EAT. SLEEP. FOOTBALL. Those are Jackson Jennings Jr.’s three mantras. His entire life, he’s been a trained athlete with only one end-game: the Pros. No girls. No parties. No alcohol. EAT. SLEEP. FOOTBALL. Repeat. Every Friday night, Triple J cruises the strip on campus, bored, lonely, and conditioned not to party. But the night he meets Charlotte Edmonds on the side of the road, he wonders if his three mantras will ever be enough.  

"Hard pass." That's what the last girl I slept with said when she got her first sober glimpse of me. She laughed, walked out of my penthouse - and I never saw her again. It doesn't matter that I'm a rich, professional athlete; what mattered was my face. Beauty might only be skin deep for some - but I know better. "Pay up." That's what the last girl I spoke to said over the phone when I made her an offer she couldn't refuse.

Greyson Keller didn't intend to lie; it just came out that way. So when the object of that lie shows up on her doorstep, she is confused, shocked, and embarrassed. Calvin Thompson is an Ivy Leaguer, attending a university over an hour away, playing rugby and basically not giving a crap. So imagine his surprise when some guy named Greyson begins rumors online that they're dating - the only logical solution is to drive an hour and confront him.

No doubt about it, Sebastian "Oz" Osborne is the university's most celebrated student athlete - and possibly the biggest douchebag. A walking, talking cliché, he has a filthy mouth, a fantastic body, and doesn't give a sh-t about what you or anyone else thinks. Jameson Clarke may be the university's most diligent student - but she is no prude. Spending most of her time in the hallowed halls of the library, James is wary of pervs, jocks, and douchebags - and Oz Osborne is all three. She's smart, sarcastic - and not what he expected....

I knocked up my best friend's sister. Let's start with how she decided to inform me and Pacey the news...together. Imagine that nightmare. I was going into what I thought was a hockey marketing meeting, and then bam! I'm going to be a dad and my best friend/teammate is attempting to imprint my face with his fist. Threats were tossed around, friendships were revoked, and then I was marched up to her apartment, suitcases in hand, and forced to live with her so I could take care of her every need. Now I'm finding it harder and harder not to fall for my best friend's little sister.

I have a type. I love the good guy. Responsible and stable. Safe. So when a beer-drinking, quick-witted, tattooed hockey player asks me to tutor him, I'm suddenly thrust into the world of bad boys and bad decisions. Jordan is a renowned player on campus. He doesn’t take anything seriously, except hockey and partying. But he gives me butterflies. I’m a wallflower tutoring Valley University’s hottest player.

What I meant to do in Vegas: Let my hair down for once and celebrate winning a medal at my first women’s hockey all-stars competition. What I actually did: Got senior prom drunk and woke up married to Brooklyn’s star winger, the great Neil Drake. He’s the heir to a billion dollars, and I barely survived my childhood. Our friendship is based strictly on hockey, takeout food, and smack talk. And now holy matrimony. We both know it can’t last - especially once his evil family gets wind of our Vegas shenanigans.

Begging my brother’s best friend - a.k.a NHL superstar Ian Fox - to help me ditch my V-card wasn’t part of my “make it big in NYC” plans. But after years of being “cute little Evie”, I’m tired of waiting for Mr. Right. I’m ready for Mr. Right Now, and Ian is everything I’ve ever wanted in a first time. He’s kind, funny, confident, and has a legendary stick.... And yes, my brother will murder us if he finds out, but we’re both grown-ups. We can keep a secret. We have to, since I just landed an art-therapy job working with his troubled team. 

It’s official. I, Ainsley James, am crazy. Desperate and crazy. It’s the only explanation as to why I’m nauseous, standing outside Maverick Lexington’s door. I mean, it’s possible the stories about his deck of playing cards - with the letters IOU scrawled across the back - are just rumors of the ruthless quid pro quo deals he barters. But the flutters in my stomach know better. Maverick is as cold as they come. But, I need one of those cards. I need to owe Maverick Lexington a favor....

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....

Sometimes I need an escape from the demands, the puck bunnies, and the notoriety that come with being an NHL team captain. I just want to be a normal guy for a few weeks. So when I leave Chicago for some peace and quiet, the last thing I expect is for a gorgeous woman to literally fall into my lap on a flight to Alaska. Even better, she has absolutely no idea who I am.

Anna Jones just wants to finish college and figure out her life. Falling for star quarterback Drew Baylor is certainly not on her to do list. Confident and charming, he lives in the limelight and is way too gorgeous for his own good. If only she could ignore his heated stares and stop thinking about doing hot and dirty things with him. Easy, right? Too bad he's committed to making her break every rule.

Reid Riddick was hotness personified, so of course I literally ran into with him - well, more like he plowed into me. I didn’t know he was a football player when I started falling and now I can’t stop. A stolen kiss later and my heart races whenever he looks at me from across the quad. But my secret would spell disaster for him.

Being a veteran quarterback means I’m a mentally alert, fine-tuned athletic machine who can make split-second decisions. It’s my job to anticipate what’s going to happen next. But I couldn’t have anticipated the death of our beloved team owner, or his estranged daughter, Hannah Strong, inheriting the Boston Tomcats. She’s stubborn, uptight, infuriating, and wrong about absolutely everything. I can’t stop arguing with her. Or thinking about her. And I don’t want to talk about how good she looks in a skirt. Or how good she’d look out of it. Really, I don’t.

Call it superstition, but when a guy bats as hot as Brooks Elliott, you don’t mess with what’s working. And what’s working is him keeping his pants zipped and doing all of his scoring on the field. So when I hear he’s planning to ditch his V-card now that he’s been traded to baseball’s lovable losers - a.k.a. my home team and my reason for living every March through October - I do what any rational, dedicated, obsessed fan would do. I make a plan to stop him. But the thing about stopping him is that it requires spending time with him. Lots. And lots. And lots of time.