Between running a garage full of beefed-up gear-head mechanics and bailing my idiot brother out of trouble every other week, the last thing I have time for is a relationship. I’ve tried it too many times, and the ridiculous reasons I always find to end it have become a running joke around the garage. But I’ve learned my lesson. No. More. Boyfriends. I don’t care how many times Porter falls asleep drunk in my bed or how cute he looks covered in oil smears while I teach him how to fix up the vintage car he has rusting away in his garage; I’m not going to fall for him.

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?

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'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….

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 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.

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.

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.

Being invited to my cousin’s wedding really shouldn’t be a big deal except, oh yeah, I haven't seen my family for a decade. My parents turned their backs on me, and I’ve done everything since to become successful and show them what they've lost. Only it’s kinda hard to be a success when you’re a walking trainwreck.

As a founding member of The Vers, a queer podcast I host with my three best friends, I’m "The Loner"—quieter than the others, and except for them, I don’t let myself get too close to people. Most of them just let you down anyway, or maybe it’s just that something about me chases people away.

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...

Noah: Rook Oliveira stumbled into my life when I was eleven years old. Being the scrawny new kid at school with a mouth full of braces, I never expected to become unlikely best friends with the most popular boy in seventh grade. At eighteen, I gathered the courage to tell him I was gay and admitted I'd never kissed a guy. He offered to be my first. Straight or not, that kiss had burned with nearly tangible fire and tattooed the moment on my heart. I've spent the last four years trying to forget it.

Charles Preston Carmichael is the most infuriating man I've ever met. I want to sock the golden boy of college hockey right in the mouth. He enjoys telling me everything I'm messing up—publicly. And since he's my roommate for the next year, I can't avoid him. Yet there's something about him that makes me watch him. Something dark. A secret I want to uncover. When he returns from a weekend away, broken and haunted, I can't keep my distance anymore. He needs someone, and I'll be damned if it's not me.

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’ve been living under storm clouds since my honorable discharge, but Julian’s the sun. I’ve tried everything to deal with my PTSD, but nothing seemed to help. So when my brother suggests a service dog, I figure I don’t have anything to lose. The last thing I expect is for the dog to come with a cheerful, quirky trainer I can’t get out of my head. I’m too screwed up for love, but a chance to explore a side of myself I didn’t realize existed until recently is too good to pass up.

Between running a garage full of beefed-up gear-head mechanics and bailing my idiot brother out of trouble every other week, the last thing I have time for is a relationship. I’ve tried it too many times, and the ridiculous reasons I always find to end it have become a running joke around the garage. But I’ve learned my lesson. No. More. Boyfriends. I don’t care how many times Porter falls asleep drunk in my bed or how cute he looks covered in oil smears while I teach him how to fix up the vintage car he has rusting away in his garage; I’m not going to fall for him.

All people see when they look at me is a beautiful man, a supermodel, half of the world’s most famous twins. No one sees the man underneath. When I return to Forestville, the small town I grew up in, for my high school reunion, I impulsively decide to stay.

I thought I had one chance to kiss him, and I blew it. We were 16, and I was an idiot. But now, here he is, standing right in front of me, looking at me with that same expression of awe and adoration that I never lost my addiction to.

I’m a SEAL. Or rather, I was. Retired at the grand old age of 38, I’m at loose ends. My best friend wants me to join his security team. I’m not sure I’m bodyguard material, but he needs someone to protect his kid brother. How hard can spoiled brat duty be? Somehow, I missed the part where former child star Danny Love went from dorky TV darling to all grown up and disturbingly attractive. All the gossip about his wild ways fails to mention that he’s trying hard to clean up his act.

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.

Zack lost his job, his apartment, and his hope, which is why he ends up on the roof of a high-rise, certain that one final step will solve his problems. But a mysterious stranger named Rob happens to be on the roof that night too. He talks Zack down, convincing him there's still hope left in the world. Zack thinks maybe he's right, which is why he's shocked when he turns on the news the next morning to find out Rob jumped himself.

Nathaniel Montgomery can't escape the pressure to be perfect, to be smart, to be successful. To live the life chosen for him - one that doesn't include being gay. Wren Cunningham lives on the streets and does what it takes to survive. No one has ever given a damn about him, so he works with the cards he's been dealt and pushes his dreams aside. Fate steps in when Nate and Wren meet when they are 18. They have one week to live how they want and to pretend everything they hope for is within reach.

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….

I’m such a cliché. Rich, successful… and bored out of my mind. A classic case of a midlife crisis probably, but instead of buying an expensive sports car, I go on a long business trip to Australia. Alone. I haven’t trusted myself to be with anyone since my best friend betrayed me, leaving me bleeding and heartbroken. Until a gorgeous surfer dude named Ocean falls into my lap. Literally. He’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met. Bossy, carefree, and somehow, he reads me like an open book. I agree to him staying with me in Melbourne so we can have a fling. With me in charge, obviously.

There are many words for what Oliver does for a living, and none of them are very kind. Oliver's time in that industry is nearly at an end, so when a gorgeous older man with sad eyes stumbles into his path, Oliver finds it impossible to turn him away. Victor looks at him like he's an angel, even when Oliver feels like a devil, but he knows better than to hope. After all, men like them are only ever destined for star-crossed love. As months of separation carry on, Oliver realizes that maybe he really is willing to fight for what he wants and, more importantly, for who.

There’s nothing wrong with admiring a work of art, or so I tell myself…even when the admiring is more like peeping out my bedroom window, and the work of art is the shirtless, sweaty, body of the man who’s been mowing my lawn once a week every summer for years.

Being a hitman is the loneliest of jobs. We don't have many friends. Some don't even have family. Lovers? Try explaining to your boyfriend why there's blood on your shirt. Christmas is the worst time to be alone. This year, love is in the cards for me, all thanks to a letter I found in the street. It reads, "Dear Santa, all I want for Christmas is revenge…"

Sam reminds me of the horses we rescue. Scarred, skittish, and…strong. Beautiful. He’s a bit of a hat-stealer, and, truth be told, I’m a little leery of his chosen profession. The things he does in front of a camera...well, it makes me blush just thinkin' about it. But if that scar on his face is any indication, he could use somebody at his back. I aim to be that person. And yeah, some of my parts get confused by the fact that he’s all delicate and sparkly, but that’s not important. Even if the good hand lotion has somehow made it into the tack room.