“But if Ihaveto choose someone,” I pause, milking my moment for all its worth. “I guess I’ll have to go with Lando. Besides, it looks like he could use a little cheering up. Not that I blame him—the Honky Tonks are currently kicking the Rattlers’ behinds. Am I right?”
I throw my hands in the air to a healthy round of applause, but like usual, a few stray boos cut through the cheers from the Rattlers’ faithful fans. While the Honky Tonks bring in the majority of the fans, The Rattlers have definitely gained a loyal following, and it’s completely understandable why.
The Honky Tonk’s have built our reputation on being the golden retrievers of baseball. We’re fun, lovable, and attimes overly enthusiastic. Meanwhile the Rattlers are total party animals with major frat-boy energy. They’re the team shotgunning energy drinks in the dugout before going out and hitting home runs. Basically those guys are total chaos in cleats, and the people love 'em for it.
“In that case, Lando, it sounds like this one’s for you,” Hollis declares, as the Rowdy Rattlers push their team’s first baseman out of their dugout and back onto the field.
Like me, Lando knows what he’s doing, leaning heavily into his carefully crafted persona. He folds his strong arms across his bare chest, rolling his eyes like being serenaded by a Honky Tonk is way beneath his bad-boy brand. However, let’s be honest. As soon as this game ends, we’ll be high-fiving and laughing about the whole thing.
“So, what exactly am I singing? Please say it isn’t Buttons again,” I plead, lacing my fingers together as I hold them under my chin. Not that I couldn’t turn that into a good show. The only problem with that, he’s already shirtless, which makes things a bit more complicated.
“Nope,” she smiles, and that devious smirk lets me know it’s something good. “But, I did talk to a few of your teammates, and they all decided that since you know this one so well, that the song you'll be singing to your favorite Rattler, Lando...” she pauses, the tension building as a drumroll plays through the speaker. “Dibs” by Kelsea Ballerini,” she announces, as cheers and laughter erupt throughout the stadium.
My head falls backward, as I cover my face with my hands. Okay, so they definitely got me with this one, but not only can I do this, I plan to make it my best performance yet.
There’s a reason the people voted me in. They know what I’m capable of, and they know I know how to put on a good show, and that’s exactly what I’m going to give them.
As Hollis hands over the microphone, I can tell she’s proud of herself, but honestly, so am I. It’s one of the many reasons I can’t get her out of my head. She killed this, and it’s yet another reason I want to make her proud. She can dole out whatever punishment or challenge she wants. I’ll always be here to accept it, even if all it does is chip a small dent into the ridiculous wall she’s stubbornly built between us. Progress is progress.
“Hit it,” I direct, pointing toward the sound booth before a familiar twang plays through the speakers. Not wasting my shot, I break into song. I may have been chosen for the Honky Tonks due to my skills on the field and dance floor, but that doesn’t stop me from displaying my mediocre singing skills as I belt the words into the microphone. All that matters here is that the crowd is having a good time, and hell, so am I as I slowly make my way toward Lando.
I fully commit. We’re talking Grammy-level, go-big-or-go-home kind of commitment. Even Lando, who’s trying so hard to play it cool, cracks as I get a few smiles and laughs out of him. There’s no way this isn’t ending up as Hollis’s next social media reel, which only fuels me even more.
If she’s going to have to spend a few hours watching and editing this masterpiece, I might as well give her a little something extra. So, as the final chorus hits, I spin dramatically toward where Hollis is standing next to the man with the giant camera, point directly at it, and throw a signature wink that’s meant just for her.
You’re welcome, Hollis.
Now I just have to hope this was all enough to pass her test.
7
Hollis
I’m not one to normally toot my own horn, but toot, fucking, toot!
Opening night was a total knockout. I’ll give credit where credit is due, and that’s to the players, the staff, and everyone who’s been working themselves into the ground to get ready for the season opener. But hey, I’d like to think I deserve at least atinygold star. Not only have the league’s socials blown up, but Honky Tonk Ball had its first-ever sold out game. Once again,major props to everyone involved, but it’s hard not to believe that a lot of that crowd wasn’t driven in by the excitement from the live and the viral videos that came after.
With the material I got and was able to post during the game, I’m sure the numbers are now even higher. I can only imagine what they’ll eventually look like after all the extra footage is sorted, edited, and posted. And, as much as I hate to admit it, I'm sure a lot of that will also be from Fletch’s performance tonight.
In true Fletcher fashion, he was amazing, not only on the field, but during his “punishment” as well.
It’s becoming increasingly obvious, the more time I’m here, why he’s a franchise favorite. It’s not even his good looks—while they certainly help—it’s his bubbly, over-the-top personality that really pushes him over the edge. If he wasn’t such a good baseball player, I’d highly suggest he get a job in the performing arts, because he knows just what to do and say to get the crowd up on their feet as they root him on.
“Great Game. Congrats on the big win,” I say to Noah, as I offer him a thumbs up as he exits the field after the Honky Tonks’ victory dance number.
A gracious smile greets me as he veers in my direction.
“Pretty sure I have to say the same thing to you. That punishment thing was hilarious,” he gushes, giving my arm a soft pat.
“Eh, I only get to take a small portion of the credit for that one,” I shrug. Yes, I’d gone out of my way to figure out a plan to embarrass Fletcher in front of a stadium full of people, but there’s no way I could have done it without Easten’s help. Hell, even Fletcher himself made it into the fantastic spectacle that it turned out to be.
“Come on now. There’s no need to be humble here. Seriously, that crowd was insane. It was both the largest and loudest crowdwe’ve ever played in front of. That was all you. Your dad’s gotta be so proud.”
I wrinkle my nose and glance down at my Converse-covered feet. Taking compliments has never been my strong suit. Which is perhaps mildly ironic, given that I called him over here just so I could shower him with them.
“Well, what about you?” I ask, finally braving a glance back his way. “You pitched one hell of a game. How you do what you do, I’ll never know.”
Growing up with a famous baseball player as a father, it was pretty much decided that I’d play and join a few teams myself. Even so, between my time playing baseball and the hours I spent in a dance studio with my mom, there’s still no way I could ever combine the two skills into one. Not only does Noah pitch, but he occasionally performs a small dance before throwing a fastball and still somehow manages to land a strike. It’s absolutely wild.
