A sizzling friends-to-lovers novella about a marriage of convenience - and a jaw-dropping misunderstanding - between a notorious bad boy and the one woman he’s always wanted, but can’t have.

I want a girl I can't have. She's my tutor. My best friend's girlfriend. And my kryptonite. She also looks really good in my T-shirt. But she wants the golden boy, and I'm more of the villain type. Or at least I was.... Until I saw her smile for the first time. But the good guy she wants wouldn't lust after his friend's girlfriend. And the good guy she's with sure as hell shouldn't be sneaking around behind her back. So where the hell does that leave me?

Nate Stiles is the definition of serious. Furrowed brow? Check. Rain cloud personality? Double check. I shouldn’t be thinking about the fact that our kiss was the best one of my life right now. I should be planning the bachelorette party of the millennium. I shouldn’t be wondering when Nate became such a good dancer after we got roped into salsa lessons with the happy couple. I should be mentally ticking off boxes on my bridal checklists. I shouldn’t be wondering what it would be like if I didn’t hate Nate Stiles. I should be holding strong against a man who doesn’t believe in love.

I didn't mean to star in a sex tape, okay? It was just one of those unexplainable things. Like Stonehenge, Police Academy 2, and morning glory clouds. It just happened. Now, my ball-busting father is sentencing me to six months of celibacy, sobriety, and morbid boredom under the roof of Boston's nerdiest girl alive, Sailor Brennan. The virginal archer is supposed to babysit my ass while I learn to take my place in Royal Pipelines, my family's oil company. Little does she know, that's not the only pipe I'll be laying....

Everyone says opposites attract. And they must be right, because there’s no logical reason why I’m so drawn to Colin Fitzgerald. I don’t usually go for tattoo-covered, video-gaming, hockey-playing nerd-jocks who think I’m flighty and superficial. His narrow view of me is the first strike against him. It doesn’t help that he’s buddy-buddy with my brother. And that his best friend has a crush on me. And that I just moved in with them. Oh, did I not mention we’re roommates?

Zanders: Chicago hockey isn't complete without me—everyone's favorite player to hate. I know my role, and I play it well. In fact, I thoroughly enjoy spending the majority of my game time in the penalty box before leaving the arena with a new girl on my arm each night. What I don't like is the new flight attendant on our team's private plane. She works for me, not the other way around. But I'll be sure to remind her of that, and I can guarantee, by the end of the season, she'll be begging to quit her job.

My name is Rachel Price, and two months ago, I walked away from the perfect man. Sweet and funny, and so hot it should be illegal—we shared one magical night. No names. No strings. I never thought I'd see him again. I was wrong. It turns out Mr. Perfect is the playboy grinder for the Jacksonville Rays, the NHL's hottest new hockey team . . . and I'm his new physical therapist. Oh, and the jerk doesn't even recognize me!

Jamie Canning has never been able to figure out how he lost his closest friend. Four years ago, his tattooed, wisecracking, rule-breaking roommate cut him off without an explanation. So what if things got a little weird on the last night of hockey camp the summer they were 18? It was just a little drunken foolishness. Nobody died.

Dane Davenport was the most gorgeous, popular, and hateable guy I went to high school with. And now? He’s the one thing standing in the way of my dream: to own the talent agency I’ve devoted my career to. Because he just bought it. He’s the bosshole from hell, and now I’m stuck with him - unless he decides to fire me. Well, I am not going down without a fight. But instead of firing me from the job I love, he does something even more evil: He asks me to help him - to save his reputation and his fortune.

After my ex crushed my dreams in the music industry, I’m done with getting my heart broken. Working as an assistant for an NHL player was supposed to be a breeze, but nothing about Jamie Streicher is easy. He’s an intimidatingly hot, grouchy jerk who can't stand me. The guy has a massive ego. Keeping things professional will be no problem, even when he demands I move in with him.