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.

I have one simple rule: Don’t date professional baseball players. There are no exceptions, no workarounds. With a brother in the league, I’ve seen the good, the bad, and the downright horrifying. Those guys might seem tantalizing when they’re in uniform down on the field, hitting grand slams in front of a crowd of adoring fans, but I know better. The huge egos? The insane travel schedules? The veritable buffet of female companions? No ma’am. Professional athletes are best handled at a distance, preferably far enough away that their chiseled jawlines blur into oblivion. Enter Grant Navarro.

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!

It’s simple: Noah Peterson and I are enemies. Our fellow teachers know it, our friends know it—even the Starbucks drive-through lady knows it. The shrill whine of the school bell announces the start of each day’s no-holds-barred grudge match. Since neither of us is looking to get fired or thrown in prison, we war with our words and our wits. We prefer banter that bites. All day, I’m on edge, looking around every corner, expecting him to do his worst. Summer usually offers the sweetest relief—a two-month Noah detox—but not this year.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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’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.

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).

Paige Young and Cole Clark are polar opposites. A world traveler since birth, Paige loves to lead activities for guests at a luxury island resort in Turks and Caicos. From bingo nights to cliffside hikes, Paige is up for anything. Cole, meanwhile, prefers his number-crunching desk job. He’s the assistant director at the resort—stiff and meticulous. He’s so by the book that he keeps the book. In his desk drawer.

Lana Fleming’s sister has vanished from the set of TV’s hottest show, and no one seems to care. Desperate for answers, Lana sneaks in as an extra, only to get stranded with Griffin Hart, an A-list action star with a reputation for good abs and bad decisions. Though Griffin didn’t expect to be cast as a librarian’s sidekick in a real-life thriller, he’s weirdly into it—and into her. Even more unsettling—she sees right through his playboy persona. But their meet-cute soon turns deadly when they uncover a Hollywood scandal for the ages.

It’s Valentine’s Day weekend, and Charlotte and Seth are not looking for romance. Armed with emotional-support bear spray, Charlotte is in self-imposed isolation and on guard from men. Having a stalker can do that to a person’s nerves. Just across the hall and giving off woodsy vibes is Seth, a recently divorced arborist. As in today recently. Heights, he’s fine with. Trust? Not so much.

Lowen Ashleigh is a struggling writer on the brink of financial ruin when she accepts the job offer of a lifetime. Jeremy Crawford, husband of best-selling author Verity Crawford, has hired Lowen to complete the remaining books in a successful series his injured wife is unable to finish. Lowen arrives at the Crawford home, ready to sort through years of Verity's notes and outlines, hoping to find enough material to get her started. What Lowen doesn't expect to uncover in the chaotic office is an unfinished autobiography Verity never intended for anyone to read.

Liv’s happy with life in her thirties. She has two cats, one BFF, and no boyfriend, which is just how she likes it. Plus, she loves working at a not-for-profit software company where she can be her authentically autistic self. This is her happy ever after. But when her beloved firm merges with a repulsive rival, Liv finds herself competing with her sort-of-ex for the top job. Sure, Finn had been Liv’s best friend, with his nerdy good looks and their shared love of Tolkien, but there was that one night, their song, and … well, she doesn’t like to talk about it.

Meet Randi Burnett—she’s brilliant, she’s beautiful, and she works for the bride. Missing groom? Intoxicated in-laws? Crying ring-bearer? You name it, she wrangles it. Too bad her personal life isn’t thriving like her side gig as a bridesmaid for hire. Recently dumped, Randi throws herself into her biggest challenge yet when she’s hired as a maid of honor and pretend best friend for an ice queen bride. There’s just one problem—the best man is infuriating, overprotective, and anti-marriage.

I have one simple rule: Don’t date professional baseball players. There are no exceptions, no workarounds. With a brother in the league, I’ve seen the good, the bad, and the downright horrifying. Those guys might seem tantalizing when they’re in uniform down on the field, hitting grand slams in front of a crowd of adoring fans, but I know better. The huge egos? The insane travel schedules? The veritable buffet of female companions? No ma’am. Professional athletes are best handled at a distance, preferably far enough away that their chiseled jawlines blur into oblivion. Enter Grant Navarro.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Every small-town girl has known a Sawyer Garnett. He’s the dimpled dreamboat we used to fantasize about in algebra class, the hometown heartbreaker with no shortage of outraged exes. But unlike most golden boys, this one didn’t peak in high school. Oh, no, no. Like the fine wine at the vineyard he’s the literal heir to, Sawyer’s only gotten better with age. Nobody is more annoyed that karma has yet to find Sawyer than my best friend, his old flame. Just hearing his name makes her curse the day he was born.

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.

It’s simple: Noah Peterson and I are enemies. Our fellow teachers know it, our friends know it—even the Starbucks drive-through lady knows it. The shrill whine of the school bell announces the start of each day’s no-holds-barred grudge match. Since neither of us is looking to get fired or thrown in prison, we war with our words and our wits. We prefer banter that bites. All day, I’m on edge, looking around every corner, expecting him to do his worst. Summer usually offers the sweetest relief—a two-month Noah detox—but not this year.

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.

Casey Hughes is a struggling travel journalist desperate for a big break when she lands the assignment of a lifetime: hop on board Aurelia for its maiden voyage through paradise. While she’ll bask in the luxury cruise ship’s fine dining and complimentary spa treatments, her real mission is to snag an exclusive interview with Phillip Woodmont.

At Twin Oaks Country Club, there are the fortunate ones, and then there are the rest of us: the waiters, the caddies, the valets, and in my case, the cabana girls. Most days, I’m poolside in a pleated skirt, dishing out margaritas to tycoons and titans. It’s not exactly my dream job, but it does come with one perk.... James Ashwood. He’s my silver lining in a custom black suit. Besides being a legacy member at the club, he’s a tech mogul and Austin’s most eligible bachelor.

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.