Mabel "Maybe" Willis died a virgin at the very young age of 24. She leaves behind her parents, Betty and Bruce, her brother, Evan, a laptop filled with one too many Jason Momoa memes, and a Kindle library with more books than one human being could ever finish in a lifetime. Cause of death: a text message. Okay. So, I didn't die. But I may as well have. One minute, I'm a woman trying to find her way in the world, and the next, I'm the sender of six of the most embarrassing text messages that have ever been sent in the history of time - or the cell phone. Whatever.   

My love story all started with a letter. Only it wasn’t from the man I’d eventually fall in love with. It was from his daughter. A sweet little girl named Birdie Maxwell who’d written to the magazine that I worked for. You see, once a year my employer fulfilled a few wishes for readers. Only that column didn’t start up again for months. So I fulfilled some of her wishes myself. It was harmless…so I thought. Until one day I took things too far. While anonymously granting yet another of Birdie’s wishes, I got a look at her father.

I’m not boyfriend material. If a trail of broken hearts and a piss-poor record of failed relationships have taught me anything, it’s this. My buddies are happy to give me shit about my latest breakup from here to next Sunday. Thanks, but I’d rather have a root canal. And a vasectomy. At the same time. Relief comes in an unlikely package - the gorgeous and feisty Maren. She just so happens to be my best friend’s sister, so that’s not awkward at all.

One Friday night, after a horrible day at work, Elena decides to cheer herself up with a one-night stand with a hot stranger. The guy who propositions her has a scorching bod and a sexy British accent. Cheered up? Check. Until Monday morning, when she walks into the office, and there he is. Her one-nighter is her boss's ex-husband, Chance Dixon.

Sometimes I need an escape from the demands, the puck bunnies, and the notoriety that come with being an NHL team captain. I just want to be a normal guy for a few weeks. So when I leave Chicago for some peace and quiet, the last thing I expect is for a gorgeous woman to literally fall into my lap on a flight to Alaska. Even better, she has absolutely no idea who I am.

One New York borough (okay two boroughs). Four book boyfriends to fall in love with. Four full-length standalone novels with crossover characters that appear together in The Plus Ones. Bonus epilogues for all four novels that can only be found in this collection. This collection includes: Rebound with Me (bonus epilogue and 5000 words longer than the original 2018 version), Come Back to Bed (bonus duet-style epilogue), Tonight You’re Mine (bonus epilogue) and The Plus Ones (bonus duet-style epilogue). 

Max Hilton is my high school nemesis turned billionaire. And tomorrow I deliver his lunch order. In a cat costume. You know he’s going to love it. Turns out it wasn’t curiosity that killed the cat - it was mortification. I’m almost ready to quit my lunch delivery job, but then my roommate tosses me a copy of The Max Hilton Playbook: Ten Golden Rules for Picking up the Hottest Girl in the Room. It’s the book that catapulted him to stardom. And it’s my new bible. 

My name is Ryan Kingston, and I’m a rule follower. I’ve never been in a fistfight. I always obey the speed limit. I don’t get drunk, and I definitely don’t pick up random women at bars. Except the night I found out that my whole existence has been a lie. I got drunk. And picked up a stranger. Her name was Queenie, and she was everything I’m not: reckless, impulsive, and chaotic. We did shots and traded secrets. And ended up naked at my place. Six weeks later I’m sitting in the first official team meeting of the season, and there she is. 

My planned trip for two unexpectedly turned into a trip for one. Rather than let my breakup get me down, I packed my bags and decided a week at a luxury resort was just what I needed. But one calamity after the next, and suddenly I was stuck without a hotel room, along with a few hundred other people. It looked like my fancy vacation was about to turn into me sleeping on the hotel lobby floor. Until I overheard a gorgeous man pretending to be someone he wasn’t in order to steal a reservation from a guest who hadn’t shown up yet. 

Everly Dalton is a walking, talking, martini-drinking dating disaster. Forget kissing frogs. She can’t even get past the first date. But at work, she’s a badass - the longest-running assistant billionaire Shepherd Calloway has ever had. Her coworkers wonder how she handles the big bad wolf and never gets bit.

I was only trying to help a friend. I swear. I was legit asking for a friend who was finally ready to date again. So I did what any good friend would do. Posted it for her. It seemed like a good idea at the time - I’d weed through the candidates, and bring her my top picks. But then he responded. Is it wrong to date the guy I screened for my bestie? Not asking for a friend.

The second the test-the-sexy-scenes offer landed in my lap, I said yes. After all, I've been damn curious about a few things I've read in romance novels. Do buttons truly go flying across the floor when you rip off a guy's shirt? Is staircase nookie hella hot, or does it leave you with a big old bruise mark on your back? And don’t even get me started on all that panty shredding, and whether it even works. Time to find out as I embark on Project Sexy Scenes Research, at the request of my hotshot book editor bestie. All I need is a willing scene partner.

I’m no Prince Charming, and the last thing I want is a Cinderella. My instructions were simple: Scour the city for a fake fiancée who’s not my type at all. Have her on my jet Monday morning, dressed for a yacht vacation. I need a woman believable enough to convince a certain client that I’ve changed my playboy ways...yet too annoying to tempt me - no emotional entanglements, thank you very much. This is business only. If she’s unfazed by my looks and wealth, all the better. Should be easy. Right? Apparently not, because my people go and hire Tabitha. My hairdresser.

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.

If people have polar opposites, Luca Rossi is mine. His butt is in the baseball hall of fame. Mine's comfortably seated in the hall of lame. When he's not snagging fly balls out in center field, he's modeling in shampoo commercials. I once jammed my own finger while stirring cookie dough, and sometimes I forget shampoo is a thing. He's a total cynic when it comes to love. I make a living writing love stories. But after my latest broken engagement (no, I don't want to talk about how many times that's happened), it's clear he's exactly the man I need.