Second Thoughts: A Hot Baseball Romance Read Free

imagine. She had crystal memories of what Nick looked like—in a uniform and in nothing at all.
    There was no way to ignore the navy 12 across his chest. He’d chosen the number in college, one of their private jokes made public. “12” was the answer to the first problem they’d ever solved together, economics homework they’d joined forces to conquer after that very first class.
    In those corny early days of dating, they’d signed notes to each other using the number. He’d sent her a dozen chocolate truffles the morning after they first made love. The day he announced he was going pro, she’d rewarded him with twelve spectacular kisses. He’d proposed to her by way of a scavenger hunt, with twelve clues hidden across campus.
    “Let me guess,” she said now, needing to beat back the wave of emotion that threatened to knock her over. She nodded toward the book in his hand. “Time for the annual Hemingway re-read.”
    “You know me,” he said.
    And she did. She knew he re-read the collected works of Ernest Hemingway every fall, a reminder of how he’d discovered his favorite author in a freshman English class. She also knew he’d just completed the same sort of physical appraisal she had, and she wanted to know how she measured up.
    Ouch.
    She didn’t want that, not at all. If she’d known she’d be seeing Nick today, she would have dressed for the occasion, maybe slipped into her old leather pants, the familiar armor from her years of working in music clubs.
    At least be truthful with yourself, said School Principal.
    All right. Jamie had dressed for the occasion. She’d chosen her sleek pants with care. She’d added a second dose of conditioner to her hair that morning. She’d taken time to put on mascara, and she’d refreshed her lipstick before setting foot in Anna Benson’s office.
    Because she’d known from the moment she was invited to take headshots for the Rockets that there was a chance she’d run into Nick.
    Time was flowing at a strange pace here. Centuries had passed since Nick had spoken. Jamie felt like she was moving through molasses, her mouth sagging open, her lips slowly contorting around dragged-out words. She dug her fingernails into her palms and told herself to get it together.
    She tested her voice inside her head, brightened it a few shades, pulled back when she realized she’d have all the sincerity of someone selling banking services in a TV ad. “You heard the plan,” she said. “We’re going to pull together a calendar. Let’s see what we can make work in here, since we’ve got all the equipment set up.”
    Robert slid forward, obviously undeterred by the jagged edge she heard in her own voice. “They do call you the Professor,” he said to Nick before glancing at Jamie. “Maybe we could pose him behind the desk? Feet up? Reading his book?”
    It wasn’t a bad idea. She nodded slowly. “Let’s try it. We can always regroup if we don’t like how things turn out. Robert, will you take care of Nick’s makeup?”
    “Makeup?” Nick said, taking a full step back.
    “Don’t worry, Mr. Hotshot,” she said, and she thought no one else would hear anything amiss in her tone. “All the other guys will get theirs, too. It’s just enough to keep the camera from reflecting too much.”
    As Anna and Zach laughed, Robert guided Nick over to the table where he’d already spread out his wares. Jamie didn’t have to worry about her assistant. He was always on his game—even when he was quite visibly cataloging every single second of the experience to share with his husband when he got back home. Robert started explaining what he was doing, for Anna and Zach’s benefit as much as for Nick’s.
    Before Jamie could adjust the reflectors for her intended approach, her phone buzzed in her bag. She never turned on the sound when she was on a job—it would be too distracting for her subjects. But she’d developed hyper-acute hearing, so she never missed an important