Zanders: Chicago hockey isn't complete without me—everyone's favorite player to hate. I know my role, and I play it well. In fact, I thoroughly enjoy spending the majority of my game time in the penalty box before leaving the arena with a new girl on my arm each night. What I don't like is the new flight attendant on our team's private plane. She works for me, not the other way around. But I'll be sure to remind her of that, and I can guarantee, by the end of the season, she'll be begging to quit her job.

I was upgraded to first class on a flight from London to New York. The food, champagne, and service were impeccable. The blue-eyed man sitting next to me, even better. He was suave and intelligent. We talked and laughed, and something clicked. Fate took over and the plane was grounded, and we had an unexpected stopover for the night. With no plans, we made our own.

The first time I laid eyes on Henley James, I was mesmerized. The chemistry between us was like nothing I’d ever felt. Impeccable suit, dimpled smile. He was charming and gorgeous, sophisticated and suave. He gave me his business card and asked me to call. His dating game was strong; I was gone from his first smile. I’d love to tell you our date was a raging success, but it wasn’t. Far from it. I decided right there on that day that Henley James and I would forever be mortal enemies; I would never think of him again.

The first time I met Brody Easton was in the men's locker room. It was my first interview as a professional sportscaster. The famed quarterback decided to bare all. And by all, I don't mean he told me any of his secrets. No. The arrogant ass decided to drop his towel just as I asked the first question. On camera.

Dirty rich one night stand. That's all it was supposed to be. He's the powerful attorney, now world-renowned after coming off the trial of a century which was publicized across the country. And I'm one of the reporters that sat in his courtroom. I watched him, studied him, got to know him from afar which isn't hard since I know his exact brand of confidence, arrogance, and wealth. I know his type. I've dated his type. Which is why when I happen to come face to face with him, when sparks fly and heat simmers between us, I know what happens if I say yes to Reese Summer.

Hi, my name is Bree Camden, and I’m hopelessly in love with my best friend and star quarterback Nathan Donelson (so is half of America, judging by the tabloids and how much the guy dates). The first step is admitting it, right? Except, I can never admit it to him because he clearly doesn’t see me that way, and the last thing I want is for things to get weird between us. Nothing but good old-fashioned no-touching-the-sexiest-man-alive platonic friendship for us! Everything is exactly how I like it! Yes. Good. (I’m not crying; I’m just peeling an onion.)

When it comes to life's fun and games, always know: The rules. What's at stake. When to quit. Wise words from...well...my fortune cookie. But wise words, nonetheless.

Sometimes I need an escape from the demands, the puck bunnies, and the notoriety that come with being an NHL team captain. I just want to be a normal guy for a few weeks. So when I leave Chicago for some peace and quiet, the last thing I expect is for a gorgeous woman to literally fall into my lap on a flight to Alaska. Even better, she has absolutely no idea who I am.

The first time you meet someone, you make eye contact. You smile, say hello. Should be simple, if you're anyone but me. The first time I met Dylan Reed, I found myself making eye contact with a different part of his body. You see, I'm very good at being shy, not to mention extremely well-versed in rambling nonsense and, unfortunately, rather highly skilled at making a fool of myself in front of a guy I'm attracted to. At the time, I knew nothing about him and thought none of what I said would matter since I'd never speak to him again. Turns out, I was very wrong.

For the entirety of my adult life, I've been content. Content in my single lifestyle, content in my stressful-but-extremely-successful job as the main corporate counsel for almost every Fortune 500 company in North America, and content in my playful, spontaneous ways. I had no idea it was possible for someone to change my mind. The endless women and work are no longer enough, and just as Ruby Rockford told me - it's about time I grow up.

New year. New place. New me. Right? Wrong. And all because of Shay Coleman. Football captain and quarterback, he was the big guy on campus. The cocky guy in my political science class with a smirk. I hated him on sight...and he was about to break all my rules.

I knew something was wrong the second she walked in the door tonight; I just couldn't put my finger on what it was. Same hair color. Same legs. Same face. Except...I look harder. At the small dimple beneath her lip that wasn't there the last time we went out. And her laugh - that laugh isn't as loud. This isn't the girl I've gone out with the past few weeks. It's her twin sister, and they've switched places on me.

It should have been easy. I needed the money. He needed a babysitter to keep him from snorting himself to death. I was cherry-picked especially for him. Responsible. Optimistic. Warm. Innocent. The worst part is that I should have known better. Alex Winslow. British rock star. Serial heartbreaker. Casanova with whiskey eyes. “Don’t get near the devil in a leather jacket. He’ll chew you up and spit you out.” Guess what? I didn’t listen. I signed the contract. World tour. Three months. Four Continents. 100 shows. My name is Indigo Bellamy, and I sold my soul to a tattooed god.

Célian Laurent. Manhattan royalty. Notorious playboy. Heir to a media empire...and my new boss. I could have impressed him, if not for last month's unforgettable one-night stand. I left it with more than orgasms and a pleasant memory - namely, his wallet. Now he's staring me down like I'm the dirt under his Italian loafers, and I'm supposed to take it. But the thing about being Judith "Jude" Humphry is I have nothing to lose. Brooklyn girl. Infamously quirky. Heir to a stack of medical bills and a tattered couch.

The meet-cute award goes to dog groomer Juliet Nolan. It’s one of Hollywood’s biggest nights when she volunteers as a seat filler and winds up next to movie heartthrob Noah freaking Douglas. Tongue-tied and toes curling in her pink Converse, she pretends that she doesn’t have a clue who he is. It’s the only way to keep from swooning. She’s pretty and unpretentious, loves his dog, and is not a worshipping fan. No way Noah’s giving up on her, even if his affectionate pursuit comes with a bump: Juliet has a pathological fear of kissing....