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?

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.

I never thought a night out could change everything. All I wanted was to dance, drink, maybe take a cute guy home for a night of fun. I met the guy, but the night ended as a nightmare. Screams and blood and tragedy haunt my dreams. I'm alive and I owe it all to the gorgeous marine who refused to leave me for dead. But how can I start a new relationship when I'm not even sure who I am anymore?

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….

When half your face is covered in a big, blotchy birthmark, you get used to the staring and the whispers. You get used to feeling unwanted. Until he walks into my bar.... Tall, gorgeous, and all kinds of out of place. And the way he looks at me ain’t like no way I've ever seen before.

Austin never realized he was painting his life with shades of gray, until Keaton came along and injected a rainbow of color. Keaton is a tornado of chaos and paint, which turns out to be more exciting than I ever would’ve imagined. I love my organized, predictable life...or at least I thought I did. But what started as a casual hookup is slowly becoming so much more, and I find myself loving the beautiful mess more than I expected. Can two people so different really make it work once feelings get involved?

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?

When it comes to hockey, I'm all about the game. I've worked for years to be one of the best in the league, and l've done it without splashing my orientation all over the tabloids. My hockey image is one I've carefully cultivated, and after one night with Ezra Palaszczuk, I risk it all. He's cocky, obnoxious, and has an ego bigger than Massachusetts. And okay, maybe he's the sexiest man I've ever known. We'll never get along. Not when we sleep together. Not even when my possessive streak awakens. That doesn't stop us from falling into bed together over and over again.

I’m everyone’s friend, but no one’s everything...I love working for Ballsy Boys, but when you make the kind of videos I do, relationships are pretty damn impossible. Guys find me sexy and want to either be with me or be me, but no one has ever cared enough to see the real me. Until I meet Troy...who shows up in a banana suit at my door. Long story.

I thought there was only one thing I needed to make me happy. I was so sure becoming a rock star would heal the dark corners inside me. But every time I walk onto the stage, with a roaring crowd screaming my name, all I can think about is the boy I left behind. All I want to do is rewind and make a different choice.

Saying I've had a crush on my best friend's older brother, Pax, most of my life is like saying the big bang was just an explosion. It's true, but I'm not sure that quite captures the essence of its true enormity. I don't think my advanced physics knowledge is going to help me figure this one out. But I think for once I'm okay with not knowing, as long as Pax and I don't know together.

The job at Sunday Orchard was supposed to be temporary. A chance to gain some work experience, to have some fun. I had not expected to be welcomed into a family of gorgeous and weirdly efficient lumberjack-types, or to find purpose in the tiny Vermont town whose claim to fame seemed to be apple-based products and copious amounts of charm. And I most definitely hadn’t expected to fall for Knox Sunday, my grumpy, burly, fifteen-years-older, reluctant roommate, with his infuriating lectures, his hot-as-fire body, his superior attitude - I’ve never been one to put down roots.

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.

As a founding member of The Vers, a queer podcast I host with my three best friends, I’m "The Loner"—quieter than the others, and except for them, I don’t let myself get too close to people. Most of them just let you down anyway, or maybe it’s just that something about me chases people away.

Payne. In search of: Room to rent. Must ignore the patheticness of a 40-year-old roommate. Preferably dirt cheap as funds are tight (nonexistent). There’s nothing sadder than moving back to my hometown newly divorced, homeless, and lost for what my next move is. When my little brother’s best friend offers me a place to stay in exchange for menial duties, I swallow my pride and jump at the offer. I need this. I also need Beau to wear a shirt. And ditch the gray sweatpants. And not leave his door ajar when he’s in compromising positions...

I never thought a night out could change everything. All I wanted was to dance, drink, maybe take a cute guy home for a night of fun. I met the guy, but the night ended as a nightmare. Screams and blood and tragedy haunt my dreams. I'm alive and I owe it all to the gorgeous marine who refused to leave me for dead. But how can I start a new relationship when I'm not even sure who I am anymore?

I'm back in Boston after ten years of traveling, and I've fulfilled all my goals: See the world. Figure out what to do with my life. Get over my impossible crush on Gray. Check, check, and check. Life's good until I accidentally find Gray's happy list, which contains some very interesting things that friends never ever do with each other. And as weeks pass, it becomes clear those not-so-innocent parts are the ones Gray is determined to explore with me. I can't resist him, and pretty soon I'm forced to admit that I'm not as done with my crush as I thought I was . . .

Colin Spencer is a tattoo artist with a past he'd prefer to keep a secret. Actually, he has a few secrets that he'd rather people didn't know about, which is why Colin doesn't do commitment. But when a shy sailor approaches him at the gym, Colin finds this guy pushing all his buttons. Growing up in a conservative family, then escaping with the Navy, Daniel Moore is an unsure virgin who feels like he can't share his true self with anyone.

I got the dreaded phone call, the one every baseball player hopes and prays never comes. I was traded - yeah, that phone call - traded from my longtime team of over 10 years to not just any team...to my childhood rivals, the Chicago Rebels. I was completely and utterly screwed, right? Wrong. The trade was the least of my concerns. I met a girl, Natalie. She was perfect, but I swore I would never get involved with anyone during the season. It was too complicated. But can you believe I had zero restraint when it came to this girl?

I saw her first. Blonde. Gorgeous. Feisty. I was smitten. But it didn’t matter because she chose him, and he was my best friend and roommate. I’d never be able to compete with that, so I pushed her away instead. It was easy when she lived hours away, and I didn’t have to see her every day, but then she moved in with us. Now, I’m screwed. From her singing in the shower every morning, dancing in the kitchen while she makes coffee, and doing yoga in our living room, I can’t stop thinking about her in all the wrong ways.

Jesse Lee is the worst! He’s a multi-millionaire, triple-platinum-selling, Grammy-Award-winning man-slut - a worldly, self-indulgent heathen. I wouldn’t sleep with him if he were our last chance to ensure survival of the human race. The only reason I put up with him is because he’s my boss’s brother. Playing by Heart is an enemies-to-lovers romance where opposites not only attract, they ignite.

Lucas Barnett and Gabriel Stewart didn't have it easy as kids. They were only trying to deal with bad situations at home when they became lifelines for each other. Their pipe dream was to someday meet in LA, where Lucas would design skyscrapers, and Gabriel would learn to fly. But then Gabriel disappeared without so much as a goodbye, and Lucas got himself in trouble with the law. Five years later, both men are at a loss when they run into each other at a Hollywood bar.

Breaking news: The bad boy of baseball, Maddox Paige, is totally and utterly whipped. Okay, that might not be the headline in the newspaper this morning, but it's the reality of my current situation. It all started a month ago when I received a call from my best friend, Kinsley. She’d gotten a new job in Chicago and needed a place to stay. I've known the girl since I was five, so I figured there wouldn't be any harm in having her stay at my place for a while. Ha! Total disaster.

With a nickname like "Sin", it's no wonder they call me the bad boy of hockey. Opponents curse me. Fans scream my name - in the arena and in other, much more private places. Penalties or not, I'm not afraid to dish out a little pain. But pleasure? That's my weakness. And no one knows it better than my best friend, Cassie Desrosiers. I'd have to be blind not to notice her rocking body and teasing grin. So when she invites me along on a trip to Vegas, my curiosity isn't the only thing that's aroused.

College parties, beer, and one-night stands - that was my life. Now, I hunt down criminals, ethically or not, but if no one's asking, then I'm not telling. Drinking and women are still included, although I can't seem to forget the girl who almost gave me her virginity. She would've until I realized she was too young, and I wasn't looking to get thrown into jail.

Waitress Marjorie Ivarsson is the picture of naiveté. Raised by her grandmother, she'd rather go to bingo than go dancing. But when she's asked to be a bridesmaid in her friend Bronte's destination wedding, she finds herself venturing into new and exciting territory. The wedding is set on the billionaire groom's private island, and Marjorie is fascinated by all the new people she meets. Most fascinating of all is the man she saves from almost drowning in the blue waters of the island lagoon.

Sadie Slade was the love of my life. I left for college promising her I’d be back in four years. She stayed behind promising me she’d wait. We both broke our promises. When we bump into each other five years later, my feelings for her come rushing to the surface. I want her back. She wants me gone. How quickly my Sadie Girl has forgotten - I’ve never been the type of man who accepts defeat. No matter the cost.

Harrison Phillip Fletcher III isn't supposed to be here. Not in Burlington, Vermont, not running Vino & Veritas, a quaint inclusive bookstore and wine bar, and definitely not still alive, at 42. Also not supposed to be here? An unexpected delivery of chickens. Finn Barnes knows chickens. The burly organic farmer knows all about rare breed poultry, but dealing with a hot older bookseller is an entirely different matter. City-slicker types like Harrison never end up staying in Vermont for the long-term. They should steer clear of each other. But the flare of attraction is mutual.

Tia Monroe was smart, sassy, and successful. Sure, she could get a little crazy at times - life around Tia was never boring - but that was part of her appeal. And while she didn't see herself as classically beautiful, she had no shortage of options in the boyfriend department. She just hadn't found one who held her interest. Until she laid eyes on Eric Larsson, and then it was lust at first sight. He packed the perfect mix of smoldering sexy and unapologetic cool into his blond-haired, blue-eyed, ridiculously hot six-foot-four frame.

“I’m a virgin. And you need to relieve me of that.” What respectable guy could say no to that? Yeah, she was my best friend. But she was also the hottest chick I’d ever known. I thought it would be simple. I thought we’d have a good time, then pretend like it never happened. It turns out, I was an idiot. Now, she wants nothing to do with me, but I’m determined. I’ve spent the last five years without her, and I refuse to waste another day.

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?

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.

It's official: my step bro is the biggest himbo ever to himbo. He's a massive blond beefcake with a soft heart and an over-eager smile. The mere sight of him incites a shaking hot rage in me. He's everywhere. He's around me all the time. So sweet and gentle that it makes me feel wild. I see him and smell him everywhere. When I can't see him or smell him, I hear him. The wall between our bedrooms is paper thin. I can't help it—I hear what he does in his room when he thinks he's alone. I hear everything.

I never thought a night out could change everything. All I wanted was to dance, drink, maybe take a cute guy home for a night of fun. I met the guy, but the night ended as a nightmare. Screams and blood and tragedy haunt my dreams. I'm alive and I owe it all to the gorgeous marine who refused to leave me for dead. But how can I start a new relationship when I'm not even sure who I am anymore?

When half your face is covered in a big, blotchy birthmark, you get used to the staring and the whispers. You get used to feeling unwanted. Until he walks into my bar.... Tall, gorgeous, and all kinds of out of place. And the way he looks at me ain’t like no way I've ever seen before.