Emma Hart

Look, I didn't go out of my way to sleep with my next-door neighbor. It just happened. On the counter. Over the counter. Probably under it, too, if we hadn't moved it to the bedroom. But take it from me: a one-night stand with your neighbor? It's not all it's cracked up to be.

Let your homeless best friend stay with you, he said. Being roommates will be fun, he said. It's only temporary, he said. He never said I'd fall for him. You know what isn't temporary? The endless stream of dirty socks in my bathroom and empty food packets under the sofa-and don't even get me started on the hot guys who take over my living room every Sunday to watch sports. I can't take anymore. So I propose a roommate agreement. One that will bring...

Let me make this clear right here, right now: I, Halley Dawson, do not care that Preston Wright is kissing other women. Not a lick. Not at all. Nuh-uh-freakin'-uh. I do care that he's doing it six feet away from me behind a gaudy velvet curtain-making him my competition in this year's kissing contest. Why do I care, you ask? Because I've had an unfortunate crush on the insufferable idiot since I was sixteen years old, but I also know it's never going...

There's nothing like starting your Monday morning with a positive pregnancy test. Trust me, I know-because I'm looking at one right now. All I can think is this: Oh, hell. My grandmother is going to kill me. Since this might just send her to an early grave, there's only one option-pretending the father is my new husband. If only he'll agree to fake it. Kai Connors was supposed to be nothing more than a one-night stand-a long, dirty one-night stand...

There are some things you just have to deal with-like your hot-as-hell college booty call moving in next door with his adorable daughter. The only time we've ever gotten along is under the sheets. Old habits die hard because two minutes on my front porch is how long it takes us to bicker. Not that a little fact like that bothers my healthy eighty-year-old grandmother and roommate who's determined to see me married before she bites the dust. Unfortunately...

Don't sleep with your best friend. Take it from me. I did it. And it was awful-I-wish-the-tequila-made-me-forget kind of bad. The problem is, Luke has forgotten. He swears that he can't remember a thing about that night beyond the trays of tequila shots being set on the tables. But I can't forget. I can't forget how good his hands felt until I fell over and hit my hip on the dresser, and I sure as hell can't forget the entire two minutes. It's awkward,...

I, Elle Evans, am on the run. Not from the fuzz-although that would be more exciting. No, I'm on the run from the four-year-old private tape that, thanks to my vengeful ex, has probably already ruined my vlogging career. There's nothing like the entire world knowing what you look like mid-O. Creek Keys, Florida, is a million miles away from NYC, and it's the perfect place for me to hide for the rest of summer until I can figure out what I'm going...

What do a wrong number text, a burning building, and a quirky florist have in common? A hunky firefighter with an extra-large...hosepipe. In hindsight, I never should have opened that text message. The last thing I needed first thing on a Monday was a picture of some stranger's, um, eggplant, in my inbox. I also should have replaced the batteries in my fire alarm, because my Friday night did not need to end with my apartment building going up in flames....