“The turnout tonight is insane,” Easten says, thankfully giving me something else to focus my attention on.
“Right? It’s amazing,” I agree, my eyes scanning the packed ballroom. “Last year this gala brought in a huge amount of donations for The Open Field Project, but this year, with even bigger names in attendance and every single table sold, I can’t even begin to imagine the good the foundation will be able to do with the funds secured tonight.”
With my dad being a well-known athlete, his name alone has helped to raise a good amount of money, but with the ever-growing popularity of Honky Tonk Ball, it’s clear this year will be a record-breaking for The Open Field Project.
“And so much of that is thanks to you,” Fletcher cuts in as he casually lifts his glass of champagne to his lips.
I wave him off. “No way. It’s all you guys.”
“Sure, the people love watching us, but without you helping get the word out, nobody would even know we exist,” Hudson says from beside me as he gives my elbow a gentle squeeze. “Give yourself some credit.”
“Oh come on,” I huff, glancing his way. “Anybody could do what I do, especially when you all make it so easy.”
“Not true,” Fletcher says matter-of-factly. “Don’t forget, we’ve had other people run our social media accounts and none of them even pulled in a quarter of the followers you have. You’re the reason people care, and why this event is sold out tonight.”
“Seriously,” Noah adds, despite normally being the quieter and more reserved one. “I have no idea what we’re going to do without you next season.”
“Wait, what?” Easten blurts from across the table, tearing his gaze away from his date. “Since when?”
This is not the conversation I want to be having, and I’m sure it’s written all over my face as I let out a loud sigh. “Since the very beginning. This position was never supposed to be permanent.”
“I’m sorry, but that’s bullshit, and I don’t accept your future resignation.” Easten folds his arms like a stubborn child. “You’re a huge part of this team. Hell, you’re family and we refuse to let you go.”
“Here, here,” Fletcher raises his glass. “I say we all take a vote.”
I place my hand on his and lower his arm. “Let’s not.”
“All in favor of Hollis staying on as the social media manager forever, say ‘aye,’” Fletcher declares, undeterred as he lifts his glass again.
“Aye!” the players, along with their dates, say in unison.
“You heard it here first, Baby Clemmins.” Easten proudly beams. “You’re stuck with us, whether you like it or not.”
“We’ll see…” I trail off, forcing a smile.
Why not give them a little hope, even if deep down I know it’s a complete lie? I’m already struggling as it is not to second-guess myself. The last thing I need is them coming up with more reasons why I should stay.
I definitely don’t need more of those, especially when reason number one is sitting directly next to me. He may be sexy, charming, and distractingly good-looking but he’s also a huge pain in my ass, especially as his hand lands on my knee.
I try to focus on the conversation around us, especially as Easten starts telling the story about how he met his date, Missy, but all I can focus on are Fletcher’s fingers brushing aside the satin fabric thanks to the slit in my dress as they trace soft, gentle circles on my skin.
Why has this man made it his full-time job to test my willpower?
I force my face to stay neutral, or at least I hope that’s what I’m portraying, as it gets harder by the second, especially when his hand slips under my dress as he moves it further up my thigh.
Okay, it’s official. I fucking love this dress—and apparently, so does Fletcher.
There’s no denying it. Tonight was an absolute success for The Open Field Project. The fundraiser went off without a hitch, and between the table sales and the silent auction, we raised a record-breaking amount of money.
I didn’t think it was possible to love these guys more, but Fletcher and several of the other Honky Tonk players donated a prize package that allowed the highest bidder to play a private game with them. It not only received the most bids, but also sold for the highest amount.
It’s almost hard to wrap my brain around how much my opinion on Fletch has changed since first meeting him. I’d quickly brushed him off, assuming he was nothing more than a cocky fuckboy, but I couldn’t have been more wrong. I love watching him interact with fans, especially the kids who were at the carnival the other day. It made me feel things I never thought possible, and perhaps in ways I also wish I wouldn’t.
“Care to dance?” Fletcher asks, his voice distracting me from my thoughts.
After dinner and the auction, the live band started up, and the dance floor filled up fast with more than half our table already out there.
I shoot him an apprehensive stare. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
