If someone had told me a year ago that I was about to fall in love, go on an epic road trip, ride a Triceratops, sing on a bar, and lose my virginity, I would have assumed they were on drugs. Well, that is, until I met Beckham. Beck was mostly to blame for my recklessness.

Marry a man I barely know to save my family from ruin. It might’ve been simple, if my betrothed were anybody else. On our wedding day, my husband-to-be arrived at the courthouse like a black cloud rolling over Manhattan. Walt didn’t crack smiles or pepper in pleasantries as we exchanged hollow vows in front of the judge. His disdain for me was so palpable I assumed we’d walk out of that ceremony and resume our regularly scheduled programming. But then fate was like, Hold my beer. I got this.

I’m good at hiding my feelings. Having to pretend I’m not in love with my best friend? Pfft. That’s child’s play. Here’s how I do it: I avert my eyes when he walks out of his room, shirtless in all his toned glory. I squash the butterflies that fill my stomach every time he slowly unfurls a dimpled smile. Not to brag, but Aiden Smith isn’t hard to resist if you’ve been doing it for as long as I have. In fact, we might have continued as best friends forever if not for the fact that I needed him to play the part of my fake boyfriend.

Nicholas Hunt is the man I hate. For good reason. His opinion of me is tainted by prejudice even before my arrival at his grandmother’s estate, and my first impression of him is just as abysmal. His arrogance and icy demeanor make it clear that he’s the type of man who’s best handled at a distance. Fortunately, space shouldn’t be an issue inside this Gilded Age mansion and its lush gardens. If I stick with the servants and he keeps to his sailboat, we should hardly cross paths at all. Unfortunately, at Rosethorn, I find that all roads eventually lead to Nicholas Hunt.

Ian is...just my best friend. We're extremely close, stuck so deep inside a Jim-and-Pam-style friendzone everyone at work assumes we're a couple - that is until one day, word spreads through the teacher's lounge that he's single. Fair game. Suddenly, it's open season on Ian. He should be reveling in all the newfound attention, but to our mutual surprise, the only attention he seems to want is mine. He's turning our formerly innocent nightly chats into X-rated phone calls. Our playful banter sports a new, dangerous edge.

With Olympic tryouts on the horizon, the last thing 19-year-old Kinsley Bryant needs to add to her plate is Liam Wilder. He's a professional soccer player, America's favorite bad-boy, and has all the qualities of a skilled panty-dropper. A face that makes girls weep - check. Abs that can shred Parmesan cheese (the expensive kind) - check. Enough confidence to shift the earth's gravitational pull - double check. Not to mention Liam is strictly off limits. Forbidden. Her coaches have made that perfectly clear.

Ben Castillo. NBA champion. Olympic gold medalist. Widely hailed "King of the Court." The morning he walks into my dingy diner, I have enough sense to keep my head down and go right on wiping tables, pouring coffee, and serving up short stacks. A man who looks like that—superstar or not—has only ever meant trouble, and more trouble is the last thing I need. If anything, he seems drawn to my indifference.

Everyone in Cedar Creek, Texas, knows Jack McNight is an arrogant devil. Physically, I get it: he’s tan and fit, with coal-black hair that’s clearly been scorched by hellfire. Oh, and his personality? It burns just as hot. When I show up on the doorstep of Blue Stone Ranch, I’m run-down and rockin’ my last pair of underwear. I’m hoping for a savior, but instead, I find him. My opinion of Jack is marred by a dismal first impression, but his opinion of me is tainted even before I arrive. He’s heard I’m a spoiled princess there to take advantage of his goodwill.

Lucas Thatcher has always been my enemy. It's been a decade since I've seen him, but our years on opposite coasts were less of a lasting peace and more of a temporary cease-fire. Now that we're both back in our small town, I know Lucas expects the same old war, but I've changed since high school - and from the looks of it, so has he. The arrogant boy who was my teenage rival is now a chiseled doctor armed with intimidating good looks.

I’m desperate and destitute when Lockwood Construction rolls into my small town with an offer too good to pass up: high wages to any able-bodied man willing to join their crew. Say no more. I throw on baggy clothes, tuck my long hair under a baseball hat, and apply for a job. Unfortunately, my half-baked idea of disguising myself as a guy is flawed from the beginning. As Shakira says, these hips don’t lie. Still, I like to think I might have pulled the whole thing off save for one thing: I know my boss.

I've spent eight years wishing I'd fall out of love with Derek Knightley. Blowing out birthday candles, chasing after shooting stars, making it rain spare change into mall fountains - every time it's the same wish: Forget about Derek. But the day he walks back into my life, I realize there are two things time has yet to soften: my feelings for him and his chiseled jawline. It's infuriating that my heart still races when he walks into a room. I refuse to fall prey to old unrequited love, so I decide the less I'm around him, the better. Avoidance is key.

As an Olympic rookie, Andie Foster has spent far more time in her cleats than between the sheets. For 21 years, her Friday nights have consisted of blocking shots rather than taking them. But now that she's landed in Rio, she's ready to see for herself if the rumors about the Olympic Village are true: The athletes are all sex-crazed maniacs....As Andie walks the line between rumor and reality, she's forced into the path of Frederick Archibald, a decorated Olympic swimmer and owner of a sexy British accent.

When her mother's incessant matchmaking hits an all-time high, Georgie Archibald does what any sensible woman would do: she flees the country. Seeking refuge in the picturesque seaside village of Vernazza, Italy, Georgie's only plan is to lie low, gorge herself on gelato, and let the wine and waves wash her troubles away...that is until she wakes up in a bed that belongs to the most romantic-looking man she's ever seen.

Lily, you predictable perv. I knew you'd open this email faster if I tempted you with a glimpse of JT's "PP". Well, put your pants back on and grab some bubbly because I have much better news to share. I got a job! As of tomorrow, I'll be the new executive assistant at Lorena Lefray Designs. I am so excited, but there's one itty bitty problem: I won't be Lorena's assistant. I'll be working for her older brother, Julian.

Dr. Easton is part man, part myth. He’s a formidable surgeon. Highly respected in his field. He also happens to be an ex-collegiate quarterback with a classically handsome face. Are you catching on yet? He’s horrible. Beautiful. A walking Ralph Lauren ad. He’s also so off-limits he should come with a warning label: This way lies heartache.

Young and naïve—those are his exact words. Professor Barclay views me as a nuisance, a disruption of his otherwise obedient class and perfectly regimented life. His bad impression of me stems from a simple misunderstanding. When that impression sours from bad to worse, he decides to make an example out of me in front of the entire class. Every other female student in that auditorium looks on, longing to trade places with me, wishing they were the object of his attention. It’s humiliating. I want nothing to do with him or the tension growing between us, but he feels inescapable.

If someone had told me a year ago that I was about to fall in love, go on an epic road trip, ride a Triceratops, sing on a bar, and lose my virginity, I would have assumed they were on drugs. Well, that is, until I met Beckham. Beck was mostly to blame for my recklessness.

Kat and Yasmine! Do not dally! Come straight home after work. Kat, don’t take the long route from the subway station just so you can pass by Cute Hot Dog Guy. This is important! I’ve had the best day. You won’t believe it. There I was in my preschool classroom, washing a bit of poo out of some soggy trousers, when this absolute babe came to collect his nephew from my class. Truthfully, I thought I’d blacked out for a moment when I first saw him. He was a proper hunk with glorious brown hair, quite tall, and he had these arms. Are muscly arms supposed to turn me on?

Once upon a time, Emmett Mercier was the golden boy of St. John’s Boarding School. The crown prince of his father’s vast business empire, unapologetically attractive...oh, and fluent in French. At school, I kept a picture of him hidden beneath my pillow, a tiny token of my adolescent infatuation, but I might as well have been worshiping a distant demigod. He was hardly aware of my existence. I was far too young, and he was far too consequential—until one day we found ourselves alone together in the dark library and struck up a friendship...of sorts.

When her mother's incessant matchmaking hits an all-time high, Georgie Archibald does what any sensible woman would do: she flees the country. Seeking refuge in the picturesque seaside village of Vernazza, Italy, Georgie's only plan is to lie low, gorge herself on gelato, and let the wine and waves wash her troubles away...that is until she wakes up in a bed that belongs to the most romantic-looking man she's ever seen.

Dr. Easton is part man, part myth. He’s a formidable surgeon. Highly respected in his field. He also happens to be an ex-collegiate quarterback with a classically handsome face. Are you catching on yet? He’s horrible. Beautiful. A walking Ralph Lauren ad. He’s also so off-limits he should come with a warning label: This way lies heartache.

Lucas Thatcher has always been my enemy. It's been a decade since I've seen him, but our years on opposite coasts were less of a lasting peace and more of a temporary cease-fire. Now that we're both back in our small town, I know Lucas expects the same old war, but I've changed since high school - and from the looks of it, so has he. The arrogant boy who was my teenage rival is now a chiseled doctor armed with intimidating good looks.

I’m good at hiding my feelings. Having to pretend I’m not in love with my best friend? Pfft. That’s child’s play. Here’s how I do it: I avert my eyes when he walks out of his room, shirtless in all his toned glory. I squash the butterflies that fill my stomach every time he slowly unfurls a dimpled smile. Not to brag, but Aiden Smith isn’t hard to resist if you’ve been doing it for as long as I have. In fact, we might have continued as best friends forever if not for the fact that I needed him to play the part of my fake boyfriend.

Marry a man I barely know to save my family from ruin. It might’ve been simple, if my betrothed were anybody else. On our wedding day, my husband-to-be arrived at the courthouse like a black cloud rolling over Manhattan. Walt didn’t crack smiles or pepper in pleasantries as we exchanged hollow vows in front of the judge. His disdain for me was so palpable I assumed we’d walk out of that ceremony and resume our regularly scheduled programming. But then fate was like, Hold my beer. I got this.

Twenty-three year old model Charley Whitlock built a quiet life for herself after disaster struck four years ago. She hides beneath her beautiful mask, never revealing her true self to the world... until she comes face-to-face with her new photographer - sexy, possessive Jude Anderson. It's clear from the first time she meets him that she's playing by his rules. He says jump, she asks how high. He tells her to unzip her cream Dior gown; she knows she has to comply.

I’m desperate and destitute when Lockwood Construction rolls into my small town with an offer too good to pass up: high wages to any able-bodied man willing to join their crew. Say no more. I throw on baggy clothes, tuck my long hair under a baseball hat, and apply for a job. Unfortunately, my half-baked idea of disguising myself as a guy is flawed from the beginning. As Shakira says, these hips don’t lie. Still, I like to think I might have pulled the whole thing off save for one thing: I know my boss.

Lily, you predictable perv. I knew you'd open this email faster if I tempted you with a glimpse of JT's "PP". Well, put your pants back on and grab some bubbly because I have much better news to share. I got a job! As of tomorrow, I'll be the new executive assistant at Lorena Lefray Designs. I am so excited, but there's one itty bitty problem: I won't be Lorena's assistant. I'll be working for her older brother, Julian.

My assignment is simple: trek to a remote English cottage and convince Nathaniel Foster to let me work with him. Too bad he’s a complete and utter jerk. Who slams the door in a poor stranger’s face, leaving them shivering out in the snow? Nathaniel is God’s gift to readers everywhere. My publisher is desperate for his next book, which in turn makes me desperate to help him complete it. So what if he doesn’t want to play nice? I have no choice but to live and work with him in this snow-covered cottage, suffering under his piercing blue stare until it feels like I might combust.

Future You here, coming to offer a little advice: Hang on for dear life. This summer is going to be a wild one. I know what you’re thinking: Life’s going so well! I don’t have a care in the world! Wrong. That culinary career you love so much? It’s about to go up in smoke, and your boyfriend? Yeah...he’s a goner too. If only love were as simple as, say, actually adding yourself to the lease agreement so you don’t suddenly find yourself loveless, jobless, and homeless!

A full-length standalone romantic comedy from USA TODAY best-selling author R.S. Grey. Beau Fortier starred in most of my cringe-worthy teenage fantasies. I met him when I was a junior in high school, a time that revolved exclusively around bad hair, failed forays into flirting, and scientific inquiries into which brand of toilet paper worked best for stuffing bras. That is, until Beau moved into the small guest house just beyond my bedroom window. A 24-year-old law student at Tulane, Beau was as mysterious to me as second base (both in baseball and in the bedroom).