I wasn't supposed to fall for my older brother's best friend. Unfortunately, that ship sailed when I was a teenager, even though Chase Hawthorne always treated me like nothing more than a younger sibling. Things were worse after my parents died. Chase was sweet and supportive, which only strengthened my feelings for him. But then he'd act like I couldn't take care of myself, and that part didn't go over well with me. Yeah, I had a habit of screwing up.

I’ve had a crush on my brother’s best friend since the moment I laid eyes on him four years ago. Warner Ramsey is 225 pounds of pure hotness, a media darling, and one of the best NFL quarterbacks in the league. Hell, he’s the reason I figured out I’m solidly bi. It was easy to keep my crush under control when I was in college. Now, we play for the same team, and every time he talks smack, I want to shut him up. With my mouth.

In my defense, I was left alone with a bottle of single-malt and a lifelong penchant for protecting my baby sister. Still, that's no excuse to send 10 drunk-texts on why her hasty marriage would be a mistake. If only I had just texted my sister. But nope. I accidentally sent the message to her, her groom, and his super hot wingman. I also used the phrase “super hot wingman”, so I’d like to die now.

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.

Nothing in my life is really mine. I take care of my mama, work three jobs, I’m there when anyone needs me. Something about the beautiful, lonely man on my mail route interests me. He’s different in my world, where everything’s the same. I think he hates me, but that doesn’t stop me from hand-delivering every package and trying to find ways to make him smile. Then Emerson makes me an offer: He’ll pay me to spend the weekends with him, losing ourselves in each other’s bodies, no feelings or pasts involved.