Desde los trece años, Parker lucha con un diagnóstico que cambiará su vida para siempre: trastorno bipolar. Su mundo se divide entre días llenos de euforia y noches que parecen no tener fin. A su lado siempre está AJ, su mejor amigo, su refugio y el único que comprende lo que habita en su mente. Pero cuando Parker cumple quince años, su vida se quiebra de una forma que ni su enfermedad puede explicar. Es víctima de una violación, algo que guarda en silencio, temiendo que nadie la crea, que todos la juzguen... incluso AJ. Poco después, él se aleja al creer que Parker lo engañó con otro, sin imaginar el verdadero horror que ella vivió. De hay comienza su relación con Brendan O'Neill el único chico que la ayudará en el proceso, el chico que su hermana mayor ama.

Rory Kavanagh was fine until Maeve Gibson started dating his worst enemy. She's his best friend. She's not supposed to get under his skin like this. Now she's pulling away, and Rory can't stop watching, can't stop wanting. Something's off. Something's wrong. And he's running out of time to stop it.

+18 | Cuando su padre murió Abraham sabía que vendrían muchos problemas, sin embargo, no se imaginaba que uno de ellos tenía seis años y su mismo apellido. Cuando la madre de esa niña también termine abandonándola él no tiene corazón para hacer lo mismo. Pero ayudarla viene con una condición. Abraham debe casarse para obtener la custodia de su hermana, solo que un matrimonio nunca estuvo en sus planes y no tiene ni idea de cómo conseguir uno. La hermana de su mejor amigo está prohibida para él, pero ella es la única que puede ayudarlo y cuando menos lo espere, lo que resultaba ser un simple trato, puede terminar convirtiéndose en el favor más dulce. Todos los derechos reservados, prohibida la copia y/o adaptación. Diseño de portada por: Daniela Triana (Primmrose design)

+18 | Keyra Nash tiene un problema y con él solo obtendrá otro. El día de las tragedias para Keyra se conforma por la infidelidad de su novio, sus pocos deseos de dormir bajo ese mismo techo y el fatal hecho de que no tiene a donde ir ni a quien recurrir además de su mejor amiga. ¿La solución que ella le ofrece? Infiltrarse en la casa de su hermano solo por una noche, sin embargo, ninguna contaba con que él regresaría antes de lo previsto y la encontraría allí.

Hughie Biggs. The love of my bloody life. The fella I swore I'd grow old with, get a ring on my finger from, have the big church wedding, the lot. I used to lie awake at night and picture his hand in mine, picture his laugh bouncing off the walls of our kitchen. Back then, I didn't have the faintest clue about the way the world could chew you up and spit you out. I remember us when we were younger, before everything went sour. When Caoimhe was still alive, when her laugh could still fill a room. When I still had friends-real ones, the kind you'd sit on the green with till it got dark, passing a bag of crisps around, talking rubbish and thinking it meant the world. Back then, we were untouchable, or so we thought. But nothing lasts, does it? Not love, not family, not even friendship. Everything rots eventually, like fruit left out too long. Secrets crawl their way to the surface no matter how deep you bury them, and when they do, they choke you. That's what happened to me. That's what happened to Hughie. The truth came crawling, and it ruined everything. So I've made up my mind. I can't stay here, not in this cursed town, not walking the same streets where his hand used to brush mine, where Caoimhe used to skip beside me, where I laughed like I actually believed in tomorrow. It's all poisoned now. Every corner, every memory, every face that looks at me like they know more than they should. I'm leaving. For good this time. I'll pack a bag, take nothing but what I can carry, and I'll vanish before anyone can stop me. No goodbyes, no explanations. Just gone. Because the truth is, there's nothing left here for me anymore-only ghosts, and I've had enough of them to last me a lifetime.

Primer libro de la serie #GoodBoys. En físico gracias a Nova Casa Editorial (este es un borrador). Inteligente, perfeccionista, competitivo, meticuloso, brutalmente honesto y desgarradoramente guapo; tiene un nombre, Malcom Beasley, mejor conocido como el número 27. Un completo e indiscutible chico bueno. Tráiler por: @Little-evil-soul Portada NO oficial por: @DanyZarahi

𝑩𝒊𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒂 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓, 𝒘𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝒕𝒐𝒈𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓. You know the way some people just click? Like, proper soul twin stuff - same craic, same mad humour, same 'I'd die for a chicken fillet roll' energy. That's what it means, really. Birds of a feather and all that - it's just saying we all find our little gang eventually. The ones who get your weirdness and never judge you for ugly crying over a boy from maths class who doesn't even know your name. Right, so picture this - a book that's just pure vibes. Like, no pages wasted on anyone dying or lads being absolute gobshites for no reason. Just deadly fun stuff - sneaky kisses behind chippers, late-night beach swims, too much fake tan and not enough sense. Maybe a bit of drama, sure, but the juicy kind - not the sobbing-in-the-rain type. More like, 'Oops I kissed the wrong twin' kind of buzz. It'd be unreal, like a girly sleepover mixed with a Y2K romcom. Every chapter would be like: 'Did that just happen?!' And you'd reread it with your best friend squealing beside you. Deadly craic altogether.

Conor Kavanagh. The heartthrob of Tommen College. The biggest playboy in the school - cocky smirk, rugby jersey practically sewn onto him, always with a smart comment and that maddening wink. He's friendly, charming, flirty as hell. The kind of lad who'd carry your bag for you and somehow make it seem like your idea. But don't let that fool you - he's trouble. All sharp jawlines and swagger. And somehow, he's decided I'm his next bloody charity case. I hate it. I hate how he shows up when I don't ask, how he looks at me like I'm breakable. I don't need saving - I've got it sorted. The drink, the pills, the temper - all of it. My mess, not his. And every time I tell him to back off, to leave me be, he just gets closer, like I'm speaking in code. I don't need his pity or his perfect face. I don't need him. So why does part of me keep hoping he'll show up again tomorrow? *** Sinead Biggs. The reigning queen of Tommen. Sharp-tongued, sharp-eyed, and terrifying in heels. Everyone thinks she's just Cath's little sister - until she opens her gob and makes half the school cry before lunch. She walks those halls like she owns them, and honestly? She kind of does. The lads are scared of her. The girls want to be her. And me? I'm hopelessly, pathetically into her. Everyone knows it. My mates won't shut up about it. Even when she's tearing strips off me with that mouth of hers, I'm there grinning like a gobshite. Because deep down, I remember. I remember when we used to be best friends. When she used to laugh like a lunatic at my stupid jokes, when her hand would brush mine and neither of us would move away. But then came Owen Rice - the prick. Then came that night. The accident. The hospital. And when she came back, she wasn't the same. She'd built up walls with barbed wire. She'd become someone colder, louder, crueler. But I still see her. The girl I knew. And every once in a while, when no one's looking, I think she sees me too.

Aidan Feely. One of the most mysterious lads I've ever come across. He's got this quiet, brooding energy, like he's always a step removed from the chaos around him. Tall and lean, with that messy, dark hair that always seems perfectly tousled, as if he's just rolled out of bed and still somehow looks better than half the school. His green eyes - God, those eyes - sharp and intense, like he can see straight through you. I know boys are meant to be handsome, rugged, all that, but Aidan is just... beautiful. Long, dark lashes that half the girls in school would kill for, and a jawline that looks like it was carved from marble. He never says more than he has to, rarely smiles, and when he does, it's this rare, fleeting thing that makes my heart skip a beat. And I'm falling. Hard. But there's a problem. A massive one. I have a boyfriend. And he's nothing like Aidan. *** Sophie Quinn. The girl I've been losing my mind over for the past year. She's this whirlwind of chaos and laughter, the type of girl who lights up a room just by walking into it. She's got that wild, curly hair that never quite does what it's told, a laugh that echoes around the halls, and these eyes - bright and full of life - that catch the light in the best possible way. But here's the kicker - she has a boyfriend. Some tosser who doesn't deserve her. I see him around, loud and arrogant, one of those lads who thinks the world owes him something just because he can kick a ball straight. And it grates at me. I catch him throwing his arm around her, whispering in her ear, and it takes everything in me not to pull him off and tell him to keep his hands to himself. Not that I'd ever say it out loud, but I want her. More than I should. And I know she's starting to notice. The way I lean in a bit closer when she talks, the way my gaze lingers when she brushes past me. She's catching on, I can feel it. And I don't care about her boyfriend, not even a little. Because in the end, I'm going to have her.

Rory Kavanagh. The best rugby player Tommen has ever seen-well, besides his da, obviously. Johnny Kavanagh. The Johnny Kavanagh. Our parents are basically joint at the hip, best mates since they were kids. And naturally, me and Rory just... became mates too. That's the deal. That's what we said we'd be. Friends. Right? Friends. But like-come on. Have you seen him? His abs? That man has a six-pack like he's sculpted from marble. His hair? Brown and silky, like-like a shampoo ad or somethin'. And those eyes? The kind of blue that makes you forget your own name. I swear to God, I'm not even being dramatic. So yeah... maybe I've a teeny, tiny, miniscule crush on him. Can you blame me? No. No, you can't. I won't hear it. But I'm not saying a thing. No way. What if he just laughs? That'd kill me. So for now, I'll just pretend I don't stare at him for longer than is normal when he talks. For now, it's just friendship. Grand. ...But what if he does feel the same? *** Bethany Gibson. Jaysus. She's been my best friend since we were in playschool, like actually since nappies. She's pure chaos-loud, mad, always in trouble for something-but I wouldn't change a thing about her. Not one thing. She's class. Gorgeous too. Not just like "oh she's grand," no-proper gorgeous. Her blonde curls bounce when she laughs, and I swear it's like the sun's just following her around. Her eyes? Silver. Like not even grey-silver, like a flipping fairy or something. Every time she looks at me, I forget what I was saying. Which is not ideal when you're trying to seem normal, right? I've fancied her since I was about seven. Maybe six. But what am I supposed to do? Tell her? What if she just laughs and goes, "Ah you're gas," and then pats me on the head like I'm some lost puppy? I'd actually evaporate from shame. But then again... what if she does like me back? What if all this time I was too scared to see it?