“I’m glad you came over,” my dad continues, as I do my best to focus and not free-fall into a full-on mental breakdown. I’m a professional, goddammit. Besides, it's not like I actually went home with the guy. I could’ve woken up in his bed wearing nothing but regret. Things could always be worse.
“I want you two to get close,” my dad says.
And just like that, things get worse. Catastrophically worse.
“What?” I blurt before I can think better of it and stop myself.
My dad, oblivious to my panic chuckles softly. “Well, yeah. He’s our best player. Of course I need you two spending a lot of time together.”
“I don’t know if I’d go as far as saying the best, but coming from you, I’ll humbly accept the compliment,” Fletcher says, giving my dad a grin so bashful it should probably be illegal. The guy’s somehow laying it on even thicker than last night.
And with the way my dad’s smiling back, it’s clear he’s buying this little act hook, line, and sinker. God, all they're missing is a fishing boat.
“I mean it, son.” My dad places a hand on Fletcher’s shoulder with fatherly affection. “You’re a talented player, but even more than that, you always know the perfect way to get the crowd up and on their feet. You make our fans feel like they matter, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted with this team. Don’t think for a second I haven’t noticed your impact here."
He pauses as he glances back toward me. “Obviously, Hollis, I want you to make these social media accounts your own as you put your usual spin on things, but Fletcher here, knows a lot about what our fans want. So whenever you need any ideas or have any questions, he’s your guy.”
Yeah, if he could not refer to him as ‘my guy’ that would be great.
We both turn toward the hot-shot baseball player, even though the looks we each give could not be any more different. My dad sees a rising start with limitless potential. All I see is a walking distraction who’s guaranteed to be nothing more than a giant pain in my ass.
“Well, sir, you know I’m always willing to help,” Fletcher beams.
“And I appreciate that. I was actually hoping you could spare a few minutes before you start practice and give Hollis the grand tour.”
“Wait, you’re not going to do it?” I whine, hating how pathetic I sound. My goal today was to show up, and not only look like a professional, but act like one too. Yet here I am, playing the starring role of a pouting pre-schooler as she clings to her dad’s leg at drop-off.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.” He shoots me an apologetic frown. “But I have a couple of meetings this morning, and I’m already running late, but I promise I’m leaving you in the best of hands.”
“I promise not to bite,” Fletcher adds, looking far too pleased with himself.
I shoot him a glare while my dad laughs.
“You better not. I fully expect to see her at dinner tonight in one piece."
I’m not so sure he’d be cracking these jokes if he knew how his golden boy was acting last night, especially in regard to those supposed ‘good hands’ and how he planned to use them on his only daughter.
“I’ll take excellent care of her,” Fletcher promises.
“I’ll be fine.” I sigh, hoping to not only convince my dad, but myself as well.
As much as I’d love a tour from just about anyone else in this stadium, I can survive a few minutes with Mr. Charming over here. I’m a fucking professional. If I’m going to preach aboutfair treatment, then I need to be willing to do the same—even to those who’ve recently tried ‘charming’ their way into my pants.
“Alright. Just remember, dinner tonight at our place. Your mom is dying to hear about your first day.” My dad offers one final wave before he takes off.
“Dinner with the parents, huh?” Fletcher asks, and I try to bite back the urge to snap back thanks to my unraveling nerves. At this point, the only thing keeping them intact is one fragile thread and pure unadulterated spite. “I mean, it seems a bit fast, but as your new boyfriend, we’ve got to get it out of the way eventually. Why not just rip off the Band-Aid and get it over with?”
“So I see someone hasn’t moved on from the night before. Don’t you think the bit’s getting a little old?”
“Oooh, chilly,” he smirks. “That’s a cold welcome for your boyfriend, especially since we both know you secretly liked it. Come on, we both know you enjoy this little fantasy just as much as I do.”
I plant my hands on my hips and let out a slow breath. “Seriously?”
“Okay, fine. I’ll drop it,” he says, holding out his hands, palms forward in surrender. “But even you have to admit, this is a pretty funny coincidence."
“Hilarious,” I say, my face flat and devoid of all amusement. He clearly has enough confidence to power this entire stadium; the last thing he needs is me encouraging this in any way.
I’m not sure whether to be annoyed or grateful as two new players run up to his side, one of them flicking the bill of Fletcher’s backward cap.
