Resultados de "K.M. Neuhold" en Todas las categorias

Between running a garage full of beefed-up gear-head mechanics and bailing my idiot brother out of trouble every other week, the last thing I have time for is a relationship. I’ve tried it too many times, and the ridiculous reasons I always find to end it have become a running joke around the garage. But I’ve learned my lesson. No. More. Boyfriends. I don’t care how many times Porter falls asleep drunk in my bed or how cute he looks covered in oil smears while I teach him how to fix up the vintage car he has rusting away in his garage; I’m not going to fall for him.

I didn’t know the house I broke into belonged to a mafioso, and now my revenge arc is a lot more complicated. 7 years ago, I died. Nameless, forgotten, left in a ditch after an overdose. I don’t know who saved me or why. God? Satan? A good Samaritan whose name I'll never know? It doesn't really matter. I don’t know who I used to be. My name, my past, they were buried. But somehow, I'm still here. I'm not the only one the Sleepless Reapers have used and abused, but I will be the last, if I have anything to say about it. I don’t need the attention of a mafioso.

I'm a list person. Lists make sense, they give a chaotic, unpredictable world order. Realizing I was gay at 30 definitely wasn't on my list. I guess I need a new list….

I didn’t know the guy I picked up in the bar last night was Hero’s son. To be fair, he didn’t even know he had a son until today. I guess we’re all just scrambling to put on our poker faces. Keeping my hands off of Milo is hard enough thanks to his lickable dimple, flirty smiles, and virgin skin. But I swear this has to be a test. Why else would Hero insist that his son come to live with me? And why is it so hard for Milo to just keep his clothes on already?

Lewis. Clingy, needy, Too Much. Just a few choice words from men who never deserved me anyway. I'm not going to make the same mistakes again though. I plan to ride the motorcycle hottie of my dreams just until we both get bored. Besides, who has time for anything but a quick fling when the jerks at the tattoo shop next door insist on doing everything they can to annoy the hell out of me with some stupid prank war?

As long as LonelyDaddy is on the other side of the computer screen, there’s a chance he could be the man Emerson has been dreaming of. I’ve gotten used to being alone, to disappearing inside the fictional worlds between the pages of a book, and letting my lonely life fade away.

Hockey star Diego Ferguson says he knows about the grind, but he’s about to learn that his new personal trainer, Callan, gives the word a whole new meaning. Everyone in Chicago has been following the news about Diego’s injury and the season he spent on the bench. It doesn’t hurt that he’s got a major sexy brood going on in every picture I see of him these days. The last place I expected him to show up was Sweat. But he’s looking for a personal trainer to help him get fully back in shape before the season, and I’m just the guy for the job.

Of course, I've noticed Angel and Devil noticing me. I've felt their eyes and the deep pulse of their heated wanting. I've also seen plenty of men coming and going from their house all summer long, year after year, and I don't want to be one in a long line. The energy of Palm Island is so strong, it's hard not to get swept up in it sometimes. Temporary lust, the hedonistic thrill of excess I'm only human after all. But something stops me every time I want to give in and let go.

Was pretending to sleep with tons of men to keep my crush from hooking up with them a Dirty Trick? Sure. Do I regret it? Not one bit. Telling Boston I have a thing for him would’ve been the logical thing to do. Unfortunately, logic hasn’t always been my strong suit. I decided to go the—“get under his skin until hostility turns into affection”—route instead, and I think it’s finally working.

I came to Palm Island two seasons ago, confused about my life and desperate for a change. The island drew me in, but I’m still not sure why. Maybe it’s time I cut my losses and go back home, back to med school like I always planned. But when the breathtaking, flirtatious, tattooed bartender I’ve been crushing on for ages offers to let me room with him this off-season, there’s no way I’m leaving now.

Teddy is ready to pop the question, but can he find the perfect movie-moment proposal for Harlow? And, more importantly, will Low survive meeting the parents? Oh, the joy of Christmas. A missed connecting flight, inappropriate winter attire, and a kitchen fire…it wouldn’t be Christmas without some complications, right? I know Harlow is desperately trying to impress my family, but I’m a lot more concerned about coming up with a proposal worthy of his Hollywood dreams.

After more than a decade, the last person I expected to see walk into the Four Bears Construction offices as a new hire was Ridge. He was my first crush, and my first heartbreak when he started dating my sister. When he left her at the altar without so much as a note, I wrote him off for good. No amount of excuses and explanations can erase what he did. At least that’s what I keep telling myself. But when we end up being sent to a remote campground alone to spend a month rebuilding the cabins, it’s too easy to remember why I fell for him in the first place.

All my life, I’ve dreamed of one thing: the perfect movie moment. I want a man and his boombox outside my window; I want kissing in the rain; I want a romantic hero who will take my breath away. Switching mail with my cute neighbor didn’t work. Swapping coffee with a hottie at the coffee shop just got the poor barista yelled at. And bus guy? Total bust. I’m starting to wonder if Hollywood got the whole meet-cute thing wrong. Sacrilege, I know. Is it possible the perfect leading man has been living in the apartment above me the entire time, playing the role of my best friend?

Stud: A boss, knob, or nail head...or, you know, the hot guy who’s way too young to keep asking me out with that adorably earnest smile...It’s been three years since West walked into my bar and asked me out for the first time. I was relieved he stopped asking after the first few “no's" and a way-too-good-to-be-real kiss. He’s 15 years younger than I am; it can only lead to trouble.

I’ve been living under storm clouds since my honorable discharge, but Julian’s the sun. I’ve tried everything to deal with my PTSD, but nothing seemed to help. So when my brother suggests a service dog, I figure I don’t have anything to lose. The last thing I expect is for the dog to come with a cheerful, quirky trainer I can’t get out of my head. I’m too screwed up for love, but a chance to explore a side of myself I didn’t realize existed until recently is too good to pass up.