Eight rich, reckless best friends live on neighboring yachts, work at Azzurra Savoia’s waterfront bar Original Sin, and treat the Gulf of Mexico like their personal playground—but when Beau Callaway, a gorgeous Texan firefighter with even less self-preservation than Azzurra, docks beside them and somehow ends up behind her bar, Dock Nine gains its ninth psychopath, two unwanted admirers, one painfully slow-burn attraction, and enough alcohol-fueled bad decisions to get the entire fucking marina banned from itself.
Five feral women run Hellcat Ranch like Montana personally belongs to them. Five tattooed cowboys across the valley run Black Spur Ranch with only slightly better judgment. Somehow, despite living twelve miles apart, they’ve never met—until Vale Moretti-Silva and her girls heavy-walk into The Broken Saddle one Saturday night dressed in black leather, fringe and cowboy hats with exactly one objective: beat the shit out of the rodeo girls who’ve been talking mad shit about their ranch. Knox Callahan is sitting at the bar when Vale walks in. He looks like a Doberman, and takes approximately thirty seconds to decide the gorgeous Italian-Brazilian psychopath starting a bar fight might be the woman of his dreams. The attraction is immediate, the burn is fast, and soon Montana’s most intimidating cowboy is happily putting his head in Vale’s lap demanding scratches while she calls him baby. Unfortunately, Matteo Bellini already thinks he’s going to marry Vale, and Sloane Whitaker has spent years believing Knox belongs to her. Neither reacts particularly well when Vale and Knox become very obviously, very quickly obsessed with each other. And they’re only the beginning. Because somewhere between rodeos, cattle drives, bar fights, bonfires, jealous almost-lovers, stolen cowboy hats, drunken group chats and decisions that should probably require legal supervision, all five Hellcat women start falling for all five Black Spur cowboys. Ten ranchers. Five romances. Two delusional wannabe spouses. One Montana valley. And absolutely nobody has enough fucking bail money for this.
A billionaire Italian bartender with a mouth as loud as her lifted truck, six dangerously attractive firefighters, one chaotic beach strip, and absolutely zero respect for personal boundaries—what could possibly go wrong? When Station 17 crashes into Azzurra Savoia’s already-unhinged Marina Row family, one summer becomes a mess of boat parties, firehouse nights, hookups, group-chat scandals, jealous disasters, and one agonizingly slow burn between the Italian hurricane and the only firefighter stubborn enough to tell her no.
A Vescari Island Story Calista Fiore Vescari built an empire out of chaos. A billionaire psychologist with a Ph.D. collection, a private island, three hundred-foot yachts and absolutely no desire to become the responsible person in the room, Calista created Vescari Island—the world’s most insane luxury marina, EDM paradise and permanent excuse for bad decisions. Alongside her two equally unhinged Italian best friends, she runs a kingdom where the parties never end, the yachts are basically floating nightclubs and nobody has ever heard the phrase “maybe we should be sensible.” Then five Russian surgeons arrive expecting sunshine, peace and a quiet tropical escape. Instead, they find three tiny Italian hurricanes. Maksim and Aleksei are six-foot-five tattooed surgeons who look like dangerous men and act like golden retrievers. They are brilliant, intimidating and completely hopeless when Calista walks into the room. They have spent years loving each other while searching for someone who could fit into their relationship—not replace it. Then they meet the woman who owns the island. The woman who is louder than anyone they’ve ever known. The woman who adopts them as best friends before realizing they are already falling hopelessly in love with her. Between yacht parties, hospital shifts, jealous exes, fake friends, Russian accents, billionaire chaos and three Italian women sharing one brain cell, Vescari Island becomes the one place where nobody is allowed to be normal. Because on this island, the rules are simple: Love loudly. Live dangerously. And never, ever expect Calista Vescari to behave.
Twelve billionaires. Six weeks. One superyacht. Absolutely no adult supervision. Y/N planned on spending her summer drinking overpriced champagne, making terrible decisions across the Mediterranean, and avoiding anything resembling emotional responsibility. Unfortunately, Sébastien Moreau—French billionaire, professional control freak, and the man she’s spent eight years pretending she can’t stand—is sleeping three doors down. Add one forgotten kiss, several jealousy-fueled hookups, midnight swims, Monaco casinos, Ibiza clubs, secret 3 A.M. bedroom visits, a dangerously observant friend group, and social media documenting every horrible decision, and their annual billionaire vacation is about to become an international fucking disaster. They have six weeks to keep their hands off each other. They don’t even make it out of Monaco.
Twelve best friends. Six apartments. One bar downstairs. Absolutely no boundaries. Above The Corner Room in Manhattan, twelve twenty-somethings have accidentally built their own dysfunctional little family—complete with stolen groceries, shared keys, rooftop nights, chaotic group chats, career crises, and an alarming inability to mind their own business. Romance within the group is completely off-limits, but outside dating is fair game, turning Hinge matches, hookups, situationships, exes, first dates, and new relationships into building-wide entertainment. And at the center of the chaos are Y/N and her roommate Roman: two strictly sibling-coded menaces who will investigate your date, stalk his Instagram, fake an emergency to rescue you, and bully you relentlessly afterward. Dating in New York is already difficult. Dating while eleven people have your location is fucking impossible.
A batshit-crazy Italian billionaire with a beach bar and a lifted F-150 meets an equally insane Texas firefighter who treats danger like a hobby—and somehow they become best friends before realizing they’re completely fucked over each other. Between Original Sin, midnight truck races, firehouse chaos, hurricanes, questionable decisions, and enough sexual tension to violate several fire codes, Azzurra and Beau are about to learn one thing: when gasoline falls for fire, somebody’s getting burned.
Azzurra Savoia moved to Malibu for sunshine, the ocean, and absolutely zero fucking complications—then her 2 A.M. pizza disaster brought Beau Callahan, a billionaire Texan firefighter with an infuriating grin and a serious addiction to calling her baby, straight to her doorstep. Between Original Sin, wildfire calls, reckless dares, jealous arguments, midnight swims, stolen kisses, and two people with absolutely no sense of self-preservation, Malibu is about to learn what happens when the woman who starts fires meets the man whose entire job is putting them out.
Twelve obscenely wealthy international students. One historic mansion. Three years at Harvard Law. Absolutely no boundaries. They came from Milan, Amalfi, Paris, Madrid, Geneva, London, Athens, Stockholm, Kyoto, Monaco, Rio, and Vienna carrying billion-dollar surnames, impossible expectations, and enough baggage to fill every bedroom in Brattle House. But nobody expected Leonardo Visconti and Azzurra D’Amalfi. He’s Milanese—quiet, brilliant, painfully romantic, and the kind of man who has spent his entire life yearning for a love he wasn't sure existed. She’s Amalfitan—fiery, dramatic, passionate, affectionate, and a hopeless romantic who has always believed she's destined for one enormous, life-altering love. They've never met. Then Azzurra walks through the front door. Leonardo looks at her. She looks at him. And for one impossible moment, the entire fucking world stops. While Milan falls hopelessly in love with Amalfi, the rest of Brattle House isn't exactly behaving themselves either. Friends become lovers, casual hookups stop feeling casual, opposites attract, jealousy exposes secrets, and everyone becomes far too invested in everyone else's relationships. Between brutal Harvard classes, late-night study sessions, black-tie parties, family expectations, cultural clashes, stolen kisses, disastrous group chats, and twelve foreigners slowly becoming family, surviving law school might actually be the easiest part. Because inside Brattle House, everyone is studying the law. Nobody is following it.
Eight psychopaths already made Hellfire Ranch a public safety concern—then four more motherfuckers moved in. Between drunken rodeos, bar fights, truck races, terrible dares, delusional enemies and enough bad decisions to bankrupt an insurance company, Delilah Vaughn somehow meets the only cowboy crazier than she is: Beck Callahan, a jealous, touch-starved menace who calls her baby every thirty seconds and falls for her like he’s got absolutely nothing left to lose. Twelve lunatics. Zero supervision. One ranch. YOLO, motherfuckers.
Four women bought a ranch because trusting horses was easier than trusting men. Seven years, several thousand acres and a multibillion-dollar equestrian empire later, Sable Whitaker and her three best friends have exactly one shared brain cell, hundreds of horses, absolutely no volume control—and a strict no-relationships policy. Then four ridiculously attractive doctors move to Hollow Creek looking for quieter lives. Instead, they find them. And these men don’t just fall. They fucking yearn. They’re jealous, nerdy, touch-starved puppy boys who bow their heads into their women’s hands, melt when their hair gets played with, praise like breathing and look physically heartsick whenever another man gets too close. They don’t want hookups or temporary romances. They want toothbrushes beside theirs, boots by the door, sleepy voices in the morning and seventy years of ordinary Tuesdays. Unfortunately, the women they’re hopelessly devoted to stopped believing in forever a long time ago. So between runaway horses, ranch disasters, four catastrophic slow burns and Sable discovering that one soft “Come here, handsome” can bring six-foot-four veterinarian Silas Mercer practically to his knees, Hollow Creek is about to learn something important: The only thing more stubborn than four women determined never to fall in love is four hopeless men already planning to spend forever catching them.
Everybody in Texas knows three things about the women of Hellwater Ranch: they built their billion-dollar empire themselves, their black boots hit the ground hard enough to make entire rooms go quiet, and getting emotionally attached to one of them is a spectacularly fucking bad idea. Mars Voss and her four best friends stopped believing in love a long time ago. Cheated on, manipulated, degraded and lied to, the five women have become happier with horses, questionable decisions and each other than risking their hearts again. Especially Mars and Tully—the terrifying sister-duo people know better than to cross. They might be painfully touch-starved behind closed doors, but nobody outside Hellwater needs to know that. Then five intimidating cowboys with Doberman faces and golden-retriever personalities watch the Hellwater women heavy-walk into The Crooked Saint and immediately start a massive bar fight with five shit-talking barrel racers. They should’ve looked away. Instead, they fall first. And suddenly five women who can handle wild Mustangs, billion-dollar ranch deals, rodeos and a county sheriff threatening disorderly-conduct charges are completely fucking unequipped for patient men who ask before touching them, remember the little things, don’t play games and somehow keep showing up. Because the Hellwater girls know how to fight. They know how to survive. They know how to leave before someone gets the chance to hurt them. What they don’t know is what the hell they’re supposed to do when five gentle men look at the scariest women in Texas and decide they don’t want them softer. They just want them. Hellwater doesn’t love. At least, that’s what the girls keep fucking telling themselves.
They came for peace. They docked next to a fucking disaster. Vesper Tide Yacht Club was supposed to give three painfully nerdy, glasses-wearing billionaires a quiet summer on the water. Instead, Alaric, Evren and Séverin discover BAD HABIT—the marina’s completely unhinged waterfront bar—and the three women responsible for nearly every incident report within a five-mile radius. Ottavia, Zélie and Mari have money, a 350-foot superyacht, one shared brain cell and a strict we don’t fucking date anymore policy courtesy of three cheating exes who unfortunately still own yachts at the same marina. Then three touch-starved, emotionally disastrous virgins move in next door: brilliant men who blush, whimper, worship, get jealous, crave affection like oxygen and start yearning for the women with an intensity that is becoming genuinely embarrassing. Now the exes want their girls back, the nerds are falling catastrophically hard, and the girls keep insisting nothing romantic is happening while stealing their glasses, falling asleep in their arms and accidentally turning three grown men into lovesick fucking puppies. Between drunken bartending, midnight swims, yacht parties, dock wars, terrible decisions and enough unresolved sexual tension to sink MALOCCHIO, Vesper Tide quickly learns one thing: The women swore off relationships. Nobody said anything about three nerds making that decision extremely fucking inconvenient.
Roxanne, Scarlett, and Jo are Viper Creek’s worst-kept warning: three tattooed, black-hat-wearing ranch owners with filthy mouths, questionable survival instincts, and a reputation that says do not fucking touch—which is ironic, considering all three are secretly touch-starved golden retrievers who melt the second someone holds them. Enter Maverick, Colter, and Stetson: three rich, tattooed cowboy idiots with jealousy problems, catastrophic nickname addictions, and absolutely no intention of letting the three unwanted wannabe husbands circling Viper Creek win. Between bull riding, bar fights, midnight ranch disasters, rejected proposals, back hugs, accidental little whines, and six people insisting they’re definitely not falling in love, Viper Creek is about to discover what happens when three Dobermans meet the only Golden Retrievers dumb enough to pet them.
A VELENO Romance Elettra Fiorenza Valleri didn’t spend $9.4 billion building the most unhinged luxury yacht club in the Mediterranean just to behave herself. VELENO is her fucking kingdom—superyachts, international DJs, sunrise raves, packed beaches, helicopters, lasers and seven obscenely wealthy best friends sharing approximately one functioning brain cell. Elettra is the tattooed, heavily accented Italian menace at the center of it all, beloved by nearly everyone except one spectacularly two-faced heiress determined to turn everything into a competition Elettra doesn’t even realize she’s participating in. Then five enormous, tattooed Russian and Italian doctors move into VELENO’s supposedly quiet residential marina and discover their new neighbors have a very different definition of peaceful. Within weeks, they’re being dragged into yacht parties, sunrise sets and increasingly questionable decisions—and terrifying cardiothoracic surgeon Aleksei Velikov has the biggest problem of all. Her name is Elettra. She calls him Leshka, steals his clothes, climbs into his lap, appears on his yacht at three in the morning and treats the intimidating six-foot-five Russian like the world’s largest puppy. Aleksei came to VELENO expecting quiet luxury. Instead, he’s falling catastrophically hard for the one woman nobody has ever managed to slow down. And maybe that’s exactly why she likes him. Because Elettra doesn’t need someone to tame her. She needs someone who hears the bass at two in the morning—and follows her toward it.
Three Dobermans. Three Menaces. One Marina With Absolutely No Fucking Supervision. The Valleri triplets came to Miami expecting quiet mornings, ocean views, books in the sun and absolutely no social interaction. Instead, three painfully shy, glasses-wearing Italian men built like Greek gods accidentally move aboard APOCALYPSE—a 500-foot superyacht parked inside Saint Riot, the most unhinged residential EDM yacht club on earth. Their roommates? Zélie Vautrin and her two best friends: three gorgeous, relationship-avoidant disasters who run the marina, treat tequila like employee benefits and share approximately one functional brain cell. Suddenly Elio, Tiziano and Nereo are being dragged into raves, yacht parties, festivals, sunrise DJ sets and a social circle filled with some of EDM’s biggest names. For three virgin, touch-starved puppy boys who can barely survive being flirted with, this is psychological warfare. Worse? They’re falling in love. Elio with Zélie. Tiziano with Mae. Nereo with Soraya. Slowly. Pathetically. Catastrophically. The girls swore they’d never love again after the men they planned to marry cheated and destroyed their trust. Their exes still live at Saint Riot, still think they’ll eventually get another chance—and definitely weren’t prepared for three enormous Italian nerds to quietly become everything the girls stopped believing existed. Now Saint Riot has three slow burns, three jealous exes, three hopelessly yearning Dobermans, three women running from their feelings and an entire marina of EDM artists treating the unfolding disaster like live entertainment. The Valleri brothers wanted somewhere peaceful. Instead, they found Saint Riot. And somewhere between 4 A.M. raves, stolen button-downs, trembling first touches, jealous exes and quiet mornings after nights that never really ended, three men who’ve spent their entire lives yearning might finally find someone worth yearning for. Unfortunately, they have to
Four tattooed ranch girls. Four completely unhinged professional bull riders. One Texas ranch so infamous the sheriff treats every call like he’s been unwillingly cast in another episode of Jackass. Bad Habit Ranch belongs to Rory, Mars, Vesper and Sunny—four best friends known for insane parties, terrible ideas, their viral Heavy Walk, and somehow turning “having a few people over” into a county-wide event. But when Stetson, Knox, Dawson and Bishop walk into The Broken Rein one Saturday night and each immediately sets his sights on one of the owners, four women convinced nobody can keep up with them finally meet their fucking match. What starts with one look across a crowded bar spirals into jealous cowboys, slow-burn tension, rodeo weekends, viral videos, mechanical-bull bets, ranch parties, drunken dares, horse races, sheriff visits and eight lunatics actively encouraging one another’s worst decisions. Rory and Stetson might be the center of the disaster, but nobody gets out clean—because the girls don’t need men to tame them, and unfortunately, these four bull riders never intended to try. They just wanted in on the fucking fun.
Twelve college students. Six bedrooms. One house. And one rule everyone is destined to break: don’t hook up with your housemates. When a housing disaster forces twelve very different students to spend the year together at Hawthorne House, old friends, childhood crushes, exes, rivals, and complete strangers suddenly have nowhere to hide from each other. Between packed college parties, late-night kitchen conversations, stolen clothes, jealousy, drunken mistakes, new friendships, old feelings, and enough sexual tension to make the thin walls genuinely concerning, boundaries start disappearing fast. What begins as twelve people simply trying to survive the lease slowly becomes something none of them expected—a family. But at Hawthorne, everyone knows everything. And when friendships start becoming something more, old feelings resurface, and bedroom doors begin opening at suspicious hours, there's only one question left: Who breaks the Hawthorne Rule first?
Eight best friends thought living together would mean cheaper bills, Sunday dinners, and never having to make plans to see each other. Instead, it means thermostat wars, unhinged group chats, career meltdowns, stolen groceries, questionable decisions, and seven people immediately showing up whenever the eighth says, “I need you.” WE LIVE HERE NOW is a chaotic, funny, and heartfelt story about growing up without growing apart—and the friends who become family somewhere between “who the fuck ate my leftovers?” and “I’m on my way.”
They thought they were moving into an academic yacht club. They should’ve read the fucking fine print. Five painfully shy doctors and professors arrive at VELA NERA expecting private research facilities, quiet waterfront living and intelligent conversation. Instead, they find a 400-foot nightclub yacht, bass shaking their windows before sunset, international DJs wandering around like neighbors, raves every fucking night and seven wealthy lunatics operating on one shared brain cell. At the center of all of it is Vittoria Lune Valmont—the tiny, tattooed, billionaire owner everyone knows, everyone loves and nobody has successfully controlled. The five intimidating, tattoo-covered “Dobermans” should leave immediately. Instead, the painfully inexperienced, touch-starved geniuses start getting attached—to the chaos, to the friendships, and especially to the women responsible for destroying every ounce of peace they once possessed. And for Caelum Vossen, the terrifying 6’5” neurosurgeon who can hold a human brain without trembling but can’t survive Vittoria touching his hair, leaving quickly stops being an option. Because beneath the lasers, yachts, terrible decisions and 3 A.M. bass drops, five men who spent their entire lives studying everything may finally discover the one thing none of their degrees ever taught them: how to be completely, pathetically, desperately fucking in love.
Oakley Maddox and Fallon Wade are Black Viper Ranch’s two biggest liabilities: filthy rich, heavily tattooed brunette best friends with thick Texas accents, matching black fringed chaps, zero survival instincts, and an infamous Heavy Walk that makes entire rodeo grounds stop and stare. When they storm into Rusty’s Roadhouse to beat the asses of two girls talking shit about their ranch, they aren’t looking for romance—they’re looking for a fucking fight. Unfortunately, professional bull riders Knox Callahan and Stetson Hayes are sitting at the bar when all hell breaks loose, and one badly timed “calm down, sweetheart” turns four complete strangers into instant enemies. Now Oakley and Knox are competing over absolutely everything while Fallon and Stetson wage psychological warfare like it’s an Olympic sport. Between rodeos, bar fights, jealous cowboys, stolen hats, ranch disasters, viral TikToks, unhinged group chats and enough sexual tension to make West Texas feel even hotter, two separate rivalries slowly become something nobody planned for. Because Knox and Stetson thought riding two-thousand-pound bulls was dangerous—until they fell for two women who would wrestle the fucking bull themselves just to prove a point.
Vesper Caldera and Sabine Virelli have two rules at Viper Hollow Ranch: don’t touch their horses, and stay the fuck off their property. Then Bramwell and Osric Rhyder buy the ranch next door, drive straight through the western fence on their first day, and accidentally start the dumbest property war West Texas has ever witnessed. Twelve disputed acres become stolen gates, relocated fences, midnight pranks, bull-riding competitions, bar fights, screaming matches on horseback and enough sexual tension to make the entire town start taking bets. Vesper and Bram would rather eat dirt than admit their arguments are starting to sound like flirting, while Sabine and Osric are having entirely too much fun supposedly hating each other. The problem? Somewhere between GET THE FUCK OFF MY PROPERTY and why the hell are your boots under my bed?, the fence stops keeping anybody out—and four loud, tattooed, filthy-rich rodeo assholes realize trespassing might be their favorite fucking hobby.
Twelve friends. Seven days in the Rockies. One luxury chalet. And two people who would rather launch themselves down a black diamond blindfolded than admit they want each other. Y/N and Luca Moretti have spent years turning mutual hatred into a competitive sport, so naturally, a week of snowboarding, drinking, hot tubs, bad decisions, and sharing a house is going to end beautifully. Add four meddling couples, one guy hopelessly into Y/N, one girl determined to win Luca, a secret group chat documenting their suspicious behavior, and enough Snapchat evidence to ruin several friendships, and suddenly their annual mountain getaway becomes everyone’s favorite reality show. Because somewhere between jealous arguments, reckless competitions, a snowstorm, and kisses that definitely weren’t supposed to happen, Y/N and Luca cross a line neither knows how to uncross. The mountain has boundaries. Unfortunately, they don’t.
Azzurra Savoia has $8.7 billion, a waterfront bar, a massive truck, one spoiled golden retriever, and absolutely no fucking impulse control—then Roman Mercer walks behind her bar and somehow turns out to be even worse. What starts as competitive flirting and mutual irritation becomes Saint James Beach’s favorite disaster: boat parties, 3 A.M. adventures, insane group chats, jealous arguments, lingering touches, Roman’s inability to keep his hands off her, and enough sexual tension to make their friends consider moving. They swear they’re just friends, but somewhere between Roman calling her baby, Azzurra becoming addicted to annoying him, and an entire coastline watching them fall painfully, ridiculously in love, two equally unhinged people discover that crazy might have finally met its match.
Y/N has never had trouble getting attention. Keeping her attention? That’s another fucking story. A fiery Italian professional ballerina with a talent for dramatics, sarcasm, and rejecting men before they can finish their pickup lines, Y/N has everything she wants—an incredible career, fiercely loyal friends, and a life she built entirely for herself. She might secretly be a hopeless romantic, but she refuses to settle for anyone more interested in possessing her than actually knowing her. Then she meets Callum Astor and Raphaël Lavigne. Best friends. Billionaires. Ballet patrons. Intimidating, brilliant, ridiculously attractive— and, unfortunately, massive fucking nerds. Neither man tries to win her over. They don’t chase her, overwhelm her with expensive gifts, or demand a place in her life. They simply become part of it. Coffee after rehearsals turns into late nights. Friendship turns into lingering touches, forehead kisses, shared books, piano music, Sunday mornings, and three wine glasses beside the sink. Somewhere between ordinary moments, Y/N makes one catastrophic mistake. She falls in love. With both of them. And when Callum and Raphaël reveal they aren’t interested in making her choose, Y/N discovers that perhaps the greatest love story of her life was never supposed to be about choosing between two men. Maybe it was always supposed to be about the three of them.
