Read Hittin' It Out the Park for Free Online Page A

move.
    All the restrooms in the house were crowded, and Sexy banked on having sufficient time to snag the hot rocker. Growing impatient when the guy didn’t budge from the door frame he was leaning against, she beckoned him by crooking her finger.
    Me? he pantomimed, pointing to his chest.
    She nodded, turned around, and pranced along the corridor.
    It was typical July weather, and despite the air conditioning, the body heat inside the overcrowded party had the temperature soaring. Sexy decided to leave the confines of the crowded frat house where the rowdy celebration was being held and relocate to the quiet and spacious rooftop.
    As she headed for the backstairs that led to the roof deck, she bypassed a twerk contest between three white girls who should have been ashamed to bring attention to their deficient derrieres, but were too intoxicated to care. When white girls competed in impromptu twerk-offs, there was always an overabundance of alcohol involved.
    Continuing her trek down the hallway, she looked over her shoulder and couldn’t hold back a smug smile. As expected, the hot rocker dude was following her like an obedient sheep.
    Upon closer inspection, he was dreamier looking than she’d realized with fine-boned features and sensual lips. He seemed like the overly confident type who could have his pick of women, and she’d observed numerous girls shamelessly trying to divert his attention away from his girlfriend throughout the night.
    But Sexy wasn’t merely any woman. Among her group of friends, she was the only ethnic chick, and she was often referred to as being uncommonly good looking—an exotic beauty with an olive skin tone, large doe-shaped eyes, and dark flowing hair.
    Tonight, Sexy looked extra-hot in a crop top embellished with beads and sequins and she was rocking a teeny-tiny pair of denim, cut-off shorts and ankle-strap stilettos that showcased her perfect pair of long, shapely legs. People often mistook her for a runway model, which she thought was hilarious. Becoming a brainless model was not the occupation she aspired toward. When the day came that she had to consider employment options, she was certain she’d lean toward a career in the CIA or some sort of corporate espionage. In the meantime, she’d continue living off handouts from her parents and the kindness of strangers.
    A slew of bangles and bracelets decorated both her wrists and jangled musically as she sauntered along and turned a corner, striding past a room that was crammed with kids gathered around a giant bong. One girl was bent at the waist, her long hair nearly sweeping the floor as she giggled at a private joke that only she could hear. Another moron with orange crumbs around his mouth was digging his orange-tinted fingers inside a bag of Cheetos, his jaws working overtime as he crunched on the snack while waiting for his turn to hit the bong.
    Drugs had never interested Sexy. She preferred being clear-headed when manipulating and outmaneuvering her idiot friends, her stupid family, and brain-dead society in general. No one was shrewder than Sexy, and she delighted in proving that fact at every opportunity.
    Excitement coursed through her as she heard his footsteps climbing the stairs behind her. She pushed the door to the rooftop open and the evening breeze blew through her hair.
    Holding a frosty bottle of Coors Light, Hot Rocker was right behind her. “Wow! This is so cool,” he uttered, looking around and then staring up at the star-filled sky.
    â€œIt’s an amazing view; I figured you’d enjoy it,” she said, taking his hand and leading him over to the lawn furniture. She plopped down on a wicker loveseat and motioned for him to have a seat next to her. “My name is Sexy.”
    â€œPerfect name for you.”
    â€œSexy Sanchez,” she added with a provocative smile.
    â€œCool name. Are you Puerto Rican??”
    â€œNo.” She gave a shrug. “I’m