Hadley Jamison doesn't know what to think when she hears that her classmate, Archer Morales, committed suicide. She didn't exactly know him, but that doesn't stop her from feeling like there was something she could have done to help him. So to Hadley's surprise, on the very night of Archer's funeral, she has a run in with Death himself and is offered the chance to go back in time to stop Archer from ending his life. The catch? She only has twenty-seven days to do it. And if Hadley doesn't succeed? Well, she doesn't want to think about that.

Sierra Lancaster has had an agonizingly mediocre life. She grew up in a happy home, made loyal friends, graduated college, and is now pursuing her dream of running her own bakery. Boring, right? A story like this wouldn't be one for the books. At least not until you bring a hot neighbour into the mix. A tall, brooding, shredded (like, wash your clothes on those abs shredded), and wildly successful sports agent. Interested yet? It gets better. Said neighbour isn't just a rando, but Sierra's childhood nemesis that made her formerly chubby days a living hell. Now we're talking, aren't we? Holden Rey has always been the golden boy. Holden...golden...you following? You'd think the bitchy universe would do its job and throw some karma his way but to no avail. Not only has he got it all, but he knows it too. He also still has it out for Sierra and resumes being a jack-ass of epic proportions (and his ass ain't his only epic proportion) as soon as he realizes who the new girl next door is. It's the same old story with these two except this time, there's unwilling attraction and sexual tension underneath all the hate. Is it just lust or does the bitchy universe actually have a plan? So maybe this story is one for the books after all. *A hilarious, enemies-to-lovers, romantic standalone. Rated 18+ due to mature content. All rights reserved to TheFeveredBookaholic.*

"Love is..." I explored my brain to find the most suitable word in my dictionary that could fit in the definition I was trying to say; the definition that could make the jerk, sitting opposite me with a smirk on his face, believe in 'love'. "Bullshit?" He offered with a huge arrogant smirk on his face and no matter how much I agreed with him on this particular matter, I couldn't agree. So, instead of nodding my head in agreement, I scowled at him. His smirk grew bigger and he leaned away from me, gazing at me with his piercing grey eyes. "Finding it hard to make me believe in love when you yourself don't believe in that shit, huh?" With his piercing grey gaze fixed on my every move, I realized that 'being the devil's cupid' was going to be a lot tougher than I had initially thought. (By the author of 'And We Meet Again')