I thought I had one chance to kiss him, and I blew it. We were 16, and I was an idiot. But now, here he is, standing right in front of me, looking at me with that same expression of awe and adoration that I never lost my addiction to.

The last thing I want is another relationship or another broken heart. All I need are my bees and the occasional hookup to scratch the itch. Okay, maybe meeting up with my hot contractor weekly is a little more than occasional. And maybe the way I’m starting to feel about the guy I’ve been anonymously chatting with online should concern me. But CaulkyAF doesn’t want to meet, and Cole doesn’t want anything serious, so what’s the worst that could happen?

Lewis. Clingy, needy, Too Much. Just a few choice words from men who never deserved me anyway. I'm not going to make the same mistakes again though. I plan to ride the motorcycle hottie of my dreams just until we both get bored. Besides, who has time for anything but a quick fling when the jerks at the tattoo shop next door insist on doing everything they can to annoy the hell out of me with some stupid prank war?

After spending the last 200 years locked up in the family castle with his three younger brothers, Erwan is climbing the walls. Literally. He’s a dragon who isn’t allowed to fly, forbidden to use his magic, all to stay hidden from the rest of the world. How will he ever find his mate like this? But when he finds an injured omega in the woods around the castle and brings him home, the spell that kept them hidden is broken. Erwan’s father is furious—not that that’s anything new. The man has basically been angry all Erwan’s life, though why, he doesn’t know.

Hi, my name is Fisher, and I'm hooked on my dad's rival. I've been in love with Hudson Nash for years, but he's too stubborn to admit he wants me, too. For a whole bunch of stupid reasons. Like the fact that I'm too young. (What's a twenty-year gap? Age is just a number, am I right?) And a virgin. (Which he could easily fix!) And maybe not the best choice, given he and my dad hate each other. (It's not that ba—Okay, it is that bad, but our love could totally rise above, right? It would be epic!)

The Firm has ruled St. Dismas for generations. To most, they’re just a myth. But in truth, they are the last resort of the desperate. I never understood why anyone would go to The Firm. There’s always a price to pay—a price you won’t discover until your request has been granted. It was a path I swore I’d never walk. Or so I thought. When my brother is gravely injured, everything changes. I have no choice but to go to The Firm. I don’t know what they’ll ask of me, but I’ll give anything to save Jackson. He has his whole life ahead of him, and I’ll make sure he gets to live it.

Recovering from a knee injury he hopes won’t keep him off the ice. His team, the Portland University Evergreens, have a brand new coach, and he’s hoping to impress the legendary leader. Plus, he's got to make a decision once and for all about playing professional hockey or using his love of science to go a totally different direction. The last thing he needs is a sexual awakening at the large, calloused hands of his football player roommate.

If I had to choose one word to describe my new cocky costar, it’d be exasperating. Nikolas Adamos may look like a Greek god—and he certainly struts around like he knows it—but unlike everyone else, I refuse to fall prey to his charms. Unfortunately for me, Niko and I get paired to do a series of lovey-dovey boyfriend videos for our employers at Elite 8 Studios. And when you film the sort of scenes we do, up close and personal takes on a whole new meaning.

Who are we? Nobody really knows. We’re seven powerful heirs to empires, ruling Manhattan from our thrones on Park Avenue. By day, we’re the elite, untouchable, and more connected than you could ever imagine. By night, we revel in the darkness of our secrets, pulling strings that make the city bow to our whims.

I have a soul-destroying corporate job, I iron my underpants, and I was unceremoniously dumped for an influencer hippie a few years ago. Every day feels the same, and I don't know how much longer I can cope before I do something unhinged like rip off my shirt in the middle of my co-worker's office birthday party and smear lemon cake all over my chest. Then, a case of mistaken identity suddenly lands me in the middle of a covert professional wrestling league, which is apparently being run in the basement of my office building. Weird. Even weirder are the wrestlers.

I'm a list person. Lists make sense, they give a chaotic, unpredictable world order. Realizing I was gay at 30 definitely wasn't on my list. I guess I need a new list….

Maybe I have an overactive imagination, but the hot guy next door totally gives off serial killer vibes. Why else would he know how long it takes to bleed out from a wound? Yeah, ok, so I asked, but it was research. Being an author definitely makes for some odd questions (someone had better clear my browser history when I die, that's all I'm saying). It's not like I'm stalking my hot neighbor or anything—there's nothing wrong with watching him out my window. Although I might have my own stalker (and not the cute harmless kind), which is kind of terrifying.

There’s nothing wrong with admiring a work of art, or so I tell myself…even when the admiring is more like peeping out my bedroom window, and the work of art is the shirtless, sweaty, body of the man who’s been mowing my lawn once a week every summer for years.

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.

Between running a garage full of beefed-up gear-head mechanics and bailing my idiot brother out of trouble every other week, the last thing I have time for is a relationship. I’ve tried it too many times, and the ridiculous reasons I always find to end it have become a running joke around the garage. But I’ve learned my lesson. No. More. Boyfriends. I don’t care how many times Porter falls asleep drunk in my bed or how cute he looks covered in oil smears while I teach him how to fix up the vintage car he has rusting away in his garage; I’m not going to fall for him.