Read Out Of Her League for Free Online

across her face. “That came out wrong,” she blurted. “Pretend I never said it.”
    He ventured a wink, his pulse quickening at her denial that she might be hitting on him. “Trust me, darlin', I'm not offended. As it happens, home cooking is one of the ways to my heart, so pass the cake, will you?”
    She let out a breath. “Let me fill ‘er up, then.” She served another heaping portion of the gooey chocolate dessert and ice cream.
    “And just for the record,” he paused long enough to lock his gaze with hers, “you can hit on me anytime you want.” Her nonplussed expression was priceless.
    As he ate the first warm bite he let out a throaty purr, trying not to smile as her gaze flicked up to him, then down to her plate. Wary was good, he decided. The fact he'd gotten under her skin meant she wasn't as disinterested as she wanted him to believe.

CHAPTER 3

    “Now batting for White Rock,” the announcer informed the crowd, “number six, Dani Miller.” A cheer erupted from the home fans. Dani was a favorite, and their team was trailing by two runs in the fifth inning. Christa was on deck with her long braid hanging down her back, in full battle gear: lower legs covered with socks and stirrups, knees cushioned by pads and thighs concealed with sliding shorts. Two national team coaches were watching her tonight.
    Not only were the people holding the keys to her dream in the crowd, but her stalker was once again behind home plate, forcing her to blank out his frequent comments and leers. On top of all that, Rayne had shown up a few minutes after the game had started, so her brain kept bombarding her with the awareness that he was sitting in the third base bleachers next to Teryl. Between innings she'd permitted herself a single glance and wave at them, then put her game face back on and tried to tune out everything else.
    The crowd murmured as Dani grounded out to shortstop.
    “Next up for White Rock, number nineteen, Christa Bailey.” The announcement brought another round of cheering as she made her way to the plate from the on-deck circle.
    “Come on, Christa,” a girl in a little league uniform shouted. “You can do it.” Her friends joined in with encouragement, clapping excitedly, a dozen grade schoolers all sporting inside-out hats backwards like rally caps.
    Christa settled herself into the right-hand batters box, holding up one hand toward the umpire until she was ready. The pitch smacked into the catcher's glove, outside and low. “Strike!” yelled the umpire.
    She returned to the box, awaited the next offering from the opposing pitcher, who shook off two signals before agreeing on a pitch. It zoomed in high and tight, causing her to jerk back to avoid being hit in the head. The crowd booed.
    “Go get her, Christa!” her number one fan shouted.
    Coolly she climbed back into the box, set comfortably into her stance and took a big cut at the next pitch, smoking it over the shortstop's head, and zoomed off in a dead sprint. The crowd went crazy as the throw home came too late and the runner on third scored. Christa went into overdrive, heading for second base.
    The catcher wound up and hurled the ball down to the second baseman, who whipped her glove down in a sweep tag. Christa executed a hook slide and managed to grab the edge of the bag on the way by.
    “Safe,” called the base umpire, and the crowd roared as Christa called time and dusted herself off.
    The next batter struck out, leaving Christa stranded at second base. The teams cleared the field and White Rock assumed their defensive positions, a back-up catcher taking the first few warm-up pitches while Christa hurried to get her gear on. She jogged onto the field and crouched behind the plate, taking the last pitch and launching it down to second.
    “Be a leader out there, Christa! You're the best they've got.”
    The stalker's voice. She gritted her teeth. If her head had been locked into the game properly, she would never have heard