Center Stage: A Hot Baseball Romance (Diamond Brides Book 8) by Mindy Klasky Read Free Book Online Page A

she’d be free from rehearsals for whatever show she was in. Until the rates dropped at all the romantic spots they’d considered.
    She’d postponed her honeymoon for work and a sale. Sheesh. Maybe she’d had her suspicions about Will all along.
    Ryan drove right past the split-level ranch when she pointed it out. “Hey!” she said. “That’s the one!”
    “And we’re not going to park right in front of it. You can run half a block, can’t you, Killer?”
    “Killer?”
    “We need code names out there. We don’t want anyone overhearing us talk to each other. We don’t want them figuring out who did this.”
    “If I’m Killer, then who are you?”
    “That’s your choice.” He was laughing at her. He was laughing, and he was daring her, and he was making her feel like she might actually live through the night with her heart intact.
    “All right, Hotshot.” He rolled his eyes. “What? You want me to call you Rocket Man? Or something even more obvious? Because how many people other than the Rockets’ center fielder drive a red Ferrari around Raleigh?”
    “Hotshot it is,” he said, parking the car at the end of the block.
    When she climbed out, her heart was pounding so hard she could barely take a full breath. “What do we do now?” she whispered.
    He ripped open the plastic wrap that surrounded the toilet paper and passed her half a dozen rolls. “Pull off a yard or two and hold it in your left hand. Then throw the roll over the tree with your right. I’ll be on the other side, and I’ll toss it back. You’re on your own with the shaving cream.”
    She nodded, clutching the paper tight. How was it possible that she was twenty-five years old, and she’d never done this? Why hadn’t she been a normal teenager, like everyone else she’d ever met?
    What the hell difference did it make? She was doing it now. The roof of her mouth prickled, and she realized she was about one minute away from hyperventilating. Time to get the show on the road.
    Pretending more confidence than she felt, she led the way back to Will’s house. The lights were off inside. It had to be close to midnight. She walked to the closest magnolia tree, trying to ignore the way her knees were turning to water.
    Her first toss was wild—it rose up in the air, as high as the top of the tree, but then it came hurtling back toward her, dropping at her feet in a soft pile of paper. “Sugar!” she swore, remembering to whisper. She was bending down to pick up the roll and try again when a soft white missile sailed over the tree.
    “Throw it back, Killer!” Ryan’s voice was soft in the darkness, pitched just loud enough for her to hear. She picked up the roll and bit her lips, reminding herself of everything Zach had ever taught her about throwing a ball. The toilet paper arced over the tree in a perfect parabola.
    After that, it was easy. They covered the first tree and moved on to the second. They made a few quick passes around the bushes by the front porch. In a moment of inspiration, she wrapped the mailbox, securing the ends with shaving cream.
    Ryan took one of the cans and sprayed a white carpet in front of the door, long enough and wide enough that Will could never step outside without getting his feet dirty. She added to the handiwork, painting the garage door with the word “Loser!” in giant foamy letters.
    “That’ll hurt,” Ryan said, closer to her than she expected.
    “The truth always does.”
    There was one roll of toilet paper left. Ryan took her hand and guided her to a spot in front of the house. “There you go, Killer. Over the roof.”
    “I can’t make that!”
    “Sure you can.”
    Her first try missed completely. The second hit the roof with a thud that sounded like a small bomb exploding. She waited for a lifetime, watching the roll snag on the shingles, waiting for it to roll down, to bounce over the gutter. She picked it up and tried one more time, clearing the roof, watching the paper sail into