What the hell do I know about raising a baby? Nothing. Not a goddamn thing. Yet here I am, the sole guardian of my niece. I'd be lost if it weren't for Katherine, the beautiful girl who seems to have all the answers. Katherine, who's slowly finding her way into my cynical heart. I keep reminding myself that I can't fall for someone when we don't have a future. But telling myself this lie and believing it are two different things.

There’s a fine line between lust and hate. I don’t care that Drew Merritt spent the last year transforming himself from grungy slob to sexy playboy. With messy, dirty blond hair and gorgeous eyes, his looks aren’t the problem. His mouth is. And the stupid things that come out of it. But after an emergency strands us together, and he does his damnedest to take care of me.... Let’s just say there’s one thing we don’t clash on. And it doesn’t involve talking. 

Football god. Ladies man. Campus celebrity. Guys want to be me and girls want to bed me. Commitment? What's that? Then I saw her - tiny, gorgeous, and oh so...mine.  

The Gibson Boys Collection is a feel-good, small-town series featuring blue-collar alpha males and smart, capable heroines. Sweet and steamy, the Gibson Boys enjoys favorite tropes such as second-chance romance, blue collar vs. silver spoon, enemies to lovers, and more. Fall madly in love with this relatable, unforgettable family by USA Today best-selling author Adriana Locke. This set includes four full-length novels and one novella.

I would say Dr. Cruz Costello is my archenemy. But that would require acknowledging one another, which we haven’t done in more than a decade. He’s the town’s golden child. The beloved quarterback-turned-physician. I’m the girl who got knocked up at 16 and now works at a diner. He is Fairhope royalty. I get my monarch dose from tabloid gossip. He’s well-off. I’m...well, off. When our siblings get engaged, Cruz’s parents invite both families to a pre-wedding cruise. Except Cruz and I find ourselves stuck on a different ship from everyone else.

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. 

The dreamiest player on the Moo U hockey team hangs a flyer on the bulletin board, and I am spellbound: Rent a boyfriend for the holiday. For $25, I will be your Thanksgiving date. I will talk hockey with your dad. I will bring your mother flowers. I will be polite, and wear a nicely ironed shirt.... Now everyone knows it’s a bad idea to introduce your long-time crush to your messed-up family. But I really do need a date for Thanksgiving, even if I’m not willing to say why. 

I'm a Monet. A chameleon. And what I must be is a flawless daughter, a skilled socialite, and the perfect prize to the man who signed along the dotted line. Not that I'm complaining. I'm all for a contractual agreement, a quick and clean catapult into the next phase of rich girl life. One that takes little thought, less effort, and zero devotion. It's exactly what I want. Or, it was until the lights went out, darkness took over, and I learned what it meant to live.

From USA Today and Wall Street Journal best-selling author Meagan Brandy comes an all-new stand-alone romance set in college about a hotshot pitcher and the girl he never saw coming.

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.

As a divorced single father, I live by three rules: Make sure every day my daughter, Paisley, knows she’s number one in my life. No matter what, keep contact with my cheating ex-wife to a minimum, and turn Maxwell Wineries into a legacy that keeps Paisley set for life. When I hire Lexi to look after my daughter, I realize I need another rule: Don’t pursue Paisley’s nanny. But even if I had that rule it wouldn’t matter. Because I'm breaking it already.

Bay Bishop aka The New Girl is my new neighbor. Glasses, stage crew black clothes, and a knack for fading into the background. She’s probably the only one who rolls her eyes when I walk past instead of cheering on my last touchdown play. But before I can shove her into the recesses of my mind filed under “Not my problem”, she lands herself smack dab in the middle of my dreams. I catch her singing with a voice unlike any I’ve heard before that taps into feelings I shouldn’t have for the girl who avoids me at all costs. I need to know why she hates me.

In my defense, he was wet - and shirtless - and had this really cute birthmark that looked like someone had kissed his ridiculously defined hip bone. I got sidetracked, okay? It was an accident. Especially when I kissed him so hard my wig shifted sideways, and he realized I was someone else - someone like his enemy. Awkward, right? So imagine my surprise when Sebastian shows up at my door months later with clenched fists, demanding I pretend to be his girlfriend so he can win a million dollars.

Mascen Wade, star pitcher of the Aldridge University baseball team, is a lot of things. Rich. Hotter than sin. The campus’ reigning bad boy. We knew each other once upon a time, but even if I’m named after a princess, it doesn’t mean my life is a fairy tale. My plan is to keep my head down, get my degree, and leave this town. But the moment Mascen Wade recognizes me, all my carefully laid plans come crumbling down. He’s decided he wants to make my life a living hell, but I’m not so easy to push around. 

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.