The Virgin Replay by Lauren Blakely

His Prologue

Two things I always knew I wanted to be when I grew up—a ballplayer and a guy my teammates could rely on.

Baseball is hard, but the rules are straightforward: throw the ball, hit the ball, catch the ball.

It helps to have a ninety-eight-mile-an-hour fastball and wicked control. It’s a bonus that I play well with others. That’s how I’ve become one of the top closers in the Major Leagues.

As long as you follow the rules, being a good teammate off the field doesn’t have to be complicated either.

One: don’t run off at the mouth like a dipshit. Especially not in front of reporters, fans, the public, or anyone with a cell phone camera. Which is everyone these days.

Two: don’t be a dick, and don’t show your dick online.

Three: don’t post pictures of yourself skunk-faced trashed, and maybe don’t get so trashed that it seems like a good idea in the first place.

Finally, don’t hook up within two degrees of separation from a teammate.

No moms, daughters, or sisters.

Fortunately, I’ve had zero temptation and zero trouble. My mouth doesn’t lead me into trouble, and my dick hasn’t either, since I was married and faithful for ten years.

But thanks to one helluva vicious heartbreak and a brutal divorce, I’ve been single for 365 days and 365 nights of solitude.

Lately, though, I wouldn’t mind the company of one woman in particular. A woman who’s fierce, stunning, and fantastically sarcastic.

I’d like to take her out.

Take her home.

Indulge in a few hot dates of the all-night-long variety.

But I don’t slide into Sierra’s DMs with a hookup request. Why?

Because the woman I want isn’t merely the bar owner around the corner.

She’s a teammate’s sister.

And good guys don’t ask a teammate’s sister for hot, sweaty, forget-the-world sex.

Until I discover a way to bend this guideline. With her.

Maybe I’m a good guy with a secret bad boy streak.