Out of My League - Sarah Sutton Page 0,20

perfect time, because the coach called in the players to the dugout, ready to end practice. Even from this distance, I could hear his reprimanding voice. “If you idiots play that pitifully tomorrow, we can kiss that championship goodbye. And do we want to kiss that championship goodbye? Do we want to throw away four years of wins?”

“No, sir,” came a chorus of low-toned replies.

“Didn’t think so. Now get your sorry faces off my field. Walsh, stay behind.”

The boys started to disperse, grabbing their bags and pulling their baseball mitts off. Walsh lifted his hat from his head to run a hand through his golden hair, trying to straighten his spine. He still hadn’t seen me hovering by the fence, hadn’t even glanced my way.

You’re such a stalker. Watching him without him knowing it. Watching Walsh Hunter. How has this become your life?

I winced when the coach clasped a hand on Walsh’s shoulder, trying to shake the tension from him.

“Sophia, are you even wearing any sunscreen?”

I didn’t notice that Scott came up to me at the fence, hooking his fingers through the metal rungs and leaning into it. Sweat pasted wisps of hair to his forehead, streaks of dirt smudged along his cheeks.

“Hey,” I said awkwardly, leaning back on my bike seat. “Good practice?”

“The best,” he replied with a voice drenched in sarcasm, frowning at me. “What are you doing here?”

The confrontational energy seeping from him put me on edge; I so wasn’t wanting a round two of Friday night. But this time, I wasn’t sure I’d stand there gaping like a fish. No, the shock had worn off, and he wasn’t going to talk to me like that. “What, I’m not allowed to bike past the baseball field?”

“You hate baseball,” Scott pointed out. “What, are you meeting your new boyfriend?”

Heat sparked in my ears at the word, at the way it fell like a swear word from his lips. I almost screwed everything up right then, almost jumping to deny it. Gross, no! The words were on the tip of my tongue. As if!

But Scott’s response clued me in on one thing: he was jealous. The mere idea of it was startling, almost stupid. It made me furious. What right did he have to be jealous when he dumped me in front of the entire student body?

“Yeah,” I said after a moment, forcing myself to square my shoulders. “I am here for him.”

“You two put on quite the show Friday night. No one believed you guys though. It was so obvious it was an act.”

“Come on, Scottie,” a voice chimed in. “I just think you don’t know what real emotion looks like.”

Walsh had walked around the side of the fence and came to my side, his hat still turned around backward, bag over his shoulder. He rested his hand along the back of the bike seat, arm grazing my lower back.

Scott’s eyes locked on it. “Do you have to butt in on all our conversations, Hunter?”

“Only when you’re being an idiot,” Walsh tossed back casually, unaffectedly. “Though, that’s pretty much all the time, isn’t it?”

There was a vein I’d never seen before on Scott’s forehead, and it began to throb. “Good effort, you two, but you can drop the act.”

“No act,” Walsh said, looking down at me. His hand lifted from my seat to snake around my waist. The movement rucked my t-shirt up ever so slightly, his arm brushing against the bare skin of my back. I jerked at the sensation, tensing all over. “We just hit it off.”

Even though I gripped the handlebars like my life depended on it, I forced my lips to curve into a smile. “You know what they say about chemistry.”

Without allowing myself to think about it—not for a single freaking second—I reached up and pressed my lips against the top of Walsh’s cheekbone. His skin was warm underneath my mouth, smooth, soft.

Two thoughts shot through my mind. Are my lips chapped? and Oh my gosh, I’m kissing Walsh Hunter—with my mouth.

“We should get going if we’re going to meet my parents on time,” I told Walsh, pulling away, my face no doubt on fire. The words came from my mouth so quickly—too quickly for me to censor what exactly I was saying—and I just hoped Walsh could think fast on his feet.

And of course, Walsh took my words in stride, fishing his car keys from his pocket. “I’ll move some stuff around so your bike can fit into the trunk.” He tossed