I was warned about Tristan Cole. "Stay away from him," people said. "He's cruel." "He's cold." "He's damaged." It's easy to judge a man because of his past. To look at Tristan and see a monster. But I couldn't do that. I had to accept the wreckage that lived inside of him, because it also lived inside of me.

I'd dated his brother. He didn't remember, and I wish I could forget. I may have sworn off the Wright family a long time ago. But when I returned home, Jensen Wright crashed into my life with the confidence of a billionaire CEO and the sex appeal of a god. Even I couldn't resist our charged chemistry or the way he fit into my life like a missing puzzle piece. Too bad he'd forgotten the one thing that could destroy us. Because Jensen Wright doesn't share.

It was a hot summer day when I met him on the construction site next to my parents' house. Under the sweat and dirt, Manning Sutter was as handsome as the sun was bright. He was older, darker, experienced. I wore a smiley-face t-shirt and had never even been kissed. I was too young, he said. I would wait. But I'd learn that no matter what you achieve in life, it means nothing if you suffer the heartbreak that comes with falling for someone you can never have. Because even though I saw Manning first, that didn't matter. My older sister saw him next.

Thea Landry has always known her place in modern-day society. It's somewhere just above the trash can her mother dumped her in as a newborn, but below the class where much comes easy. With her tattered shoes and bargain-bin clothes, her life has never been full of glamour. So when a rich and charismatic man takes interest, she doesn't fool herself into thinking their encounter is anything more than a one-night stand. Months later, she's kicking herself for not getting his phone number. Or his last name. She's given up hope of seeing him ever again.  

Some universal truths refuse to be ignored. Peanut butter and jelly are a match made in heaven. Spaghetti and meatballs are best friends forever. And guys like Tyler Knight don't go for girls like Cam Emerson. She knew from the second she met him that he didn't belong on her bookshelf, the six-foot-six ex-tight end with a face so all-American, it could have sold apple pie.