“Uh, huh. I’m sure you are,” I deadpan, reaching for a makeup remover wipe. “And I’m sure you’re also super torn up about me having to take part in a certain punishment tonight. In fact, a little birdie mentioned you being one of the masterminds behind all of it.”
“What? Me? A Mastermind?” he gasps, placing his hand over his heart, as if I’ve somehow paid him the greatest compliment. “While I appreciate the thought, come on. We all know Hollis gets the credit for this one. Hell, I now get why you like her so much. The woman is a genius.”
At nothing more than the sound of her name my body lights up like a christmas tree that just got plugged into the damn power socket. And if that’s not bad enough, there’s no ignoring the butterflies swirling around my midsection.
Seriously? Butterflies? What the hell is wrong with me and why is my body reverting back to that of a horny teenager? It’s beyond embarrassing at this point.
What makes it even worse is that she can barely stand me. Okay, maybe that’s a bit of an over-exaggeration. She’s not exactly hostile, but it’s not like she’s rolling out the red carpet for me either. Then again, maybe the reason I’m so confused is because she is too.
She’ll occasionally let me in, keeping me curious, but the second I get too close she immediately shuts me down.
I’m not even sure what it is about her that has me so determined and unwilling to back down. Sure, she’s gorgeous, but it’s also so much more than that.
She’s sharp, unpredictable, and totally her own person as she sets out to make her mark on the world. While I’ve somewhat been able to figure out what makes her laugh, there’s so much more I’m desperate to learn. I want to know everything about her—from what cereal she eats for breakfast down to what song she sings loudly in the car when she’s all alone.
Too bad that if it were up to her, she’d keep me at arms length forever—hell, maybe even further if she had it her way.
With my face cleaned up, I do my best to focus on the game ahead, or at least as much as I can, given our current conversation.
“And you said no, but she absolutely forced you into it, right?” I tease, raising an eyebrow as I meet his gaze through the reflection.
“At gunpoint,” he replies, his face serious.
I laugh, shaking my head, before attempting to reapply the eye black. “You know, I don’t even care because this just means I’m on her mind, right? Why else would she go out of her way to think up a plan to punish me?”
“So I take it you haven’t stopped being delusional?” Hudson asks as he strolls by.
“Hell yeah I am,” I happily fire back as I admire my handiwork in the mirror. “I’m all for it as long it that means I get to live happily, rent-free in that beautifully complicated mind of Hollis Clemmins.”
Do I sound pathetic? Probably. Do I care? Not a damn bit.
As long as Hollis is thinking about me, even just a teeny tiny bit, then that’s enough. It may not be much, but it’s a start, and when it comes to her, I’ll happily take whatever she’s willing to give.
Opening night is insane. We have our first sold-out stadium, the crowd’s electric, and the Honky Tonks are up 4-1. There are some people out there who think what we do is a joke, or that the games are fully scripted, and while we do add some extra theatrics for entertainment's sake, we’re still out here playing an actual competitive game of baseball.
We’re true players, and while our main goal is to keep the masses entertained, we can’t help what we are or what we’ve been trained to do. Despite all the dancing and goofing off, it’s impossible to fully conceal our competitive natures. Sure, the Rowdy Rattlers have gained their own following due to their extra obnoxious antics, and their habit of walking around shirtless, but the Honky Tonks are the namesake of the league, and it’d be a damn shame if we lost the first game of the season.
“Howdy Ya’ll,” Hollis’s gorgeous voice rings through the stadium, a sweet country twang to her tone as we finish the 5th inning. “We have averyspecial treat for you tonight,” she says into the microphone, as one of the cameramen captures her image for the jumbo screen. “For those that missed the live or the various videos that have been circulating the internet ever since, The Honky Tonks’ very own, Mason Fletcher lost a dance battle, which means he now has to accept the punishment that was voted on by all of you!”
The crowd erupts into a series of loud cheers as I’m ushered to join her at the pitcher’s mound. I wave to the people, as the stadium only gets louder and the excitement builds.
“So, the top two punishments with the highest number of votes are: Fletcher wearing a giant pink tutu for the rest of the game,orhim singing a dedicatory love song to a player of his choice from The Rowdy Rattlers...” she pauses, building tension as the people in the crowd not only laugh, but yell out their own hopeful outcomes. “But, the one with the highest number of voteswas... the love song,” she hollers into the mic.
I inwardly celebrate myself, since out of the two, that’s the one I’d prefer. I can easily handle the embarrassment of wearing a tutu, but from a practical standpoint, it wouldn’t make my job any easier. Plus, we’re currently in the lead, and I plan to keep it that way.
Still, I give the people a show as I cover my face and fall to my knees, giving it my all as I pretend like this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.
“And to make your love-filled dedication everything it needs to be, we’re providing you with,” Hollis chimes in once more, clearly enjoying this a little too much.
I lift my head and Easten steps into view. He’s carrying a hot pink bandana covered in red hearts to replace the red and brown Honky Tonk one I’m wearing across my forehead, a matchingdenim vest that looks as though it was made for cupid himself if he were to join a biker gang, and to top it off... a very pink, and incredibly sparkly microphone.
I wrinkle my nose, shake my head, and wave my hands in front of me. I’m all about committing to the bit, but honestly? I’m kind of impressed. As ridiculous as this is, I can’t help but love the effort she put in just to embarrass me. Unfortunately for her, I don’t embarrass easily. If anything, this public shaming feels like nothing more than foreplay. I’m so into this shit it’s not even funny.
“So, Fletcher. Who on the Rattlers do you want to sing your declaration of love to?” she asks into the sparkly microphone before holding it out to me.
“That’s a toughie,” I ponder, tapping my chin and tipping my head upward. “I mean, they’re all pretty horrible,” I joke, earning a few laughs and cheers with that one.
Obviously, it’s all in good fun. While the Rowdy Rattlers are technically our opponents, as a franchise, we’re all close friends, and I respect them as players. Not only do we share an intense love of baseball, but all we really care about is putting on a good show for the people.
