Chapter 29 - Hollis
Hollis
There’s something stupidly sexy about having a secret fling.
The stolen moments, the inside jokes, and of course, the way my heart skips a beat every time Fletcher sneaks a glance in my direction.
Unfortunately, there’s still that tiny, inconvenient part of my brain that keeps wondering what it would be like if we didn’t have to hide things and could be together and act like every other normal couple out there.
Not that I think we should be a couple. Or maybe it’s that deep down, I know we can’t be one. As soon as this season is over, I’m packing my bags and saying goodbye—no matter how hard it’s going to be.
Tonight though, I’m refusing to think about any future heartbreak or dramatic goodbyes. Nope. I’m allowing myself a night of full-on denial as I sneak in some more one-on-one time with Fletch after practice.
It’s a little pathetic how much I find myself missing him during our work hours, considering we spend most of our days on the field at the exact same time.
Unfortunately, I’ve been forced to face the truth that just being near him is never enough.
I literally crave him, and the majority of my day is spent anticipating our next stolen moment, like the Fletch addict I am, in desperate need of a fix.
It’s not just Fletcher I like; it’s the version of me I get to be whenever we’re together.
I can finally drop the act, no longer pretending to be the perfectly composed version of myself that everyone expects me to be. I can be silly, I can be loud, I can be sarcastic, I can be, well, me.
Sure, I joke around with the others from work, but with Fletcher? It’s just different. It’s real.
Not wanting to cause any gossip about us leaving together or at the same time, I left first, while he stayed to shower and get cleaned up.
After arriving at my apartment, I busy myself with a little extra work.
Inspired by a recent social media trend, I search for pictures of the players from the Honky Tonks and Rowdy Rattlers from when they were younger, the more embarrassing the better.
The current plan is to ambush them with their picture while asking them to sign it, catching their reactions on camera.
With my laptop open, I start Operation Blast from the Past and begin googling. I’m giggling to myself as I collect a few truly unflattering and hilarious photos of quite a few of the players. Deciding to reward myself, I search Fletcher’s name next.
I hate how icky this feels as I usually avoid online stalking the guys I’m into.
Then again, that may also be because Logan normally does it for me.
That woman deserves to be in the FBI with how much she can find using so little information.
But this is for work, so it technically doesn’t count, right?
A few searches later, I’m deep in a Fletcher-shaped rabbit hole.
I’ve hit the jackpot between all the old articles, interviews, and scouting reports.
It’s no surprise to see them talk about his skills and how he’s definitely destined for the majors.
What is a bit shocking though, is how in every single picture he has one defining look.
Gone are his silly, goofy smiles with his adorable dimples.
Instead, it’s him, jaw tight, eyes serious and focused without a single ounce of joy in his body.
It’s a weird contrast to the guy the fans have fallen in love with, and who I’ve gotten to know on such a deep and personal level.
Every picture I’ve seen or taken myself, whether it’s promotional or candid, is of a man with a passion and a joy for life.
Yet, in these pictures the spark is missing.
It’s as though someone’s turned off the light behind his eyes, other than a few rare ones I’ve found from his Little League days.
I finally settle for one of those and hit print. As my printer comes to life, a knock sounds at my front door.
Perfect timing.
“Coming!” I call as I grab the picture from the tray and set it aside with the others.
I’m practically skipping as I bounce toward the door and eagerly throw myself at the man behind it.
“Whoa!” He stumbles back. “It’s good to see you too,” he chuckles before leaning down for a kiss that’s far too short for my liking. “I’d hug you back, but first I need to set these down.” He holds up two completely full grocery bags.
My lips part as I arch a brow.
“I told you I was in charge of dinner,” he explains, walking past me into the kitchen as though he owns the place.
I close the door as he sets the bags down.
“I remember, but I just assumed that meant grabbing some take-out,” I admit as I take a seat on a stool.
“Take-out? For my old lady? Not a chance,” he smirks, leaning across the counter to steal another kiss.
“I’m choosing to ignore the old lady comment,” I huff, fighting a smile as I lean back and enjoy the view. “For the record, I’m younger than you, nor am I your lady. We’re still just friends, remember?”
While he needs to hear it, too, the reminder is mostly for me. Unfortunately, somewhere “just friends” morphed into something completely different as I crossed way too many lines, and if I’m not careful, I fear I might erase them altogether.
“Fine. But take-out? For my best friend? Not a chance,” he repeats with a wink before he starts to unload the bags.
“Best friends, huh?”
“Why not? You’re my favorite person on the team right now, and the one I’m choosing to spend all my free time with, so I'd say it fits.”
He moves around the kitchen with ease, as though he’s been here hundreds of times as he opens the cupboards and pulls out various pots and pans.
There’s something annoyingly attractive about how confident he looks right now, like cooking dinner in my apartment, of all places, is the most natural thing in the world.
Worst of all, I hate how much I find myself loving it.
Still, that’s exactly why I need to discourage it, or at least keep him on his toes.
“Is that really a good thing? When I leave in a few months you’re going to be best friendless. What will you do then?” I ask, resting my elbows on the counter as I place my chin in my hands.
“That’s something I’ll worry about later,” he says, turning on the hot water as he gets to work on washing his hands.
“Unlike you, that somehow only makes me worry even more.”
This isn’t the conversation I meant to initiate, especially when I’d been looking forward to our alone time together all day, but how can I not panic, at least a little bit?
“Don’t have to worry about me,” he says, drying his hands on a towel. “If anything, what you should really be asking yourself is how you’re going to handle being away from me once you're gone.”
A pit forms in my stomach at the mere idea of not getting to spend any more time with him, not that I’ll ever admit it, at least not out loud.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Whatever you say, Holls,” he says, seeming to believe me just as much as I do as he gets started on our dinner.
I offer to help, but he waves me off.
Instead of watching and risking falling even harder, I decide to use my time wisely. I grab my laptop and start hunting for even more pictures of the players.
We fall into a comfortable silence as he cooks and I scour the internet. I’m so lost in my research that I don’t even realize he’s snuck up behind me until his breath tickles my neck, warm and teasing, before it’s replaced by his lips.
I release a soft hum as I close my eyes, but as quickly as it starts, his movement abruptly stops.
“Why are you googling Lando?” he asks, and there’s no ignoring the edge of annoyance in his tone.
“Why?” I glance up, tilting my head with a grin. “You jealous?”
“Of Lando?” he scoffs. “Please. He’s fine and all, but the guy doesn’t even have half my level of charisma or raw sex appeal. What would I even be jealous of?”
I giggle, weirdly enjoying this side of him. “Nor does he have your same level of humility.” I lean up and press my lips to his, hoping to ease whatever trace of jealousy may be lingering.
“Very true. I am known for being incredibly humble," he jokes before nodding back toward my laptop screen. “Really though, what’s this for?”
“A trend for work. I'm trying to find funny or adorable pictures from when you all were younger.”
He nods in understanding. “What about me? Have I been googled yet?”
I swivel in my stool to face him. “As a matter of fact, I did. It was pretty enlightening actually. But also kind of…” I trail off, “confusing.”
“Confusing? How so?” He asks, stepping between my legs as he rests his hands on my thighs.
“Well, number one, I found it almost impossible to find a picture of you smiling. I can understand wanting to look tough and stoic, but you took it to a whole new level,” I tease, placing my hands on top of his, even if I am hoping for some actual answers.
He scoffs, his head rearing back. “Oh come on, I wasn’t that bad.”
“Oh, it was bad,” I assure him, letting my hands slowly slide up his arms. “What was that about, anyway?”
He shifts, a hint of discomfort flickering across his face despite my touch.
“I don’t know,” he shrugs, but continues talking anyway.
“Growing up, I guess I felt like I had to act a certain way if I wanted to make it in the baseball world. It wasn’t about having fun or enjoying the ride.
It was about being the absolute best, because if I didn’t make it into the majors, every single sacrifice made both by me and my parents would make them all completely worthless. ”
I frown, my fingers continuing to brush absent circles across his skin. “I’m sorry. That had to have been so hard, especially seeing how much you obviously love the game now.”
“It was, actually.” He sighs. “That’s why I’m so thankful your dad and this league came along.
I’d been lucky enough to score an agent right out of college and even made it onto a minor league team, so sure that I would eventually make it into the majors, but instead I was hit with rejection after rejection,” he muses, the despair evident in his creased brows.
“Something that I’d once loved started sucking the life out of me. I’d actually started hating not only the game, but myself. I really don’t know what would’ve happened had the Honky Tonks not come along. Without a doubt, this league not only changed my life, but saved me as well.”
“As soon as I started playing Honky Tonk Ball, my love for the game not only came back, but I’ve somehow fallen in love with it in a whole new way.
I’m always gonna have a soft spot for plain ol’ baseball, but there’s something about the Honky Tonks that brings back the same kind of joy I felt when I was a kid,” he says, a smile returning to his gorgeous face.
Fletcher is the exact reason my dad started the Honky Tonk organization in the first place. It’d been his dream to not only create an environment where people could not only fall in love with the game of baseball, but for everyone to come together and just have fun, with little to no pressure.
“I’m glad they found you too.” I grab his shirt and pull him down until our faces are only inches apart. “Because if you hadn’t joined the Honky Tonks, you wouldn’t be here in my kitchen making me this delicious smelling dinner,” I say before stealing a kiss.
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” he says between kisses, then gives me one final kiss before stepping back. “Speaking of dinner, it’s almost ready, and I have a few quick things I need to finish up before we eat.”
He heads back into the kitchen, and this time I do stop and watch.
I know it hadn’t been easy for him to open up like that, especially with someone who constantly keeps her own walls and guards up. Still, this man is changing me, gathering up my heart piece by piece, even if he only gets to be the one to hold onto them temporarily.
I’m leaving in a few months, and my brain refuses to let me forget it. Still, my heart is beginning to wonder if maybe—just maybe—sticking around wouldn’t be the end of the world.