Chapter 3
Hollis
As the huddle breaks and my dad sends the teams off to practice, the weight I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying lifts from my shoulders.
I hate that I'm second guessing myself. I’m more than qualified for this position, and already have so many fun ideas circling about my brain, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been nervous about meeting everyone.
Being a woman isn’t always easy, especially when you’re working in a field that’s usually dominated by men. Many doubt your qualifications and resent taking your direction or advice, and often go out of their way to make your life a living hell.
And there’s the fact that I’m going to be in charge of not only the Honky Tonk Ball’s social media as a whole, but the two entertainment league teams—the Honky Tonks and the Rowdy Rattlers.
That’s a lot of men’s feelings to consider.
And to think, they often refer to us as the overly emotional ones.
So not only do I feel at a slight disadvantage for being a woman, I also have to worry about the people who think I only got the position because of who my dad is—and I get it.
I know exactly how this looks. It’s why I’ve turned him down approximately one million times already.
This isn’t his first ‘please come work for me, kiddo,’ rodeo.
Being the daughter of a very famous and incredibly loved former baseball player is.
.. well, we’ll just go with interesting for now.
His name has opened a lot of doors, all of which I’ve spent the majority of my adult life politely closing.
If people are going to know my name, I want it to be because of what I do, not because I’m the product of two well-known individuals.
They’ve already made their mark on the world, and I want to do the same in my own way.
I’ve held off for a while now, but it’s also gotten harder not to want to step in. I see so much promise in the Honky Tonk Ball organization and know exactly what it’s capable of becoming if someone could come in and execute the way it's needed.
That’s been the most frustrating part. I’ve seen the way each social media manager has stepped in and wasted all that potential with poor decisions and even sloppier execution. It’s been nothing short of heartbreaking.
Finally, enough was enough, and I finally gave in. My newfound California freedom will have to take a break as I give Texas, and the Honky Tonk crew, one final chance.
At least everyone seems welcoming so far, as many of the players, coaches, and staff step forward to introduce themselves. A few of the faces feel familiar, whether it’s from social media, or from the games I’ve seen streamed online.
I'm overwhelmed at best, but do my best to stay positive as I shake their hands and commit their names to memory—or at least I try to. There are a lot of people here.
“Hey there,” a deep voice calls, feeling a bit too familiar for my liking. “Hollis, right?” he asks, a smile working its way up his annoyingly smug face. And fuck, those dimples are just as eager to make an appearance.
I’m stunned into silence, but luckily, my dad takes over.
“Fletcher!” He beams, catching me slightly off guard with the name.
I knew I was right to trust my gut—too bad I only half-listened.
I’d known there was something oddly familiar about his stupidly handsome face.
Instead of questioning it more, I’d gone and attributed it to the fact that we were in the small town of Magnolia Fields.
Why wouldn’t I see someone I recognized?
The realization crawls under my skin, tightening the already twisting knot in my stomach. Mason—or Fletcher, or whatever his name is—looks familiar because he is familiar. He plays for the damn Honky Tonks, because of course he does. Why wouldn’t the universe want to screw me over even more?
Or maybe it’s the universe’s way of messing with me for being such a self-absorbed, shitty daughter.
Maybe this is just what I deserve. If I hadn’t been so dead set on distancing myself from my dad and his new pride and joy, I’d have been smart enough to pick up on the fact that Mason was one of his players.
God, I really should have paid closer attention to the games, or rather, the names of all the players.
“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 about fair 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.
“You going to introduce us to your girlfriend?” the shorter one with a mustache asks. While normally that’s not my thing, it somehow works for him. Between the facial hair and his dark, curly mullet you just know this is a guy who knows how to have a good time.
“Oh, God!” I loudly pout as I cover my face. “He told you about that?”
Well, there goes any chance I had at being taken seriously.
“Kind of. We were there last night when you turned him down. I have to say, I’m impressed, Baby Clemmins. Nobody turns this guy down,” the moustached man says, wrapping one arm around Fletcher’s shoulders and patting his chest with the other.
“Oh, is that so?” I ask, my lips slowly curving upward.
I’m not surprised by this revelation. He’s obviously good-looking and knows just what to say to win you over. I even had to wonder once or twice if I’d made a mistake by not giving in.
“Oh, he’s exaggerating,” Fletcher says, brushing mustache away from him.
“No, no he’s not,” the other player cuts in, who is somehow even taller than Fletcher.
While Fletch has a lean, yet still muscular build, this guy is very much on the brawnier side, towering over Fletcher by an extra inch or two.
“This guy pulls in more tail than anyone else on this team. He’s a fan favorite for a reason. ”
My smile widens, as the truth fully settles in. Yep, I definitely made the right choice last night. While I may not have known he was a baseball player, the last thing I want is to share a type with the resident cleat chasers.
“Interesting,” I nod, and now it’s my turn to flash a smug grin.
“Thanks for that, man,” Fletch grumbles as he crosses his arms.
I refuse to acknowledge the way his biceps flex, or how his muscles look as they push against the sleeve of his work-out jersey. Absolutely nothing to see here.
“Aw, come on, Hudson. He’s not that bad," Mustache suggests, attempting to back up his teammate.
I tilt my head to the side, my trust not going very far with any of them.
“Okay, fine,” Mustache surrenders. “He’s a bit of a flirt, and if I had a sister, he probably wouldn’t be my top pick for her, but I do mean it when I say he’s actually a really decent guy.”
“A decent guy, but not one you’d let date your sister?” I ask, repeating his own words back to him. “Not that it matters either way. I don’t date coworkers.”
“Well, it’s not like we’re real coworkers,” Fletcher protests, unfolding his arms and ruining the view I totally hadn’t been staring at.
“Sorry, Mason, or Fletcher… or whatever your name is. But nothing is ever going to happen between us. So how about you do what our boss suggested and give me the tour?”
“You’re right,” he agrees a bit too eagerly. “Let’s start the tour. I’m ready to ditch these two assholes anyway.”
It’d be easy to assume he’s actually annoyed with his teammates, but given all their smiles, it’s clear there’s zero love lost between any of these men.
“It was nice meeting you. I’m Easten by the way,” the moustached man says, as I do my best to store that away for later. “I play center field for the Honky Tonks.”
“And I’m Hudson” the bigger one offers. “I’m the catcher for the Honky Tonks as well.”
“Well, it was good to meet you both and I appreciate the warnings.” I say, sneaking a glance toward Fletcher. “And I really look forward to working with you both,” I finish before sending them off with a few waves and promising to get to know them better.
Ready to get this tour over with, I take a few steps.
“You know they were just messing with you, right?” Fletcher quickens his pace and catches up before leading us toward the Honky Tonk dugout. “And just so you don’t think I was lying to you, my name really is Mason. My last name is Fletcher, which is what most people call me. That, or Fletch.”
“Your name is the last thing I’m worried about right now.
” I stop and grab his arm before I can think better of it.
He glances down at where we’re touching, a smirk tugging at his lips as I immediately drop it.
“This job is what matters to me,” I continue, attempting to keep my voice steady.
“And more importantly, this team is my dad’s entire world right now.
I’m not going to screw it up or complicate things by dating one of his players.
You understand that, right?” My eyes search his, practically begging for him to take this seriously.
“I understand,” he parrots, giving a nod so serious I almost believe it’s genuine. The relief is short-lived as a sheepish grin breaks across his face. “But if you ever change your mind, I’m here and willing. Fake boyfriend... real boyfriend... whatever you need, I’m your guy.”
Ugh! What is with this whole him being ‘my guy.’ He is not, nor will he ever be, ‘my guy.’
I scoff and roll my eyes,. Why do I even bother? Shaking my head, I spin on my heel and march toward the dugout on my own.
“Believe me, I won’t,” I call over my shoulder, meaning every word of it. He can try all he wants, but I’m not falling for Mr. Honky Tonk Casanova’s charms. It’ll take a hell of a lot more than a few flirty jabs and pretty-boy smirks to make me swoon and fall under his spell.
He may be patient. He may even be relentless, but I’m stubborn as hell. He’s officially met his match because there’s absolutely zero—and we’re talking none, nada, zilch—chance I’d ever ask Mason Fletcher to be my boyfriend. Not even in an alternate universe.