With a sneaky glance around, and when I’m certain no one is looking—other than Fletcher of course—I turn my phone over, delete the picture, and type a reply.
Hollis:
So you really are a creep, huh? I think my dad might be interested to know he has a panty thief in his organization.
I fold my arms, refusing to glance in his direction, but that doesn’t stop him as my phone alerts me of yet another new message.
Fletcher:
Oh come on. You really thought they just disappeared? Hell, if anything, I just assumed you wanted me to have them.
Hollis:
Why would I want that? That’s my nicest pair!
Fletcher:
So you wore your nicest pair just for me? Interesting. Now I’m even more convinced that either 1. you wanted me to have them so I’d have to return them, forcing us to spend more time together or 2. you wanted me to have a reminder of just how fucking sexy you looked in them last night.
I fight off a blush as I keep my head down.
Okay, so maaaaaybe he has a point. I did pick those out just for him. If he was going to be seeing me nearly naked, why wouldn’t I wear a pair that I knew made my ass look amazing? As for the missing panties, him having them is probably a better option than some random Joe at Wright Way Ranch.
“Does that work for you Hollis?” My dad asks from his spot at the head of the table.
Every head swivels in my direction, including Fletcher with a smug, shit-eating grin.
“Oh, uh,” I stammer, sliding my phone into my pocket. “I missed what you said. I was replying to a work email,” I lie.
So much for staying professional at work. Pretty sure I just hit an all-time career low, as not only did I get caught not paying attention during my dad’s meeting, it was because I was busy sexting with one of his players.
Fuck. My. Life.
“I just wanted to make sure you were good with capturing all the behind-the-scenes footage at our event tomorrow,” he repeats, doing his best not to sound annoyed, something I’m probably only receiving due to sharing his DNA.
Nothing like all my coworkers having a front-row seat to my special treatment. Love that for me.
I clear my throat and nod. “Oh yeah, of course. I’m all ready for it.”
My dad gives me one final look before turning his attention back to the entire room, as I sink even lower into my chair.
“Perfect. I know it’s not ideal that this event takes place after hours and after a long day of practice, but this event means so much to all the kids. So thank you all in advance for your generosity and your willingness to volunteer,” he finishes, before clapping his hands and turning the time over to the league choreographer.
My phone vibrates again, but this time I ignore it, especially as I feel my dad’s eyes on me. I tilt my head just enough to check, and yep. Direct, full-on eye contact. I send him my best innocent smile and a thumbs-up. Everything’s perfect over here. No missing panties that definitely weren’t stolen by his star shortstop.
As casually as I can, I turn back toward the choreographer and do my best impression of someone who’s paying attention. Because what I really need to be doing is actually listening. My entire job practically depends on knowing when the big dance numbers are happening so I can coordinate with the camera crew to get the footage I need.
Yet Fletcher apparently is dead-set on getting completely under my skin as my phone goes off yet again.
I exhale slowly. Is he serious right now? Because this is not the way to win me over. Yes, I agreed to a friends-with-benefits type of thing, but even friends need boundaries, and the sooner he realizes that, the better. At this rate, the only ‘benefit’ he’s going to be receiving is a well aimed phone to the forehead.
As the meeting adjourns I’m not surprised when my dad comes to check in with me. Luckily, he seems to believe me when I explain that I was replying to an email about a few different sponsorship offers.
Sure, it’s a lie, but it’s not like I don’t actually get those. My inbox is full of them, especially as our numbers continue to skyrocket. I’m also certain he’d much rather hear this than the actual story. Don’t need to go giving the man a heart attack before 10 a.m.
I’d scrolled through the employee handbook, and there weren’t any no-fraternization rules, nor was I ever told I couldn’t date the players. So as a boss I’m not sure he’d have any leg to stand on, but as a father, I’m less inclined to believe he’d be okay with things. He may like Fletch, but I’m not sure he still would if he knew what exactly we were doing behind closed doors. So for now, it’s better for everyone involved if this continues to be mine and Fletch’s little secret for as long as possible—or better yet, forever.
After assuring him one final time that everything is fine, we say our goodbyes before I start down the hall. I’m not the least bit surprised to feel someone fall into step beside me. I don’t even have to look to know who it is. Between that confident swagger and the smell of his mint chewing gum, I know it’s Fletcher.
