“We’ll see,” I say, doing my best to look as equally self-assured, even if that couldn’t be further from the truth.
Not wanting him to read every single thought on my face, I turn and walk away. I refuse to let him see just how far he’s gotten under my skin, because despite being the one who issued this ultimatum, a tiny, traitorous part of me actually wants to see him pull it off.
What is wrong with me?
20
Fletcher
“Hell yeah!” I shout, flicking the ball behind my back to Mateo at second. It lands perfectly in his glove before he pivots, and fires it to Jaxon at first only mere seconds before Theo from the Rattlers can touch the bag.
“Out!”
Mateo runs toward me, as we jump and bump chests mid-air. That’s the final out for the inning, which means it’s now the Honky Tonk’s turn at bat. Most importantly though, I just nailedmy third trick play of the game. Hollis lit that match, and I’m on fire tonight, and it’s all thanks to her and her conditions.
All I have left to complete is a home run. Yes, it’s a big ask. Even if I do get lucky and secure a solid hit, that doesn’t mean I’ll get all the way home—but I’m determined. If Hollis is going to offer herself as the prize, then why wouldn’t I do everything I can to make it happen?
“Fuckin’ hell, Fletch,” Mateo adds, congratulating me with a slap to my ass as we head into the dugout. “You’re on fire tonight.”
“Didn’t you hear?” Easten asks, sitting on the other side of Jaxon as we take our seats on the bench and grab our water bottles. “Fletcher here is working to get a date with Baby Clemmins.”
I shoot him a look. “Could you have said that any louder?”
“Please,” Easten scoffs, “We all know just how down bad you are for her. Not to mention that weird look you get in your eyes whenever she walks by.”
“No kidding. It’s like you two think you are in some kind of Disney movie or some shit,” Mateo grins. “But don’t worry. It’s endearing... and maybe only a tiny bit pathetic.”
I roll my eyes, lifting my arms in a stretch as I do my best to ignore their laughter. “Oh, well thanks for that. Really feeling that team love and support right about now.”
“Seriously though,” Mateo says, his voice growing serious. “What’s the deal? You think that wooing her with your mad baseball skills is what’s finally going to win her over?”
“Something like that,” I mutter, not in the mood to take the bait. I know these guys, and if I give an inch, they’ll take a mile and I’ll never hear the end of it.
Plus, what I really need to be doing is getting my head in the game. With only two batters in front of me in the line-up, nowis my final chance to get that home run. With us in the eighth inning, this is likely my last turn at bat.
It’s now or never.
“Apparently,” Easten happily jumps in to spill the seemingly piping-hot tea, “Hollis told him if he can pull off three trick plays and a home run she’ll finally go out with him.”
Mateo lets out a low whistle. “Damn, man. That’s rough,” he says, clapping his hand on my shoulder.
“Wow,” I chuckle again. “ Love the confidence boost.”
“Hey,” Easten says, placing a hand over his heart. “I believe in you, but I also believe in your batting average...”
I'm aware it’s a bit of a long shot. I’m definitely no power hitter, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible. She may have set the bar incredibly high, but if Hollis says jump, I’m going to fucking jump.
“Hey Fletch,” James, our batting coordinator, calls as he waves me over. “You’re up next and we need to get you set up for your walk-up song.”
“Good luck,” Mateo offers, smacking my ass again as I stand.
“I don’t need luck,” I tell them confidently, repeating the words I told Hollis just yesterday.
If I keep telling myself that, that will have to make it true, right?
It doesn’t matter that I’m full of nerves as I walk over and take a few practice swings in the on-deck circle. I can do this. I know I can. Not only do I need this for myself, but the fans deserve it too, and that’s what I’m focusing on as Noah hits a single and makes it safely to first.
The cameras swivel toward me just as the familiar beat of “Honky Tonk Badonkadonk” by Trace Adkins blasts over the speakers. I roll my shoulders, and play it up. I’m lip-syncing and shaking my hips and ass as I walk toward the batter’s box. There’s always the chance I won’t be able to hit that homer, butthat doesn’t mean I can’t give the people what they paid for and put on a little show.
