Strike Zone

This is a preorder. I’ve been employed by the league for five years, assigned to the Tennessee Terrors for the last two, and never once have I been tempted to break the number one rule in my contract: no fraternization with the players. Okay, “never been tempted” is probably a stretch. In my defense, it’s only one athlete, and sure, he smiles and flirts when I take his photos, but I’m just one of many photographers he encounters every day at Music City Park—or, so I’ve been telling myself. When I run into Tripp Nash during off season in Arizona of all places, I give in to that easy smile and flirty way of his. If I can have one night with the sexy all-star catcher, I’m going to take it.  Yet as we part ways, he shocks me again: he wants more. If we’re caught, he’ll be fine … but I’ll lose my job. Probably even my reputation as a professional sports photographer. I should say no. I shouldn’t give in… Except he treats me unlike any man has before and the weeks we spend apart have me crav