My plan is sound: Fix the major league ballplayer’s PR crisis and ignore the annoying crush I have on the cocky jerk. I’ve had a front-row seat for how he conducts his personal life for years, and I want nothing to do with it—no matter how hot he is, or how weak he makes my knees. But my sound plan crumbles as I spend time with him and discover that maybe—just maybe—Jack Reagan’s more than a waste of handsome.