I have to stop replaying the one night I spent with my rival. Trouble is, that white-hot encounter with the other quarterback answered a lot of questions I’ve had about myself, but it also led me into this mess where he hates me. I never showed up for our second date. Since, well, life happened, and the worst part is he’ll never know how much that night meant to me.

I spent college worrying about responsibilities and earning my teaching degree, so before graduation and moving to Atlanta with my best friend, Ross, I figure I deserve a little fun. I’ve never been with an older man, but the guy at the bar grabs my attention and doesn’t let go…for multiple rounds, all night long. The next day, when Ross introduces me to his dad, the last thing I expect is for him to be my hookup from the night before, in town from Atlanta for his son’s graduation. The best thing would be to pretend it never happened, which is easier said than done.

It started out as a little fun. When there was a man in my building on a hookup app, why not message him? Only we didn’t meet. We just texted - one night after the other, after the other. GoodWithHisHands was the perfect escape from my life, where pressure was always on my shoulders: my father’s expectations, the worry about my sister, Maddy, getting sick again, and her ex-husband, Ryder Lynwood, suddenly back and volunteering at the same hospital as me. I like talking to him, the same way I enjoy chatting with GoodWithHisHands. They weren’t supposed to be the same person. 

I’ve had a crush on my brother’s best friend since the moment I laid eyes on him four years ago. Warner Ramsey is 225 pounds of pure hotness, a media darling, and one of the best NFL quarterbacks in the league. Hell, he’s the reason I figured out I’m solidly bi. It was easy to keep my crush under control when I was in college. Now, we play for the same team, and every time he talks smack, I want to shut him up. With my mouth.

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 couldn’t tell you when I fell in love with Gael Herrera, but I wish I knew how to make it stop. Falling in love with a straight man is a rookie mistake. But falling in love with my soon-to-be-married-to-a-woman best friend is nothing but heartache. Through all the years, and all the men I’ve fooled around with, he’s always been at the back of my mind. An unrequited crush I wish I could shake. A dream that was never going to come true. When I whisk him off to a surprise bachelor party weekend in Vegas, I surrender to the idea that this is an opportunity for me to finally let go.

The furniture district is my personal hell. I don’t know my ass from an ottoman. But when a hot designer comes to my rescue, I realize my problems are bigger than the house I’m trying to furnish.

Kind, caring, and protective. Those are the three qualities I’m looking for when it comes to my dream man. In a city as big as Chicago, you wouldn’t think he would be that hard to find, right? Wrong. Sure, my boss found a super-sexy detective and my best friend fell madly in love with the most eligible bachelor around. But the only person I’ve met recently is a broody bad boy who saved me at a sketchy pub. He’s grumpy, rude, and honestly, not that likeable at all. Hardly my “dream” guy. So why can’t I stop thinking about him?

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.

Austin Romero: No one's fast enough to outrun grief. Trust me, I've tried. I ran away from the city and took a job as the lead detective back in my old home town of Blue Creek, New Hampshire. I expected to bump into past ghosts, but I never expected those ghosts to reopen old wounds. The biggest ghost of them all: Charlie Marsh. He was the man who had stolen my heart when we were teens, and who now couldn't even remember a single day we had spent together. Which makes it exceptionally awkward when he becomes my first client.

Life doesn’t always pan out as you expect. When it explodes in my face, literally, an old friend offers me a place to heal and a job renovating the kitchen of Burlington’s coolest wine bar. V&V is a chill fest. Living above it should be a blast. But I’m not built to be a social butterfly. Not anymore. I’m a damaged man. And I’m not its target clientele. At least, I think I’m not until I come face-to-face with the most beautiful human I’ve ever seen.

Conor: It starts with a drunken text pic. The kind I would normally never send. Only, instead of it going to the flirty hotel bartender, it goes to some random stranger who actually responds. Wells: The first thing I notice about Conor Newell when he sits down in my high-rise conference room is how delightfully nervous he is. Then I see his tie. The same geeky tie that’s held hostage on my phone. The one that belongs to my anonymous late-night texter. And it changes everything.

Asher Henderson. Captain of the Highnam Academy football team, and the bane of my existence. As Alstone High’s team captain, I’ve been pitted against him from the beginning, but our conflict isn’t only reserved for the pitch. Everyone knows we’re enemies. From our first encounter, our rivalry has been escalating, spiraling out of control. Until one night when everything between us changed. He pushed me too far, and we crossed a line that should never have been crossed. Now, I can’t get him out of my head.

In my defense, I was left alone with a bottle of single-malt and a lifelong penchant for protecting my baby sister. Still, that's no excuse to send 10 drunk-texts on why her hasty marriage would be a mistake. If only I had just texted my sister. But nope. I accidentally sent the message to her, her groom, and his super hot wingman. I also used the phrase “super hot wingman”, so I’d like to die now.

Charles Preston Carmichael is the most infuriating man I've ever met. I want to sock the golden boy of college hockey right in the mouth. He enjoys telling me everything I'm messing up—publicly. And since he's my roommate for the next year, I can't avoid him. Yet there's something about him that makes me watch him. Something dark. A secret I want to uncover. When he returns from a weekend away, broken and haunted, I can't keep my distance anymore. He needs someone, and I'll be damned if it's not me.