Will and North had been inseparable, but things change, people grow apart, and even a blazing flame can dwindle to a dying ember over time.The more things change the more they stay the same.After a run in with a bottle of Bundy rum, Will and North find themselves in a compromising and all too familiar position.Blurred lines, bad decisions, and one wrong foot after another lead these two down a spiral of sarcasm, secrets, and sex, but when North’s hetero status is called into question he can’t figure up from down. And despite Will telling himself he wouldn’t fall again, he’s head over heels and wandering without a compass.Love is love.Love is truth.Love … shouldn’t be this damn hard to figure out.

    Oh, you haven’t? Too absurd to be true you say? I agree. Throw in my terrible social skills and it’s a disaster in the making. Why my current neighbor and former friend Paige thought it would be a good idea to set us up will forever be a mystery. Sure, it would be great to have a life partner, but I’m kind of killing it out here being Miss Independent. I have an amazing job. I build rocket ships! Okay, yes, they recently have a pesky habit of exploding at lift off, but we’ll get that tiny bug figured out soon. Probably. Who needs sleep anyway?I work with one of my best friends who set up a profile for me on a dating site. I now have a phone filled with unsolicited pictures of a certain piece of male anatomy which is honestly pretty unsettling. I have a cat who likes me. Sometimes. Attempted murder is just his love language. Oh! And I have an entire wardrobe of elastic waistbands. Elastic waistband. I think that one sells itself. So, things are great, thank you very much. Except now I have a problem. A very muscled, attractive problem. Despite the disaster at the club, Sebastian Kincaid seems determined to bulldoze his way into my life. I don’t understand what his motivations could possibly be and it’s starting to make me a little crazy. Even worse, I can’t seem to get my head and my heart on the same page. I can make this work. As long as he keeps his shirt on and hands to himself. I mean it’s not exactly rocket science.

    Of course it did. I’m a professional fluffer. It’s NOT what you think. I stage homes for a living. Real estate agents love me, and my work stands on its own merits. Sigh. Get your mind out of the gutter. Go ahead. Laugh. I’ll wait. See? That’s the problem. My career has used the term “fluffer” for decades. I didn’t even know there was a more… lascivious definition of the term. Until it was too late. The ad for a “professional fluffer” on Craigslist seemed like divine intervention. My last unemployment check was in the bank. I was desperate. Rent was due. The ad said cash paid at the end of the day. The perfect job! Staging homes means showing your best angle. The same principle applies in making a certain kind of movie. Turns out a “fluffer” doesn’t arrange decorative pillows on a couch. They arrange other soft, round-ish objects. The job isn’t hard. Er, I mean, it is — it’s about being hard. Or, well… helping other people to be hard. Oh, man… And that’s the other problem. A man. No, not one of the stars on the movie set. Will Lotham – my high school crush. The owner of the house where we’re filming. Illegally. In a vacation rental. By the time the cops show up, what I thought was just a great house staging gig turned into a nightmare involving pictures of me with an undressed star, Will rescuing me from an arrest, and a humiliating lesson in my own naivete. My job turned out to be so much harder than I expected. But you know what’s easier than I ever imagined? Having all my dreams come true.

    A lost island. Mysteries and dangers. No access to email. And the spirit of fierce, feral competition that lives deep in the heart of every girl, a savage brutality that can only be revealed by a journey into the heart of non-exfoliated darkness. Oh, the horror, the horror! When a plane crash strands thirteen teen beauty contestants on a mysterious island, they struggle to survive, to get along with one another, to combat the island's other diabolical occupants, and to learn their dance numbers in case they are rescued in time for the competition.

    And she got caught. Being branded a cheater would be bad enough, but Quinn is deemed a traitor, and shunned by all of her friends. Because Carey’s not just any guy—he’s serving in Afghanistan and revered by everyone in their small, military town.Quinn could clear her name, but that would mean revealing secrets that she’s vowed to keep—secrets that aren’t hers to share. And when Carey goes MIA, Quinn must decide how far she’ll go to protect her boyfriend…and her promise.

    I mean, just because my last boyfriend tried to kill me and left a bit of a scar on my neck, then forced me to move across the country and legally change my name to Reese Randall to escape him, does not mean— Oh, who am I kidding? For a freshman in college, I have to have the worst dating track record ever. It’s no wonder love is the last thing on my mind when Mason Lowe enters my life. But the chemistry between us is like bam! Our connection defies logic. And he’s just so freaking hot. Being around him makes me feel more alive than I’ve ever felt before. I even like bickering with him. He could be my soul mate...except for one teeny tiny glitch.He's a gigolo.Boy, do I know how to pick them.