Hitting to Win (Over the Fence #2) Read Free

way was I putting myself in the path of Hurricane Miles.
    That's what Minka and Owen had taken to calling him lately. I had to agree, it was fitting.
    And speak of the lovebirds. Minka and Owen make their way across Grover Grub, the café-like eatery on campus where I eat almost every meal. When your father is a world-class chef, campus slop isn't going to cut it.
    The two are lost in their bubble of romance, and people around the café are turning to stare. Not that Minka and Owen notice this. When they're together, it’s as if the world around them disappeared.
    Not that I wasn't extremely happy for my best friend, especially after all the stuff she'd had to put up with in high school, but I could feel the twinge of jealously niggles in my chest. I wanted what they had, and badly. Sure, I'd had boyfriends, but I'd never found that all-consuming, can't-eat, can't-sleep kind of love.
    Minka plops down in the other chair seated at my table, and Owen bends down to envelop her lips in a steamy kiss. I feel like a voyeur, and after a few seconds cough uncomfortably to get them to stop.
    "Later Bucs," Owen addresses me by the nickname he'd given me, breaks off the kiss and heads out of the Grub. Minka gazes after him.
    "You two are perfect." I sigh into my Waldorf salad. Yes, its true, we ballerina's eat like mice. I have a dream and I'm achieving it, even if it means sparing myself of mama's gnocchi in vodka sauce. Okay, maybe I eat two or three bites when she makes it.
    "No, we aren't," she rolls her eyes. "Half the time I'm scolding him for some arrogant, but charming, comment he makes. The other half, he's trying to talk me out of my clothes."
    "But you love each other."
    "Yes, Chlo, but I've told you many, many times. Your idea of love is not a reality. Life isn't a romance novel." Minka says this in a gentle voice I know is meant not to sound as harsh, but it still stings a bit.
    "Yes, Mrs. Love Expert. Anyway, I have some interesting news for you." I push the salad around my plate, not making eye contact with her. She's not going to like this.
    "And what's that?" Minka tries to stick her face under mine, but her mass of curls gets caught on my lip gloss, causing me to laugh. I didn't know what I'd do if she wasn't here with me. We'd been inseparable since the first grade.
    "Guess who my partner for Dancing with the Greeks is? You'll seriously never guess."
    Minka's eyes daze out and she pulls at her fingers. This is her thinking face, one I've seen countless times. "I don't know...just tell me."
    "Miles Farriston."
    "NO! Oh Chloe, you're kidding!" Her voice is a mixture of confusion, laughter and sympathy.
    "I would not kid about that, you know me better. It was awful Mink.." I bury head in my hands, trying to wash the memory of Miles and I in the studio out of my brain.
    "What happened?" She's suddenly sitting on the edge of her seat, her hands clasped under her chin waiting for the story. Glad I can provide her with her daily dose of gossip.
    "So I was in the studio early Saturday morning to get some solo practice in. I was rehearsing a new piece I put together, oh my god Minks I could practically feel the next move adding itself to the choreography..." I stop myself when she waves her hands in a wrap-it-up motion. Okay, I got a little caught up when talking about dancing. "Yes, yes. So. I wasn't really watching the clock, because I knew my partner would get there at some point. So when I heard the door open, I looked up and saw it was almost half an hour after our scheduled time!"
    Lateness was my number one pet-peeve. If you were five minutes early, to me you were just on time.
    Minka rolls her eyes at my outrage about the lateness, and then narrows them, pointing a long, mint green-polished fingernail at me. "Wait, so this happened four days ago, and you're just telling me this now? What the hell, Chloe! This is need-to-now intel."
    "I know, I know, but I didn't see you yesterday after skipping class. So anyway, when