Best-selling authors Sarina Bowen & Elle Kennedy return with their first Male/Male romance in 3 years. LobsterShorts, 21. Jock. Secretly a science geek. Hot AF. SinnerThree, 21. Finance major. Secretly a male dancer. Hot AF. LobsterShorts: So. Here goes. For her birthday, my girlfriend wants…a threesome. SinnerThree: Then you’ve come to the right hookup app. LobsterShorts: Have you done this sort of thing before? With another guy? SinnerThree: All the time. I’m an equal opportunity player. You? LobsterShorts: [crickets!] 

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.

Julian was the boy next door. My brother's best friend, he fit with my family in ways I never could. While he and Rhett went on to play house, I left the only life I knew, desperate for a fresh start. Until everything changed. Heartache came along, and the aftermath of my brother's death was here to stay. I was now face to face with Julian more than I ever wanted to be. Being around him brought up all my insecurities, forced me to deal with hard truths, and conjured up feelings I had no business entertaining. He wasn't the man I thought I knew.

Five months in, NHL forward Ryan Wesley is having a record-breaking rookie season. He's living his dream of playing pro hockey and coming home every night to the man he loves - Jamie Canning, his longtime best friend turned boyfriend. There's just one problem: the most important relationship of his life is one he needs to keep hidden, or else face a media storm that will eclipse his success on the ice.

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.

Jamie and Wes are having a blast living and working in Toronto. Until a scout for another team swoops in to make one of them an offer that might complicate the life they've built together. 

I’m a rookie, in every sense of the word. But even though I have a wicked crush on the sexy shortstop on my baseball team, I won’t give in to my fantasies about him. I’m here in the majors for the first time to play ball. Not to experience my first time with a man. Trouble is, Declan Steele is sexy, flirty, and now, he’s my new workout partner. We’re spending mornings together in the gym, getting to know each other. Our connection is powerful—maybe because we each have our fair share of secrets and scars. Ones we'll both fight to protect.

Every bartender should follow one simple rule - don't go home with the customers. That’s been easy for me to stick to, until the night a cocky, confident, and sinfully charming hockey star walks into my bar. This sexy athlete is too hard to resist, especially when he makes it clear how much he wants the “sarcastic, witty, hot AF” guy behind the bar - also known as me. Still, I’m not keen on breaking my own rules since I know where that can lead - no place good.   

Resisting the shortstop has never been my strong suit. I failed at it during my first spring training. It sure as hell looks like I'm about to fail at it again. The sport I love playing with my very soul hangs in the balance. But everything my heart craves lies with the guy I've got to resist. A guy who's asking me to make the toughest choice ever.

After I’m arrested for throwing a raucous party, my hockey team says I have an image problem. And I need to fix it, stat. Charity work? Check. Haircut? Sure. But I draw the line at hiring my neighbor to style me. In the first place “style” shouldn’t be a verb. And I’m tired of people who’d judge me on appearances. Vera and I don’t see eye to eye on anything. She wants me to try on clothes, while I just want to remove hers. She's distractingly pretty, with soulful eyes and a sinful mouth that likes to argue with me.

When I rode my bike into Aster Valley, it was supposed to be temporary. A quick, relaxing visit with friends. No entanglements. Zero drama. But then I saw the bumblebee being harassed on the side of the highway. More specifically, I saw Truman Sweet, Aster Valley’s resident botanist, spice merchant, and bee-costume enthusiast, being harassed. 

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.

"Look out for Zach, and don't hit on him." My brother's request sounds easy enough. Keep an eye out for his best friend on campus and keep my hands to myself. Easy. Even if Zach is a quintessential nerd, who I've always thought was cute, I don't have the time to think with my...stick. There's only one stick I should be focused on this year, and that's my hockey stick. My goal once I graduate is to get an NHL contract. The last thing I need is a distraction. On or off the ice. Only, keeping to the rules is harder than I thought it would be. 

When returning to Licking Thicket, TN, for the first time in 10 years to reunite with your nosy neighbors, heartbroken ex-girlfriend, and matchmaking mama who never quite believed you were gay, it’s best to bring a fake boyfriend as backup. Just don’t be surprised when your ex-girlfriend does the same. 

Right as Raine features a rookie NFL player and his unexpectedly adorable live-in chef. The only problem? That chef happens to be the coach's son. And that's a personal foul.