The last thing I want is another relationship or another broken heart. All I need are my bees and the occasional hookup to scratch the itch. Okay, maybe meeting up with my hot contractor weekly is a little more than occasional. And maybe the way I’m starting to feel about the guy I’ve been anonymously chatting with online should concern me. But CaulkyAF doesn’t want to meet, and Cole doesn’t want anything serious, so what’s the worst that could happen?

We haven't spoken in 15 years, and Marlon is the last person I expected to run into in a bar on Bourbon Street. He's not my gangly internet pen pal anymore; he's all muscles, body hair, and temptation. Our friendship feels like it never faded, but the heat between us is brand-new. We're both in different cities every few weeks, hustling to build our careers and soaking up all the perks of being young, hot, and untethered. But our paths seem to be crossing more and more often.

I'm a list person. Lists make sense, they give a chaotic, unpredictable world order. Realizing I was gay at 30 definitely wasn't on my list. I guess I need a new list….

When half your face is covered in a big, blotchy birthmark, you get used to the staring and the whispers. You get used to feeling unwanted. Until he walks into my bar.... Tall, gorgeous, and all kinds of out of place. And the way he looks at me ain’t like no way I've ever seen before.

I never thought a night out could change everything. All I wanted was to dance, drink, maybe take a cute guy home for a night of fun. I met the guy, but the night ended as a nightmare. Screams and blood and tragedy haunt my dreams. I'm alive and I owe it all to the gorgeous marine who refused to leave me for dead. But how can I start a new relationship when I'm not even sure who I am anymore?

After spending his formative years in an abusive home, NICHOLAS WEBSTER has made a pretty good life for himself. He has friends, a lucrative job with Elite Protection Services, and a side gig that lets him help out those escaping the same abusive home situation he left behind. But no matter how many people he helps, he can’t escape the guilt over the one person he didn’t—his step-brother, Cyrus.

I’m everyone’s friend, but no one’s everything...I love working for Ballsy Boys, but when you make the kind of videos I do, relationships are pretty damn impossible. Guys find me sexy and want to either be with me or be me, but no one has ever cared enough to see the real me. Until I meet Troy...who shows up in a banana suit at my door. Long story.

I thought there was only one thing I needed to make me happy. I was so sure becoming a rock star would heal the dark corners inside me. But every time I walk onto the stage, with a roaring crowd screaming my name, all I can think about is the boy I left behind. All I want to do is rewind and make a different choice.

The job at Sunday Orchard was supposed to be temporary. A chance to gain some work experience, to have some fun. I had not expected to be welcomed into a family of gorgeous and weirdly efficient lumberjack-types, or to find purpose in the tiny Vermont town whose claim to fame seemed to be apple-based products and copious amounts of charm. And I most definitely hadn’t expected to fall for Knox Sunday, my grumpy, burly, fifteen-years-older, reluctant roommate, with his infuriating lectures, his hot-as-fire body, his superior attitude - I’ve never been one to put down roots.

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.

Military life is all I’ve known since I was born. But when a top-secret mission fails, I find myself suddenly discharged with nowhere to go. Mike Bravo saved my life, and they want me to join them, but there’s one small problem. Isaac “Iris” Griffin. He’s as irresistibly snarky as he always was, only there’s a big difference this time. I’m no longer closeted or scared to live my truth. And the truth is, I’ve always wanted him. It’s against Mike Bravo’s rules to fraternize with other team members. But something tells me Iris might be worth the insubordination.

My loser high school friend never deserved him anyway. If I’d had the chance, I would have locked Remy down years ago. Only, when the party leads to a drunken kiss, going on their honeymoon, and sharing their marital bed, I have to say, I’m not entirely sad that their wedding went up in flames.

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.

My name is Hudson Newgate, but my teammates call me "New Guy". That was my nickname in Chicago, too. And Vancouver. That’s what happens when you keep getting traded. Brooklyn is my last chance, especially after my poor performance last season.

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...

The last thing I want is another relationship or another broken heart. All I need are my bees and the occasional hookup to scratch the itch. Okay, maybe meeting up with my hot contractor weekly is a little more than occasional. And maybe the way I’m starting to feel about the guy I’ve been anonymously chatting with online should concern me. But CaulkyAF doesn’t want to meet, and Cole doesn’t want anything serious, so what’s the worst that could happen?

I never thought a night out could change everything. All I wanted was to dance, drink, maybe take a cute guy home for a night of fun. I met the guy, but the night ended as a nightmare. Screams and blood and tragedy haunt my dreams. I'm alive and I owe it all to the gorgeous marine who refused to leave me for dead. But how can I start a new relationship when I'm not even sure who I am anymore?

Accepting my career in the Army is over after losing my leg is hard. But the obnoxious, good looking, glass-half-full surfer in my physical therapy sessions is worse. And god help him if he doesn’t stop trying to give me advice. Living in a home with three of my closest veteran buddies is a challenge as we all have our crosses to bear and wounds to heal from, but mine only seem to be getting deeper with every step forward I take. I already have to adjust to a new life as a civilian. I don’t need a sexuality crisis to go with it.

A beach vacay with my best bud since college seems like the perfect opportunity to relax, catch some rays, and enjoy a couple of nights on the town. When I find a girl who's eager to mess around with me, I figure I've got it made. Then, I meet the intense, hot-as-hell, tattooed Eric Westright, who wrecks my world...in the best possible way. He awakens something within me - something that's always been here, but that's never pulled so powerfully...not until I looked into those solemn blue eyes and felt the red-hot spark of his touch.

I'm a list person. Lists make sense, they give a chaotic, unpredictable world order. Realizing I was gay at 30 definitely wasn't on my list. I guess I need a new list….

Everett: There are a ton of reasons why falling for my tiny, adorkable best friend is a terrible idea - starting with the body in my trunk. I have other reasons - he still mourns his late husband. I’m way older, he’s a foot shorter, my tattoo shop is a front, he’s an assistant professor at UT. Still, I can’t help but think we’d be perfect for each other if I didn’t kill people (very, very bad people) for a living.

Reed Ellis is absolutely gorgeous but a total newbie to camming, a virtual nobody in my world. I should have just deleted his message request for a steamy on-camera collaboration. Not everyone is cut out to be a camboy. But there's just something about him I couldn't resist. He's timid and inexperienced, quiet and closed off, but his fumbling first times play out scorching hot for the cameras, and our videos together are an instant success. I know I should just ride this out, sit back and watch the money roll in, and then move on.

When half your face is covered in a big, blotchy birthmark, you get used to the staring and the whispers. You get used to feeling unwanted. Until he walks into my bar.... Tall, gorgeous, and all kinds of out of place. And the way he looks at me ain’t like no way I've ever seen before.

This trilogy features a group of friends who are brought together by circumstances but remain family by choice. You'll find May/December pairings, brother's best friend, bi awakenings, fake dating, and plenty of that Kiki Clark steam.

I wasn’t a keeper. Guys just didn’t pick me, and after one too many threw me away, my heart couldn’t take it anymore. When I was traded to the Buffalo Warriors, I knew things wouldn’t be any different. Skate. Score goals. Work out. Repeat. That’s my life. I’m living the dream by playing professional hockey, and I have some amazing friends. I’m happy. Really, I am. Or at least I’m trying to be. Until the night I run into Luca.

Nolan O’Brien is a public prosecutor, and if he ever sees the name Bruno Barbieri again, it will be too soon. After a long week preparing for the trial of the decade, it takes no convincing to hit the men’s club for a few drinks. Except the club wasn’t the only thing he hit that night.

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.

Help! I've inherited my aunt's historic house in small-town Oregon, and I need to fix it up and sell it fast before I move on to my big-city dreams. I'm one of the navy's best investigators, but twenty years of living in base housing means DIY isn't part of my extensive skill set.

After years of drowning myself in parties, hookups, and pain, all it takes is one viral sex tape to be given a choice: Hide out on an island or lose my trust fund. Having to share a room with the one man I let hurt me is my worst nightmare. I’m the broken shell of the boy he walked away from on the worst day of my life. I hate him almost as much as I hate myself.

Trapped in nightmares from my past, the only comfort I find is in gifts from the man who killed my mother's killer—presents wrapped in a body bag and delivered to the morgue for me to examine. From the first time I saw his mark, I knew I had to keep my killer safe, had to keep his work a secret for me and me alone. Every body is a love letter, and I'm the only one who can read them.