No pants? No problems. Hadley Bowman is killing it at this quarantine thing. Right up until the day she finds out that her sexy-as-sin boss is suddenly single. Now, with thoughts of all the wicked things she’d like to do to him running through her mind, she’s started doing the one thing she never does...make mistakes. And if that's not bad enough, the world is beginning to return to normal, forcing Hadley to put her big girl panties on and deal with him...face-to-face. 

Hi, my name is Bree Camden, and I’m hopelessly in love with my best friend and star quarterback Nathan Donelson (so is half of America, judging by the tabloids and how much the guy dates). The first step is admitting it, right? Except, I can never admit it to him because he clearly doesn’t see me that way, and the last thing I want is for things to get weird between us. Nothing but good old-fashioned no-touching-the-sexiest-man-alive platonic friendship for us! Everything is exactly how I like it! Yes. Good. (I’m not crying; I’m just peeling an onion.) 

Am I friends with JP Cane? Ha! That's laughable. Besides the fact that he’s adopted some far-fetched notion from the movie When Harry Met Sally that says men and women can't be friends and work together, it’s safe to say we're not friends. He's annoyingly loud, obnoxiously handsome, and has made an art out of poking all my hot buttons...multiple times a day. So you can imagine how disgruntled I am when I not only have to fly to San Francisco with him for work, but stay in the same penthouse. Yup, we're sharing the same air, 24-7. We're talking full-fledged working roommates.

Conor Brady is the hottest man I have ever laid eyes on. Ever. He’s also my new roommate. In the past few days, I became jobless, homeless, and boyfriendless. So, I did what any 28-year-old woman with her life together would do: I ran. Far, far away from my life in New York and straight to my big brother’s house in Atlanta. Only, it turns out that my brother is away on a business trip. And he failed to tell me that a full-on, godlike hottie - who happens to be a premier house flipper - has taken up residence in the spare bedroom while his enormous new house is being renovated.

He's a billionaire heir. A grump supreme. Hater of people. Bigger hater of peopling with people. And my new fake boyfriend. "Emotionally unavailable" doesn’t even begin to describe Hayes Rutherford. He has more defenses than a nuclear missile silo. And he’s the ultimate catch of the century. At least, according to his bank statement. My job’s simple: Keep all interested ladies away from the walled-off heir, by pretending to be his one true love. But you know what they say about fake-dating a billionaire: It’s all fun and games, until the scandals start.

A single dad, a model, and a comedian walk into a bar.... They’re all Owen Brodie. It’s only funny if you aren’t the hilarious struggling comedian who has been hired to be his son’s nanny for the stand-up tour. 

Hockey star Max Yearwood was everything I needed at the time - fun, sexy, up for anything, and only around for a few months, since he’d signed with a new team 3,000 miles away. Max proposed we spend the summer helping me forget my ex. It sounded like a good plan. Things couldn’t get too serious when we had an expiration date. Right? Though, you know what they say about the best-laid plans. 

I knew it was a bad idea to get on the elevator. Because now, I have three problems. Number one, I’m stuck in the elevator. Number two, I’m soaking wet from the rain. Number three, he got in before the doors closed. Miles Humphries. My neighbor. The one I hate. The biggest jerk I’ve ever met. Mr. Bachelor-for-Life and I, Rose Taylor, are like night and day. Imagine my jaw dropping when he asks me to be his fake fiancée. And move in with him. Together with my cat. Hello? That’s disaster waiting to happen. But then he makes me an offer I can’t refuse.

Drew Marshall may have let me move into his spare bedroom while my house is being renovated, but don’t think for one second his kindness comes without strings - big, ugly fake-relationship strings. That’s okay, though, Dr. Andrew. I’ll agree to your terms, move into your house, and act like your girlfriend when the big day comes, but I also plan to make your life miserable - make you pay for what you did to me. I may not be good at forgiving or forgetting, but I’m excellent at getting even. 

The quintessential question asked to every couple. And the answer is usually some bubbly, lovey dovey tale of being struck in the bum by Cupid’s arrow. My meet cute (well, not so meet cute) is slightly different. I was trolling a wealthy neighborhood in Beverly Hills, searching for someone to take me as their bride, you know, to make my arch nemesis jealous who consequently just fired me. 

Troy Alexander is sex on a stick and every girl’s dream at John Rushmore University. He’s also the bane of my existence. Our meet-cute wasn’t exactly cute. He called me a nerd, and I accused him of slacking off on the field. Now, we have to live together. I’m supposed to try to play nice to keep a roof over my head. Not in my nature. Our arrangement could be a living hell, but slowly, I realize the worst thing he ever did wasn’t calling me names.

Please leave your message at the sound of the beep.... Penelope, I know that it’s three o’clock in the morning, but I need to get this off my chest. I can’t give you any more advice on landing this other guy, can’t tell you another “sexy” thing that you should do, or suggest a new set of filthy words that you should text him late at night. As your best friend, I’ve reached my limit, and I can honestly say that he doesn’t deserve you. I’m not saying all of this because I’m f--king jealous, or because he had the audacity to say that he makes more money than me.

He’s the devil himself: Damon Copeland (he practically carries a pitchfork), fiery-hot, a torturously sexy body, and a killer smile (if he ever smiled). He’s also the top dog at my father’s company and my brother’s best friend. Oh, and someone I accidentally slept with. In my defense, that was before I knew who he was and before he hired me. Now, my one-night stand has turned into my boss. What’s worse, he’s Mr. Bosshole Superior: brutish, broody, and impatient. He’s also 6’4". And I’m pretty sure he hates me. But it’s not as if I planned any of this.

I’m a single female who’s tired of relationships ruining my life. However, there are times when a date would be helpful. If you’re a single man, preferably mid-20s to late-30s, and are in a similar situation, we might be a match. Candidate must be handsome, charming, and willing to pretend to have feelings for me (on a sliding scale, as the event requires). Ability to discuss a wide variety of topics is a plus. Must have your own transportation and a (legal) job. In exchange for your time, I will give you mine. If interested, please email me. Time is of the essence. 

The first book in the scorching new Hot Jocks series by New York Times best-selling author Kendall Ryan - available in audio first! I've never been so stupid in my entire life. Elise Parrish, my teammate's incredibly sweet and gorgeous younger sister, should have been off-limits, but my hockey stick didn't get the memo. After our team won the championship, our flirting turned physical, and I took her to bed. Then shame sent her running the next morning from our catastrophic mistake.