Callum Walker kills people for a living. Although he doesn't get a say in who his boss puts on his list, he likes to hunt people who hurt children in his spare time. After a misunderstanding that leads Callum to believe Ryan Fairview—a local funeral director—is responsible for hurting one of the neighbourhood children, he finds his next target. However, Ryan isn't like other morticians. He can see dead people. So, when Callum breaks into Fairview Funerals ready to kill him, Ryan is shocked to find that his would-be murderer is haunted by all the people he's killed.

New York Admirals captain Scott Hunter takes his pregame rituals very seriously. In this case, it's not just a lucky smoothie he's craving - it's the man who made it. Pro hockey star Scott Hunter knows a good thing when he sees it. So, when a smoothie made by juice bar barista Kip Grady precedes Scott breaking his on-ice slump, he's desperate to recreate the magic...and to get to know the sexy, funny guy behind the counter.  

It was never meant to be more than a dare: A party game. A dare. A single kiss. That’s all it took to flip my world upside down. I’ve always classified myself as straight, and as far as I can tell, so has he. I didn’t think one kiss would change that, but I was so wrong. Now, I can’t stop thinking about him. My best friend. Aspen. His taste is branded in my memory, his touch seared in my skin. And I want more. Which is why I start tossing out new dares. Riskier ones that toe lines we never thought we’d cross. But there’s so much more at stake here. Like my heart.

Avi's into old-school emo bands, true crime, and cryptids. And if not many others share his interests, he's cool with that, as long as he doesn't run out of weed. But then he moves from Brooklyn to Boston with his mom, which isn't a big deal . . . until she announces she's seeing someone and he happens to have a son Avi's age. As his mom's relationship gets more serious, they all move in together, and under the same roof as his future stepbrother, Avi's never felt more out of place.

My newest obsession is nothing like any of my past hookups. A perma-scowl and general leave-me-alone attitude? Yeah, that's the kind of thing I usually stay away from. But the most shocking part about all of this is that the person who's got me all out of whack . . . isn't a girl. Bash is a six-foot-four-tatted personal trainer who seems to want nothing to do with me. Until I'm naked, that is. As soon as I'm dressed, he's more than ready to say goodbye. But if there's one thing getting a taste of Sebastian Crawford has taught me, it's that one taste just isn't enough.