I have one simple rule: don’t date professional baseball players. There are no exceptions, no workarounds.

“What if—”
No.
“Could he—”
Nuh-uh.

With a brother in the league, I’ve seen the good, the bad, and the downright horrifying . Those guys might seem tantalizing when they’re in uniform down on the field, hitting grand slams in front of a crowd of adoring fans, but I know better. The huge egos? The insane travel schedules? The veritable buffet of female companions? No ma’am. Professional athletes are best handled at a distance, preferably far enough away that their chiseled jawlines blur into oblivion.

Enter Grant Navarro.

He’s the baseball player to end all baseball players. The one I should have marked with a big red X the first moment I laid eyes on him. Only the night we met (and kissed— oops ), I didn’t know he was my brother’s newest teammate. Imagine my shock when I realized the sexiest man in Manhattan was officially off limits. Just my luck!

Let the record show that I had every intention of following my rule and staying away from Grant. When he smiled that irresistible smile and those dimples popped, I stood my ground. When he made it very clear he’d love to pick up where we left off the night we met, I said, Hold it right there, partner. When he messaged me all sorts of naughty things on Instagram, I logged out of that app so fast I dented my iPhone screen.

Baseball players are bad, bad, bad .

So tell me why giving in to Grant just for a night, getting one taste of what could be starts to seem not just tempting, but downright mandatory .

Yeah, about that one simple rule…haven’t you heard?
Rules are meant to be broken .