Chapter 20 Fletcher
Fletcher
“Hell yeah!” I shout, flicking the ball behind my back to Mateo at second. It lands perfectly in his glove before he pivots, and fires it to Jaxon at first only mere seconds before Theo from the Rattlers can touch the bag.
“Out!”
Mateo runs toward me, as we jump and bump chests mid-air.
That’s the final out for the inning, which means it’s now the Honky Tonk’s turn at bat.
Most importantly though, I just nailed my third trick play of the game.
Hollis lit that match, and I’m on fire tonight, and it’s all thanks to her and her conditions.
All I have left to complete is a home run. Yes, it’s a big ask. Even if I do get lucky and secure a solid hit, that doesn’t mean I’ll get all the way home—but I’m determined. If Hollis is going to offer herself as the prize, then why wouldn’t I do everything I can to make it happen?
“Fuckin’ hell, Fletch,” Mateo adds, congratulating me with a slap to my ass as we head into the dugout. “You’re on fire tonight.”
“Didn’t you hear?” Easten asks, sitting on the other side of Jaxon as we take our seats on the bench and grab our water bottles. “Fletcher here is working to get a date with Baby Clemmins.”
I shoot him a look. “Could you have said that any louder?”
“Please,” Easten scoffs, “We all know just how down bad you are for her. Not to mention that weird look you get in your eyes whenever she walks by.”
“No kidding. It’s like you two think you are in some kind of Disney movie or some shit,” Mateo grins. “But don’t worry. It’s endearing... and maybe only a tiny bit pathetic.”
I roll my eyes, lifting my arms in a stretch as I do my best to ignore their laughter. “Oh, well thanks for that. Really feeling that team love and support right about now.”
“Seriously though,” Mateo says, his voice growing serious. “What’s the deal? You think that wooing her with your mad baseball skills is what’s finally going to win her over?”
“Something like that,” I mutter, not in the mood to take the bait. I know these guys, and if I give an inch, they’ll take a mile and I’ll never hear the end of it.
Plus, what I really need to be doing is getting my head in the game. With only two batters in front of me in the line-up, now is my final chance to get that home run. With us in the eighth inning, this is likely my last turn at bat.
It’s now or never.
“Apparently,” Easten happily jumps in to spill the seemingly piping-hot tea, “Hollis told him if he can pull off three trick plays and a home run she’ll finally go out with him.”
Mateo lets out a low whistle. “Damn, man. That’s rough,” he says, clapping his hand on my shoulder.
“Wow,” I chuckle again. “ Love the confidence boost.”
“Hey,” Easten says, placing a hand over his heart. “I believe in you, but I also believe in your batting average...”
I'm aware it’s a bit of a long shot. I’m definitely no power hitter, but that doesn’t mean it’s impossible. She may have set the bar incredibly high, but if Hollis says jump, I’m going to fucking jump.
“Hey Fletch,” James, our batting coordinator, calls as he waves me over. “You’re up next and we need to get you set up for your walk-up song.”
“Good luck,” Mateo offers, smacking my ass again as I stand.
“I don’t need luck,” I tell them confidently, repeating the words I told Hollis just yesterday.
If I keep telling myself that, that will have to make it true, right?
It doesn’t matter that I’m full of nerves as I walk over and take a few practice swings in the on-deck circle. I can do this. I know I can. Not only do I need this for myself, but the fans deserve it too, and that’s what I’m focusing on as Noah hits a single and makes it safely to first.
The cameras swivel toward me just as the familiar beat of “Honky Tonk Badonkadonk” by Trace Adkins blasts over the speakers.
I roll my shoulders, and play it up. I’m lip-syncing and shaking my hips and ass as I walk toward the batter’s box.
There’s always the chance I won’t be able to hit that homer, but that doesn’t mean I can’t give the people what they paid for and put on a little show.
The music slowly fades out, leaving only the soft chatter and buzz from the crowd.
I dig my cleats into the dirt, tap the plate twice, and nod to the pitcher.
I’m ready.
Grayson sends a fastball barreling toward me. I swing... and miss.
Strike One.
The crowd groans in unison, and I bite back the curse that so desperately wants to break free.
This is a family show. Keep it clean I remind myself as I instead focus on what’s coming up next.
With another roll of my shoulders I tighten the grip on the bat.
The next pitch is thrown. Another fastball right down the middle.
And I swing with everything I have. The loud crack of the bat spills through the air. I hold my breath, and for half a second everything seems to freeze except the ball as it soars up, up, and continues to climb until it clears the fence.
The stadium erupts, and I toss the bat and take off on my victory lap around the bases. My heart is pounding as adrenaline surges through me. And because I can’t help myself, I throw in a quick cowboy two-step and spin as I head toward second.
My attention is diverted as I round the base toward third and spot Hollis. Instead of celebrating with my team who is going crazy along the third-base line, her arms are folded, trying to look unimpressed—but that small, barely there smile gives her away.
I up the ante. Reaching third, I fold my arms, shimmy my shoulders from side to side, then point out toward the stands, before lowering my finger until it’s pointed directly at her. Then, for good measure I wink, because why the hell not? I deserve this.
Her lips twitch, and it's obvious she’s doing everything she can to fight off a laugh.
I could live in this moment forever, but as my team joins me from along the sideline, we finish the run together toward home plate. The second my foot stomps on the base, I’m surrounded and hoisted into the air.
Hitting a home run will never not feel amazing, but this particular high is new as they carry me toward the dugout.
I’m congratulated by pretty much everyone on the team, along with our coaches and staff. The best being Easten and Mateo, as they try to convince me they’d believed in me the entire time.
Despite all the extra attention, my gaze keeps finding Hollis, who seems to be going out of her way to keep some distance between us. Not that I believe that’s actually what she wants. Pretty much every time I steal a glance in her direction, she's looking too.
The frenzy eventually dies down, and Mateo finally takes his turn at bat, giving me a much needed moment to recover as a bottle of water is shoved in my hand.
I should be heading back into the dugout, but I’m a man on a mission. I swerve toward Hollis, who thankfully seems to be over this whole keeping her distance thing as she meets me halfway.
“You ready for our date?” I ask.
“I suppose I have to be,” she shrugs, her arms securely crossed.
“Whoa there!" I hold up my hand. “Try not to sound too excited.”
“And who says I’m not?"
I raise a slow, dramatic brow. “Well, for starters, this.” I motion toward her defensive posture. “Plus, enthusiasm has never really been your thing when it comes to well, anything involving me. Or us, or particularly us together.”
“Well, given what I saw out there tonight, it seems like miracles are in fact possible.”
“In that case, how about tomorrow?”
Her head snaps back. “So soon?”
I won this date fair and square, and I’m not about to let her get in her head and change her mind. So the way I see it, the sooner this happens the better.
“Why not? I’ve been waiting for this moment for quite some time. If anything, tomorrow still feels like an eternity away.”
Her cheeks take on a light pink hue as she exhales dramatically. “Fine. Tomorrow.”
“Perfect. I’ll pick you up at ten in the morning.”
“Ten? In the morning?” she repeats, her nose wrinkling. “That seems a little early, don’t ya think?”
“This may be my only chance to get you on a date,” I say, leaning in close enough to see her swallow. “Which means I plan to take advantage of every second by making it last as long as I possibly can.”
She rolls her eyes, but even I can tell it’s forced.
“Fine. I’ll see you at ten,” she gives in, just as the crowd cheers loudly. We both glance toward the field (where my attention should be) as Jaxon slides safely onto second.
“Guess you’re not the only one showing off tonight,” she says sweetly, in what I can only assume is her way of attempting to make me jealous.
“Eh, he’s not the one who just landed a date with you, so he’s free to do whatever the hell he wants,” I shrug, not the least bit bothered.
As my teammate, anything he accomplishes on the field will always be a win for me. Plus, he knows just as well as everyone else on the team that Hollis is mine.
Dibs is practically a binding contract ‘round these parts.
“Alright, well,” she says, taking a step back. “Ten it is. Don’t be late.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I assure her, shooting her one last smile before heading back toward the dugout.
It’s obvious she’s nervous about tomorrow, and hell, so am I. But one way or another, I’m going to make sure it's is the best first date she’s ever had.
So I suppose the only question left is: how exactly do I do that?