It started out as a little fun. When there was a man in my building on a hookup app, why not message him? Only we didn’t meet. We just texted - one night after the other, after the other. GoodWithHisHands was the perfect escape from my life, where pressure was always on my shoulders: my father’s expectations, the worry about my sister, Maddy, getting sick again, and her ex-husband, Ryder Lynwood, suddenly back and volunteering at the same hospital as me. I like talking to him, the same way I enjoy chatting with GoodWithHisHands. They weren’t supposed to be the same person.

My loser high school friend never deserved him anyway. If I’d had the chance, I would have locked Remy down years ago. Only, when the party leads to a drunken kiss, going on their honeymoon, and sharing their marital bed, I have to say, I’m not entirely sad that their wedding went up in flames.

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.

Is it really wrong to want to murder your boss? Dylan has worked for Gabe for two years. Two long years of sarcastic comments. Two long years of insults, and having to redo the coffee pot four times in the mornings to meet his exacting standards. Not surprisingly he has devoted a lot of time to increasingly inventive ways to murder Gabe. From stabbing him with a cake fork, to garrotting him with his expensive tie, Dylan has thought of everything. However, a chance encounter opens his eyes to the attraction that has always lain between them, concealed by the layers of antipathy.

Victor Lang had everything—looks, money, fame. A chance to become the greatest swimmer in history. Until a failed dope test brought him crashing down. According to the rumors, he turned into a recluse, a drug addict, a whore. Broken beyond repair. Incapable of love.

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.

Brady is my overprotective best friend, and I love him like this. He's so much bigger than me and makes me feel safe. We are opposites in so many ways, but when I'm cuddled up against him and he reads to me, all those differences fade away. Brady promises to be friends forever, but what will he say when he finds out my secret? Will I lose my best friend and the boy I love more than life itself?

New York Admirals captain Scott Hunter takes his pregame rituals very seriously. In this case, it's not just a lucky smoothie he's craving - it's the man who made it. Pro hockey star Scott Hunter knows a good thing when he sees it. So, when a smoothie made by juice bar barista Kip Grady precedes Scott breaking his on-ice slump, he's desperate to recreate the magic...and to get to know the sexy, funny guy behind the counter.

His new life in Chicago consists of performing autopsies and eating chips while watching old detective series. Until…He's suddenly standing in front of me. Leather jacket, washed-out jeans, jet black hair. His deep, green eyes are so intense on me I can barely breathe. It's in his crooked smile, bold flirting, and confident—borderline conceited—behavior that I get lost.

Ever since we met two years ago, Eden Burkehammer has made everything better. The big defenseman sets me at ease. He’s a beast on the ice—brutal and physical—but when it’s the two of us, he turns to me with these unexpectedly soft brown eyes. This gravelly laugh that makes my whole body smile. And yeah, I might have thrown a glance his way a time or two in the steamed-up locker room showers—you know, just curious. But he’s my best friend. My teammate. Roommate. I don’t want to mess with that. Just the thought of losing him sends a cold zap the full length of my spine.

Hating Justin Jennings should be a lot easier than this. He nearly ruined my life, and I swore when I left town that I’d become the opposite of him in every possible way. I’ve kept that promise, traveling the world to save the people who cannot save themselves. The lost, the trafficked, the stolen. This work is my life’s mission, and now my father has given me the land to expand my operations.

I avoid him. Every time Kepler Quinn steps into a room, I get the hell out. He does...something to me. When those discerning gray eyes flick toward me, his brow rising in a silent greeting, there’s a tightening of my abs. A zapping hum quivering low along my spine. There are about a million reasons it shouldn’t be what the little voice in the back of my head insists...a crush. Because Kepler isn’t just some random guy. He’s my brother’s best friend. He’s also my TA for physics this semester. And also...a guy.

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.

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.

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.