As sheriff, I’m the guy people call for help. But when my solo Hawaii trip gets hijacked by my clingy ex, suddenly I’m the one who needs saving. My unlikely rescuer? A gorgeous stranger who plants one breathtaking, reckless kiss on me in the middle of a crowded bar—sending my ex packing…and stealing my carefully guarded heart.

I left my family and tiny Texas hometown 15 years ago to escape small-town gossips and to give my mom and sister the chance at a better life. But when a phone call from an attorney back home informs me that my sister passed away, leaving me custody of her newborn baby, I'm shocked out of the steady life I've built for myself running a tattoo shop in San Francisco. The thing is: I don't do babies. And I don't do small towns. Or commitment. And I especially don't do family.

After the derailment of his hockey dreams and a nasty breakup with his girlfriend, he's ready to put his head down and work hard for the South Carolina NHL team. He doesn't count on Troy Nichols, though. Troy, the star forward for the team, is unexpected in more ways than one. When sparks fly between the pair, there seems little sense in holding back. Can they make it work, or is this little more than a rebound?

I came to Legacy, Montana, to sell a fantasy—twelve Insta-ready #Holidates of Christmas. One career-making brand deal. Zero drama. Then my videographer bailed, and in walked Maddox Sullivan. Grumpy. Gorgeous. Growly. A mountain man with zero chill and even less tolerance for influencers like me. He agrees to film my content—off-camera only—but when my first date cancels, guess who ends up in front of the lens? Cue the fireworks.

Join the men of Champion Security as they settle into the town of Licking Thicket, Tennessee… and accidentally stumble into a whole heap of trouble. From accidentally hijacking a cartel overlord’s plane, to posing as fake-fiances to plan a wedding and solve a crime, to hacking the world’s silliest video game, the Champion Security series is packed with laugh-out-loud humor, steamy connections made under pressure, and plenty of delicious, schmoopy love.

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.

My new teammate pisses me off. Everyone else is falling over themselves when Golden Boy flashes a fake smile. Me? I just want to wipe it off his face. Off the ice, there's no escaping Nick Sandoval's dimples and plastic grin—because he's my new roommate. And on the ice? We need to get our act together, or else our final year of college hockey's going to waste. I can't ignore him, and I won't put up with that bullshit front he puts up for everyone. Especially when I push his buttons just right and get a glimpse at something no one else has seen—the real Nick Sandoval.

Proposing to my first boyfriend at a hockey game wasn’t my smartest move. Not only does said boyfriend walk out on me, but the whole stupid thing goes viral, and it turns out the man I was dating has too many boyfriends to count. Internet fame has crowned me a member of the Jilted Exes’ Club, a name I’d do anything to escape. One thing’s for sure: I’m not making the same mistake again. No more boyfriends, just easy hookups. And I’ll start with this gorgeous catch in Seattle. The only problem…he’s a god in bed, and I’m an inexperienced mess.

Give me the smallest reason to make a bad decision, and I’ll jump in with both feet. Case in point: thinking that drunkenly buying an abandoned town with my brothers is a good idea. As builders, we plan to renovate and flip the town, maybe turn it into something worth seeing, but the longer we’re here, the more things feel … off. It’s not until a bearded mountain man breaks into my room in the middle of the night and threatens for us to get out of his town that I realize Wilde’s End isn’t as abandoned as we were told.

Failing to make it in pro ball left me absolutely devastated. Baseball has been my life, my dream, but it’s time to move on. Becoming a sports agent was always my back-up plan, and now that I’m interning at the biggest queer-focused firm in the country, I’m doing my best not to let my bitterness toward baseball affect my future. That’s really difficult when I’m assigned to babysit Kelley Afton, hotshot rookie pitcher for Philly. He has everything I ever wanted, and he doesn’t even appreciate it. I didn’t become an agent so I could soothe the ego of diva athletes.

There’s nothing wrong with admiring a work of art, or so I tell myself…even when the admiring is more like peeping out my bedroom window, and the work of art is the shirtless, sweaty, body of the man who’s been mowing my lawn once a week every summer for years.

Rowe Prince is many things. But when it turns out Rowe’s lies conceal a secret that threatens the company I’ve spent years building, I have to choose: say goodbye to the sweet pretender I’m falling for, or risk everything for a man who just might be… the prince of lies.

At 12, he was my best friend. At 16, he became my crush. And now, at 34, he’s the man I’m still pining after. Falling in love with Easton was never part of the plan. But now that I’ve done it, I can’t seem to stop. It doesn’t help that we’re living under the same roof. Or that Easton is so dang sweet I want to lick him from head to toe.

If there’s one thing I don’t need upsetting my quiet and comfortable routine in the small town of Darling, Montana, it’s newcomer Ash Alcott crash landing on my family’s ranch like some sort of blonde angel. I don’t need his flirting. Or his smile. I don’t need the way he makes me question whether or not I’m truly happy being alone at forty. I certainly don’t need to be giving him riding lessons or appreciating the meals he cooks for the ranch.

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.