Honestly, I’m kind of impressed, not just by the artistry, but for the thought Hollis put into this. If any of my teammates had been tasked with choosing something to embarrass me they’dprobably just turn me into Shrek or something lame, but nope. She fucking went for it.
“Are you kidding me, Fletch?” Hollis laughs, though the sound holds more murderous disbelief than actual amusement.
She tilts her head side to side, doing her best to take it all in. On one cheek, she has Honker’s signature cartoon face staring back at her. On the other is my jersey number. Big, bold, and sparkling with the words ‘Fletcher’s #1 Fan’ written underneath.
“What? You look great in my number.” I proudly beam, though, it's the understatement of a century. Pretty sure the number eight has never looked as good as it does scrawled across her cheek.
“Well you better enjoy it. This will be the only time you ever see me wearing it,” she huffs, despite the amused grin on her face.
She hits the red button and the phone stops recording.
“Oh, I’m definitely enjoying it.” I turn to face her and lower my voice. “Plus, I’ve gotten you to do plenty of things you swore you’d never do, so I’m not too worried about it.”
Her eyes go wide. “Mason Fletcher!” she hisses, glancing around as though I’d somehow just confessed to a crime.
“What?”
“Don’t ‘what’ me! What if someone overhears you?”
“Now you’re worried about someone overhearing us? You didn’t seem so concerned about that the other day when…”
She covers my mouth with her hand, stopping me from saying more.
“Oh my God! Stop!” she shrieks, her voice caught between amusement and panic.
I place my hand over hers and pull it down. “Or what? You gonna punish me, Holls? Because I don’t think I’d be opposed to that. I mean, I have been a pretty bad boy.”
She fights back a smile. “Ugh, I’m done with you.”
She turns on her heel and walks away, my eyes falling to her swaying hips and perfectly round ass.
“You know I don’t believe you, right?” I holler after her.
She glances back over her shoulder.
“That’s fine. Denial looks good on you anyway,” she shrugs before walking away for good.
My instinct is to follow after her and spend the entire evening glued to her side. Unfortunately, I agreed to keep things under wraps, and besides, tonight isn’t about me or her.
Tonight is about these kids.
Plus, we have The Open Fields fundraiser gala coming up in a few days, and that’s when I can really make my move.
27
Hollis
Idon’t say this about myself often, but tonight, I feel truly beautiful. We’re talking show-stopping, main character energy, kind of beautiful. And it’s all thanks to Candice and Logan, my personal glam squad. They not only helped pick out the perfect gown for the gala, but spent all afternoon transforming me from a baseball bumpkin into someone worthy of walking a red carpet.
Staring at my reflection, I hardly recognize myself. Gone is the overworked social media manager in her Honky Tonk T-shirt and shorts. In her place stands a confident woman wearing a red, floor-length satin gown.
The back is completely bare, while the front dips into a cowl neckline, held up by thin straps and finished with a high slit. It’s a bold choice for me, and not something I’d usually pick, but Candice and Logan swore this wasthedress—especially if I want to drive a certain shortstop wild.
As for my hair, and after a YouTube tutorial deep dive, we landed on a side-swept ponytail with curls that perfectly fall over one shoulder. While it feels a bit strange to have my back so exposed, it also feels like the best way to show off the back of my dress... or rather, the lack thereof.
After psyching myself up, I finally make my way into the event and walk through the open doors. I’m immediately greeted by a man holding a silver tray and accept a glass of champagne.
The room is all glitz and glamor, and it’s obvious my parents have gone all out to impress the donors. This is quite the contrast from my normal day-to-day on the field with a bunch of loud, sweaty guys.
