Life is smooth sailing until these new roomies find themselves stuck between a rock and a very hard place. Because lusting after the one person you shouldn't ever mess around with - your new roommate - is like cardinal rule number one. Get ready for four complete friends-to-lovers rom-com standalones: The Room Mate, The Play Mate, The House Mate, and The Soul Mate.

I didn't mean to sneak a peek at my older brother's best friend. But when I catch him showering by mistake, I can't help but look. The guy is massive - and I do mean everywhere. We're all home to celebrate Dad's retirement as one big happy family, except my newlywed brother's already getting divorced, my mom keeps asking why I'm still single, and most frustrating of all, Barrett Wilson is staying with us at my parents' home for the weekend. I've known Barrett for years, so why am I suddenly noticing so many new things about him - like how big he is? It's maddening.

My best friend, Natalie, has been by my side through everything. Leaning on my shoulder, borrowing my sweatshirts…and making my pants too tight when she flashes me that sassy smile that drives me crazy. But she has no idea about that last part. She doesn't have a clue I've felt this way about her for years. Until one night after too many cocktails, we fall into bed together. I'm flirting with my forever…she just doesn't know it yet. 

First, you’d think as a thirty-something-year-old woman, I’d be immune to Griffin’s flirty comments and six-pack abs. You’d think that his carefree playboy attitude, or the fact that he’s still finishing grad school would deter me. You’d be wrong.

It all started with a sexy selfie. Texted to the wrong number. Oops. Not my finest moment - but I have nothing to be ashamed of. She thought I was no better, and I quote, than the knuckle-dragging douchebags she was never dating again. It was a stupid dare from a girl I’d met online, but since she’d given me a fake number, I didn’t feel bad that my interests were suddenly focused elsewhere - on the fiery and sharp-tongued Peyton that I found myself sparring with over text. The following day, my case of mistaken identity came back to bite me in the banana.

I'm not interested in starting something deep and meaningful, but what I am interested in is the way your body reacts to mine when we're in the same room. You probably assume the concentration on my face is work-related, when in reality, I'm figuring out which I want more: to nail you against the wall, or to bend you over my desk.

Sweet, nerdy, lovable Keaton. She's my best friend and has been for years. Sure she likes numbers and math, and thinks doing other people's taxes is fun. And I like...none of that stuff. She reads novels I'll never understand, and yet we just click. There's no one I'd rather share breakfast burritos with or binge watch hours of Netflix with. She's my person. And so when she takes off her glasses and asks me to help her improve her skills in the bedroom, I barely have to think about it. Of course I'll help her. There's no one better for the job. But what happens when she's ready to take her new-found confidence and move on?

I’m the guy you call when you need to impress your overbearing family, your boss, or your ex. Yeah, I’m a male escort, but not just any escort, I’m the escort. The one with a mile-long waiting list and a pristine reputation that’s very well-deserved. I’m the guy who’ll make you feel beautiful, desired, and worshipped...all for a steep price. I’m hired to make you shine, and I always deliver. I’ll be whatever you want me to be for one night—except my true self. This is just a job, a role I play to earn a paycheck.

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.

The first time we met was at a party. Your ex arrived to show off the person he'd left you for last month, and you asked me to pretend to be your date. I was more than happy to help. You were attractive, smart and witty--and that kiss we shared? It left me wanting you for days. The second time we met was in my office on campus where we were both surprised to discover you were the new master’s degree student in poetry that I would be working with. You promised to be professional. I did no such thing. The late nights and intense study sessions spent alongside you majorly throw me off my game. I want you, and I fight with myself daily over this fact. I know I'm crass, that my sexual innuendos and dirty mouth annoy you, but I live for those two bright spots of color in your cheeks. If that's the only reaction I can get out of you, I'll gladly take it. You hate Mondays so every Monday I slip an anonymous poem into your bag and your smile gets me through the week. I think I'm falling for you, and I know it's wrong. I know that I'm only supposed to be the adviser to your program and nothing more, but here's the thing. I think you're falling for me too.