* * *
We finishbrunch and step outside, only to hear live music drifting from Holloway’s Hideout across the street.
“What’s that place?” DJ asks. He was at the far end of the table and apparently missed my dad’s entire rant.
“That’s my family’s number one competition,” I say.
“Really? Have you checked them out?”
“Nope. I’m an Easton—we’re not allowed in there.”
“Well should at least go see what makes it so popular,” DJ says.
He’s got a point. Why didn’t I think of that?
“Plus,” Grant adds, “if you go with our big group, you’ll blend in. Just scope it out.”
I narrow my eyes. Grant and DJ definitely have an agenda—they want to watch their old teammate Luke Rutledge pitch today. And they can just tell from the vibe of Holloway’s Hideout that it’s the type of place to have the game on.
Still, it could be fun.
I explain the plan to my dad, and he’s surprisingly chill about it.
“Enjoy watching the game. Just be sure to tell Hunter to go shove it if you see him.”
“Now, Mitch,” my momma scolds. “It’s the Lord’s day, for goodness’ sake.”
He just winks. “You know what to do, Faith.”
We say our goodbyes and head across the street.
The second we step inside Holloway’s Hideout, it’s obvious why people are talking. The place is packed. Big screens everywhere, each one tuned to something different—the Nationals game, the Women’s College World Series, golf, NASCAR, everything.
There’s a buzz in the air that Easton’s hasn’t had in a long time.
“Damn, I love this place!” Finn blurts.
DJ elbows him, and Finn backpedals. “I mean… uh, it’s all right.”
“It’s fine,” I laugh. “You can admit the competition’s doing something right. We’re here to take notes.”
We crowd around a standing table—no chairs, kind of warehouse-y, with a definite college vibe.
Our server, Daphne, bounces over wearing short shorts, an apron, and a blue V-neck that saysHolloway’s Hideout.
Let’s just say… she’s not shy about her cleavage. I mentally file it away. Definitely not the look Aunt Miranda would approve of. I’d get written up if I evenconsideredleaving an extra button undone.
The guys order craft brews. The girls go for mixed drinks.
“So,” Alex says, sipping from her long straw. Luke Combs blasts in the background. “Did you hear back from Thor yet?”
I nod, deciding to let the rest of them in on it. “He texted me… during church. Let’s just say it was...interesting.”
I pass the phone around.
“So what are you going to text him back?”
“Uh, nothing?—”
