“You barely even know me, Fletcher. What makes you think I’m so special? For all you know, I could be a walking red flag parading behind nothing but a pretty face.”
“We both know I love that pretty face of yours, but that’s not what has me hooked. Red flags or not, there’s a light in you I can’t help but chase. So for now, I’ll take whatever piece you’re willing to share. And then, whenever you’re ready, I’ll still be right here, waiting for the whole damn sun. And if I get burned in the process,” he shrugs, “so be it. I can take it.”
Okay, nowthis isofficially the sweetest thing anyone has ever said to me.
I let out a breath, my eyes dropping for a brief moment before daring to look back up. And of course, he’s still looking at me likethat, but I need to remain strong.
"That’s… weirdly kind, but I meant what I said. This isn’t gonna happen, and not because I don’t think you’re attractive or wouldn’t be a fun time. It’s not even because we’re coworkers and we both work for my dad. I’m just not in a place where I can give my heart to anyone right now.”
“Why? Is there someone back in California, or maybe you’re dealing with some kind of broken heart? Because I can help with that.”
Of course he has no problem asking such a personal question. I don’t owe him an explanation, and part of me feels like walking away all over again, but knowing him, he’d continue to chase me down until I finally broke down anyway. Might as well just get it over with.
“No, it’s nothing like that,” I almost laugh, because if anything, I’m usually the one who does the heart breaking. “But when I came home, I promised my dad one year. I’m only here to get things going and to train someone else for the position before the end of the season. My life is in L.A., and while I agreed to help for the time being, I’m not planning on staying for very long. The last thing I want or need is a reason to stay or change my mind.”
He raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, and weirdly... relieved? “You really hate it here that much?”
I blow out a breath and shake my head. “No, it’s not that. I love Texas. It’s my home, but growing up with both Jared and Melanie as parents, it also came with expectations and a name to live up to. Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud to be a Clemmins, and the legacy my parents have built for themselves is unmatched, but I want to build something I created all on my own. Something I didn’t inherit or get handed just because of who raised me. And with how much they’re adored here? Trying to step out of their shadow feels almost impossible. It’s why I have to do it somewhere else—somewhere where they aren’t practically state royalty.”
“That’s ridiculous," he chuckles, and I narrow my eyes. “Okay, sorry,” he quickly apologizes, even though his lips slightly twitch. “But we’ve all seen what you’re capable of, and there’s no way we could have made tonight happen without you. Tonight’ssold-out game wasn’t because of your parents. Everyone in Houston knows this is your dad’s team, but have we ever sold out before? No. This,” he adds, motioning toward the stadium, “was all because of you.”
I shake my head, folding my arms. “You don’t get it. I never would’ve even been offered this position if my dad wasn’t the owner.”
“Okay, fine,” he concedes, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll give you that. But it doesn’t change the fact that you’re insanely creative, crazy talented, and theperfect fit for this team. You get us, but most importantly, you understand what our audience wants. That’s all you. None of that came from your parents.”
I want to believe him, but in so many ways, it’s just not true. The reason I know this industry and the vibes needed is because of my parents and the environment they raised me in. It’s almost as if I were perfectly groomed for this one position, shaped by a childhood spent around baseball fields and dance studios, where I was not only watching, but also included and given the best coaches and teachers. So really, the only reason I am so perfect for this role, is once again because of them. Still, I’m not going to spend my night arguing with someone who will truly never understand.
“While I deeply appreciate the sentiment, how about we just agree to disagree here?” I suggest, and without waiting for a reply, I turn and start walking. “And hey, go celebrate with your team and adoring fans,” I toss over my shoulder, the sound of the party already buzzing from outside the stadium. “I’m sure it’s way more fun than trailing after me like a lost little puppy.”
I don’t have to look back to know if he’s following. At this point, it’s a given.
“What if I like being your little puppy dog? Hell, I’d be your lap dog if you let me. Just give me a collar and I’m all yours, darlin’.”
I fight back a smile.
“And hey, aren’t you coming? We could walk out together?” he suggests.
Strangely, I’d love to spend more time with Mason Fletcher as he walks us out, likely still laying on the charm as though it’s his full-time job. Okay, fine. Technically, now that he’s scaled every defensive wall I swore no one could ever climb, I could think of a few other things I’d much rather be doing with him, because when it comes to that pretty little face of his, my imagination is fully operational. Which is exactly why spending any more time with him would be an absolutely terrible idea.
“Nope. Not tonight,” I say.
As always, I’m invited, and it’d be a great way to get some B-roll footage and content, but I think it’s safer for everyone—or okay, maybe just best for me—if I keep some distance.
“Oh come on. You have to. You’re a huge part of this team now. We need you there.”
“I’ll think about it,” I lie.
He narrows his eyes, already calling my bluff. “Yeah, see, you say that like I haven’t already figured you out,” he tsks, pointing two fingers at his eyes then at me. “I see you, Hollis Clemmins. Don’t think I don’t know the whole ‘fake promise to avoid commitment’ bit. You have literally zero intentions of showing up tonight. This is just you trying to get me off your case. And spoiler alert: I’m not buying it.”
I arch a brow, because he definitely just read me like a fucking book, but I refuse to let him one-up me.
“Wow. Congratulations on cracking the code, Sherlock,” I say, my voice dripping in sarcasm. “Or maybe ‘Clueless Holmes’ would be more fitting since you’ve clearly gotten me all wrong. I actually wasplanning on going out tonight. I just didn’t want to tell you, because the last thing I need is you following me around while I once again try to get some work done.”
He flashes that annoyingly smug, and knowing smile. The kind that says ‘gotcha’ without saying a word. Okay, so maybe he does know me.
“Good. I'll see you there,” he says, that cute boyish grin of his looking way hotter than it has any right to. Then, because of course he does, he walks backward as he tosses me a lazy salute as if he just won this battle.
And honestly, maybe he did. I’m pretty sure I just got played.
