Cleo White

So, before you judge me too harshly for what I'm about to tell you, I think it's important to lead with the disclaimer that this is not like me. At all.

I dedicated my entire life to ballet, and what did it get me? A limp, an intact v-card, and zero job prospects. Squatting in my sister's apartment, watching game shows, and feeling sorry for myself seems like an ideal way to pass the time until I figure out what to do next.

While I'm not clear on where one gets an official copy of the girl code, it seems like "thou shalt not covet thy bestie's hot dad" would be pretty high on that list.

I've made a name for myself as one of the best sports medicine doctors in the country. I have a thriving practice and a handful of awards that say I'm an excellent surgeon without getting attached to my patients.

I know a bad idea when I see one, and the unfairly handsome stranger I meet on the airport shuttle is a really bad idea. Especially when the silver fox turns out not to be a stranger at all, and steering clear isn't an option.

In retrospect, it might not have been the wisest idea to hand in my V-card to a hot librarian I picked up at my mother's cocktail party. In my defense, the man has a French accent, gray hair, and knows a lot about books. The cards were really stacked against me making good choices, folks.