Newgate, but my teammates call me "New Guy". That was my nickname in Chicago, too. And Vancouver. That’s what happens when you keep getting traded. Brooklyn is my last chance, especially after my poor performance last season.

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.

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.

I have to stop replaying the one night I spent with my rival. Trouble is, that white-hot encounter with the other quarterback answered a lot of questions I’ve had about myself, but it also led me into this mess where he hates me. I never showed up for our second date. Since, well, life happened, and the worst part is he’ll never know how much that night meant to me.