Hollis
“That was perfect,” I laugh as Noah, the Honky Tonk’s pitcher, and I exchange high fives.
We’d not only worked on, but naileda video of him and his pitching techniques. In true Honky Tonk fashion we’d of course added some funny pitching positions, jokes, and puns. Noah had even suggested we title it, “Pitch Please.”
“That was awesome. Seriously,” he chuckles as well. “I’m definitely going to have to have you help me film some videosfor my own account,” he adds with a sigh. “I suck at this stuff. My videos and engagement are probably the worst of the entire team.”
“I’m sure they aren’t that bad,” I say and dismiss his worries with a wave. “But, that’s also what I’m here for. So if you ever really do want some help, just let me know.”
I wouldn’t mind getting to spend a little more time with Noah. He’s clearly a talented pitcher, a true sweetheart, and it turns out a single dad. He’s also the only player who hasn’t attempted to flirt with me, not even a little.
Not that it’s been all bad, since the only person who’s managed to get on my nerves with the over-the-top flirting is Fletcher. And fine—maybe I don’t actually mind it as much as I pretend to—but the problem is, it’s getting harder and harder to not want to flirt back.
It certainly didn’t help that at dinner with my parents, all my dad wanted to talk about was Fletch. All it took was me saying he gave a good tour, for him to launch into a full-on monologue about how Fletch isn’t just an incredible player, but an all-around amazing guy.
Pretty sure Fletch has fallen for the wrong Clemmins, because given the way my dad gushes about him, it sounds like he’s the one with a crush. Honestly, I think it’s quite possible my dad is President of theI Love Fletcherfan club.
Because, according to him, Fletch is always the first out there to greet the fans. He’s always offering extra time, autographs, and anything else you can think of to provide those wide-eyed kids the best day of their life.
Perhaps what I should’ve done, instead of glossing over the fact that he gave me a perfect tour—where he showed off his favorite filming spots as well as offering content ideas—was mention how he spent the rest of the time hitting on me. Alas,I’m not really looking to be the one to break my dad’s Fletcher-loving heart
Brushing those thoughts aside, I grab my phone and pull up my agenda for the day. I’m ahead of schedule. Perfect. Looks like now I get to have some real fun.
I’ve been wanting to go live since the moment I arrived, especially since it feels like the most organic way to get people excited for opening day. We’re only a week away, so why not show off the guys in action?
“Hey Easten,” I holler, spotting him and his adorable mustache-wearing self near the dugout as he drinks from his water bottle. “Can I borrow you for a moment?”
A smile lights up his face as he strides over to greet me. “Sure, what’s up?”
“In your humble opinion, who are the best dancers on the team?”
Dancing between, and sometimes even during pitches is integral to Honky Tonk ball. Then, of course, there’s the line dancing. The teams have even filmed YouTube tutorial videos that people can watch and learn the original Honky Tonk line dances, so they can come prepared if they want to join in on the action from their seats.
“Hmm.” He tips his chin upward, bringing his hand underneath. “Well, Noah is pretty good, but I’d probably have to go with Fletcher and Mateo.”
“Perfect,” I beam, unable to hide the excitement at hearing Fletch’s name included.
“Why?” His eyes narrow. “What do you have up that sleeve of yours?”
“Oh, nothing too crazy,” I wave him off, even if the evil grin on my face says something entirely different.
Fletch keeps putting me on the spot, so isn’t it only fair I repay the favor?
“Why does this feel like something I need to be a part of? Please tell me you’re looking for a partner in crime.”
“You know what? Yeah, I think I am.” I grab his arm and yank him toward the dugout.
While I have a few possible ideas swirling around, I could always use a little help. Plus, he offered, right?
Easten had come in clutch. He’d not only been on board with my ideas, but had come up with some of his own to crank it up to an entirely new level. While the Honky Tonk accounts have been growing steadily since my arrival, this feels like the ultimate way to truly get the ball rolling and bring in new fans.
“Alright. I think we’re ready. You guys good on your end?” I ask Easten, who’s taking on the lead role next to Honkers, the team’s mascot.
Despite being trapped inside a giant duck costume complete with a Honky Tonk jersey, boots, and comically large cowboy hat, the man inside has mastered the art of literallyshaking his tail feathers.
Honkers lifts a wing to let me know he’s good as Easten nods in equal agreement.
“Alright then. In three, two, one… we’re live,” I tell them, my phone camera already facing them. Right away, people start tuning in as the numbers begin to climb.
