The Boyfriend League Read Online Free PDF

end of the bleachers.
    â€œIt is pretty warm out here,” I said, flicking my fingers over the sash hem of my brown shorts. I was wearing a lime green visor that didn’t clash with my lacy white camisole, hoping the neon shade would make me more visible in the stands.
    Groaning, Bird looked over at me. “I think you should leave the smart comebacks to me. That one was too lame for words.”
    I shrugged, my gaze drifting to Jason, who was pitching in an area away from the diamond, along with a couple of other guys. A man I assumed was the pitching coach would say something from time to time, and one of the guys would nod. I guess he was giving them pointers.
    Like all the other players out there, Jason was wearing a T-shirt and generic baseball pants. His shirt was white with red sleeves that stopped just above his elbow. No witty slogans, no rock band advertising, nothing to give any hint to his personality.
    He’d come to the practice field straight from work. Apparently he worked the lunch shift, so he could make the late afternoon and early evening practices and games. It was Saturday, and the first game of the season would be Tuesday. It didn’t seem like much time to practice, but then these guys were really only extending their baseball season. They’d already had months of practice andgames. They’d be ready by Tuesday. No sweat.
    Bird tapped the roster she’d given me when she’d picked me up earlier to bring me to the field. She’d added a column: Hottie Score.
    â€œYou know, I bet Brandon is a home-run hitter.” She bumped her shoulder against mine and wiggled her eyebrows. “Maybe I’ll let him hit a home run with me.”
    I laughed. Have I mentioned that Bird has a one-track mind very similar to mine? Guys, guys, guys.
    â€œI think he’s definitely deserving of a ten,” she said.
    While Bird wrote his score on both our rosters, I reached into my tote bag, brought out my chocolate chip cookie dough lip balm, and spread some over my lips. The summer heat was murder.
    â€œSo, who appeals to you?” Bird asked.
    Dropping the balm back into my tote, I glanced over at her. “You say that like you’ve already made your decision that Brandon is the one.”
    â€œI’m narrowing down the field, that’s all. What about you?”
    We’d given Mac a nine point five, but only because Bird said we couldn’t give every guy a ten.
    I hadn’t scored Jason yet. He deserved a ten. No question. But officially scoring him as the hottest of the hot would make me uncomfortable living with him. After all, I wasn’t really supposed to be noticing him. A six. I could easily live with a six. Still, I felt like I was betraying him when I wrote the score on my roster.
    â€œShortstop is cute,” I said. I glanced at the lineup. Chase Parker.
    â€œI can’t tell at this distance,” Bird said. “I wish they had these guys’ pictures on the roster.”
    â€œThey’ll have them in the programs on Tuesday.”
    The team always sold programs for a buck at the games. Inside were the stats on each Rattler. There was also a roster of the visiting team, but they didn’t include their stats. I guess the general consensus was: Who cares? They’re not our guys. Ragland was pretty loyal to its team.
    â€œOpening night is free rattle night,” Bird said. “Not that we need any more rattles.”
    Most home games had a giveaway. Opening night was always rattles that looked like rattlesnakes’ tails on a stick. Big surprise—when shaken, the individual slats of wood clapped together to make a sound like an angry rattlesnake. Making them clack showed team loyalty. Paper fans were also a very popular giveaway, at least one game a week. Bird and I had quite a collection: seat cushions, team caps, team T-shirts, baseball bat–shaped pens, baseball stress balls—whatever the local merchants