Duty, honor, and sacrifice. Dedicating my life to these elements, for family and country, leaves little for myself in return. It's why I indulge in a no-strings hookup with a handsome stranger mere days before heading half-a-world away. Except one night turns into a week-long fling, creating a connection at the most inopportune time. And neither of us want it to end. Staying in touch is easy at first, but dwindles to radio silence and distant memories as time passes.

Egon Wolf is on a hockey scholarship but failing at everything else. Knowing he's going to lose his ride if he doesn't get his academic act together, he seeks out a tutor. Rakesh Aahnu is a dual major and dangerous when bored. What he enjoys more than anything is the challenge of making straight men fall for him before walking away. Just because he can. Both Egon and Rakesh are about to discover that life has a way of throwing you in the sin bin when you least expect it.

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.

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.

Moms are good at one thing: the guilt trip. It’s the only reason I’m at the funeral of a man I’ve never had anything to do with. I’ll show up, make her happy, and get out. At least that’s what I think until I learn daddy dearest has left me a crap load of money and the obligation to learn about the family business. All from his eldest son who looks nothing like the rest of us.

Of all the people who could have seen me when I was at my most vulnerable, it had to be him. Caleb. My stepbrother and the golden child of our messed up blended family. We barely know each other, but for some reason, he takes care of me when an incident at the club leaves me helpless and alone. He hates me as much as I hate him, but something about his bossy attitude and unflappable calm soothes me. I don't want to want him, but no one has ever made me feel the way he does.

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.

There wasn’t a time when I didn't know Flynn “Firecracker” Honeycutt. He’s been my childhood friend. My high school rival. The guy I couldn’t stop dreaming about, long after I thought I’d left him and Honeybridge in my rear-view mirror.

You think you know me. That's the way I want it. Making you feel like we know each other - like we could go grab a beer sometime - is part of my job. Maybe the most vital part. It doesn't hurt that I'm easy on the eyes, single at 35, and born richer than sin. My aesthetic matters much more than it should, but all the better for my worthy cause. And it's a worthy cause. I've made an art out of making you feel good, and my influence makes you want to be good. Good like me. You think you know me, but you don't. Everyone has secrets. Mine could cost me everything.

The furniture district is my personal hell. I don’t know my ass from an ottoman. But when a hot designer comes to my rescue, I realize my problems are bigger than the house I’m trying to furnish.