I had an excuse two years ago when I met her on campus. She interviewed me for a story on major league baseball’s rising stars, and we shared a hot, passionate night that ended far too soon, and without a mention of who her father was. Now I know the innocent but sexy woman I can’t stop thinking about is the coach’s daughter. That means her dad is the guy who determines if I bat fourth in the starting lineup in every game, or ride the bench. All the more reason to resist alluring, confident, brainy Reese every time I run into the reporter-turned-sports publicist. That ought to be easy enough, until the time she confesses she’s still carrying her V card, and she’s been wanting me to cash it in since the day we met. Staying away from her is going to be harder than resisting a fastball down the middle. Especially since I’m pretty sure she’s the one who got away, and letting her slip through my fingers again would be a rookie mistake.