She has no idea who I am. I immediately like that about her. The gorgeous woman who sat down at the blackjack table beside me and asked me to teach her to play doesn't recognize me as the third baseman who played pro baseball for seven years. I tell her I'm in town for a job offer when the truth is my buddy just asked me to leave my quiet existence in San Diego and unretire so I can lead the new Vegas Heat expansion team to the championship.

I fell for the boy next door, and then my father ripped it all away from us. The first person to catch my eye in a long time is a colleague who tells me what we just did over his desk will never happen again. Then my mother calls with news from back home. I have to head back to the small town my father forced me to leave seven years ago, knowing the boy I still love will show up, too. When I finally see him, it's clear we have unfinished business. But it doesn't matter. His life is in the Vegas spotlight now, where he plays pro football and goes home to his wife.

The first time I met pro football’s hottest quarterback, we ended up horizontal just before the most embarrassing moment of my life. The second time, I unleashed all my pent-up anger on him. The third time was when the owner of the Vegas Aces introduced him as the newly traded player I’d be coaching for the next year. No…I’m not a football coach. I’ve been hired as his full-time behavior coach. Now I have to live with my one-night stand, his fiancée, and their newborn while I attempt to help him make better decisions.

I accepted the live-in personal coaching job with a pro football superstar before I knew who I'd be working with. It turns out he's the quarterback I hooked up with last Halloween—the same one who asked me to leave his private suite at the nightclub when his girlfriend showed up. His girlfriend situation is complicated, but now I'm forced to live with my one-night stand along with his fiancée, who happens to be the team owner's daughter, and their baby. I'm supposed to be coaching him to make better decisions. Meanwhile, he's strutting around, wearing nothing but a towel.

I don’t date football players. I’m not interested in the ones who are a decade older than me. I want nothing to do with the ones who play on the same team as my brothers, and I certainly avoid the ones who spend more time in strip clubs than kids’ clubs. So why do I suddenly find myself faking a relationship with Ben Olson, the bad boy tight end who fits every descriptor on my naughty list?

It was supposed to be a joke: Give my best friend raunchy toys for her bridal shower and embarrass her in front of her family. But when my package is wrongly delivered to my gorgeous, mysterious neighbor, I'm the one who ends up mortified. I sneak over to his place to try stealing it back before he finds it. The problem is I get caught mid-heist... And then he makes me stay for dinner. Dinner leads to dessert, and dessert leads to... other dessert, if you get my drift. Several courses of sweet, sinful temptation.

As a divorced single father, I live by three rules: Make sure every day my daughter, Paisley, knows she’s number one in my life. No matter what, keep contact with my cheating ex-wife to a minimum, and turn Maxwell Wineries into a legacy that keeps Paisley set for life. When I hire Lexi to look after my daughter, I realize I need another rule: Don’t pursue Paisley’s nanny. But even if I had that rule it wouldn’t matter. Because I'm breaking it already.

When these guys showed up to board their dogs, I thought they were just a trio of extremely handsome men. I definitely didn’t know they were the three most famous athletes in St. Louis. Christian, the stoic, broad-shouldered quarterback who oozes leadership and confident charm from every pore. Braden, the blond wide receiver who’s extremely cocky—when he’s not being a mischievous goofball. Logan, known as the Toronto Terror, the hockey left wing who growls more than he speaks and has a habit of picking fights on—and off—the ice.

I’m falling for the father of the baby I’m carrying. The problem is: it’s not my baby. And the broody widower is not looking for a long-term partner. As a surrogate, the deal was that I’d only be in England long enough to give birth. At first, the man seemed as pretentious as his name: Sigmund Benedictus. He and I butted heads. Sig challenged my intentions, accused me of just wanting to do this for the money. Gradually, he learned to trust me.

The only rule for being a hockey star's nanny: Look but don't touch. But sharing a bedroom wall... Means I can hear everything he is doing. And sooner or later, he might make me crack.