Chicago-born Linda is ready to leave the Black Belt behind, entering the newly-integrated University of Georgia to pursue her dream of becoming an attorney. When she has a chance encounter with a handsome fraternity guy on the campus quad, she can’t help but be drawn into his sea-blue eyes.

The quintessential question asked to every couple. And the answer is usually some bubbly, lovey dovey tale of being struck in the bum by Cupid’s arrow. My meet cute (well, not so meet cute) is slightly different. I was trolling a wealthy neighborhood in Beverly Hills, searching for someone to take me as their bride, you know, to make my arch nemesis jealous who consequently just fired me.

Have you ever had one of those really bad days at work? You know, one where your sexy AF boss catches you photocopying your backside in his office? No? Just me, then? I blame my bestie and partner-in-chaos. She challenged me with a not-so-innocent dare that I should’ve flat out declined. But I’m an adrenaline junkie, and now, here I am. I know it sounds crazy, and daredevil tendencies aside, I definitely went too far to get his attention. But you haven’t seen him. Colton Wolfe. My boss. Tall, dark, handsome, and with the sexiest British accent I’ve ever heard.

My name is Jamie Atwood, and I'm an addict. I never thought I'd say such a thing. Never had a problem being overly attached to anything in my life. I came from a perfectly middle-class family, made good grades, and had a hot cheerleader girlfriend...but the truth is, nothing ever really moved me. So how did a guy like me become an addict? I met Michael Kage. Kage is an MMA fighter. A famous one. I like to think I helped him get that way.

Here’s what I know. Being a cupid is hard work. Love Matches, Lust Breath, Flirt Touches, not to mention having to meet my quotas every month. And hitting your target with arrows? That shit is not easy. But all of that I could handle. Gladly. If only my cupid powers would actually work. The clock is ticking, but I have the perfect candidate to start with. Warren Knight. Smart, hot as hell, rich, bachelor-dud extraordinaire. Of course, the asshole doesn’t want to fall in love, so I have my work cut out for me.

Valentine French may be the sassiest dating columnist in New York City, but the abundance of metrosexuals in her adopted metropolis is seriously cramping her style. Where are the beefy all-American boys? Hoping to find some inspiration, Val heads to Alaska, where the men outnumber the women 15 to one and wrestle grizzly bears for sport. Or so she can only imagine.

Simon Corbin. He’s the face of House Corbin, which means his jaw can cut glass, his eyes are dreamy, and his body is built for sin. Every woman wants him and every man wants to be him. But he’s also an executive who can send me right back home before the competition even begins.

When yet another attempt at a relationship fails, Michael decides to find himself his daddy. The one man that will care for him, nurture him, and love him for who he is. Twenty-six years old and successful in his career, Michael knows he’s missing out on life. He’s a quiet, introverted man with desires that seem too far out of his reach. Until he goes to Escape, one night.

Want to know a secret? It's about that girl over there. Don’t look, but she’s the one in the power suit with the long, black hair and the serious expression. The one I’m about to go on a date with. Yeah, according to her, she “accidentally” donated an obscene amount of money to my charity - The Lineup - to win said date, but I found out the truth.

Dean Evans is the worst. Not only does the devil in disguise steal my pie on a regular basis, he also lives in the apartment right. Next. Door. I see him all the time. At the mailboxes. In the elevator. Every single morning. It's exhausting because he's exhausting. Now, after setting his apartment on fire, he's my roommate, and he's the worst at that, too. I don't know what possessed me to let him stay with me. Pity, perhaps? I do know that I won't be falling for his charm.

What is The Bachelor Society? It's a gentleman's club - like the dignified men of the past used to have. Except, we're not gentleman, and we’re not dignified. We're ineligible bachelors; bored, jaded and not looking for relationships. Quite the opposite actually.... We're so committed to being single, we've created a high stakes bet to see who can remain single the longest. Rules are involved. Prizes. Laugh it up, but I'm no loser.

You know how people say you can never believe what you read on the interwebs? That a hot guy online is probably a creeper with a beer gut and a shoe fetish, not the sexy beast he pretends to be? So I had no clue that the anonymous blogger who contacted my law firm about his naughty website would be droolworthy in real life. Not that I'm interested in him in that way. Attorneys can't go around sleeping with their clients. Not even if he is the most beautiful man I've ever met and so ridiculously smart he makes my nerdy-girl heart sigh.

Two hours after Dennis proposes, I find my fiancé with his you-know-what buried in Tiffany Slater’s hoohah, and he has the nerve to suggest it’s my fault. Because I’m frigid. Sure, I’ve never had an orgasm with him or with anyone for that matter, but relationships are about more than good nookie. Not that it was ever good. Adequate is more like it. Okay, who am I kidding? Dennis couldn’t find his way down there with a flashlight and a map.

Katya Tocci has never paid much attention to who lives next door - her career always kept her too busy. She's a good girl, working her way to becoming the most sought after cake designer in all of San Francisco. But even a good girl's gotta cut loose once in a while, right? So one fake dating profile later, and she's ready to tarnish her squeaky clean image. Little does she know, her fun time is closer to home than she ever imagined. Throw in a neighbor who wants to corrupt her, and another who just wants to own her, and her entire world is flipped upside down.

All my life, I’ve dreamed of one thing: the perfect movie moment. I want a man and his boombox outside my window; I want kissing in the rain; I want a romantic hero who will take my breath away. Switching mail with my cute neighbor didn’t work. Swapping coffee with a hottie at the coffee shop just got the poor barista yelled at. And bus guy? Total bust. I’m starting to wonder if Hollywood got the whole meet-cute thing wrong. Sacrilege, I know. Is it possible the perfect leading man has been living in the apartment above me the entire time, playing the role of my best friend?