Chapter 19 Hollis
Hollis
My cheeks are on fire as I walk onto the field, but not because of the Houston heat.
Sure, it’s a warm, and humid day as the air seems to stick to my skin like syrup, and while that’s a problem, the real predicament is the players deciding that shirts are optional today.
Their bodies glisten under the sun as they work with the league choreographer to nail down their dance routines for the next game.
And damn. They look so fucking good.
And I get it. I really do. My own Honky Tonk tank is sticking to my skin in a not-so-flattering way. But couldn’t they have picked a better day? And not the one directly after I just got eaten out on my kitchen counter by the star shortstop. I’m flustered enough as it is.
Like a magnet, my eyes find Fletcher as they land on his bare chest.
He looks, well, perfect.
Being a professional athlete, it’s obvious he works out. I’ve seen his toned arms plenty of times as they poke out of jersey, but the rest of him? Fuck me.
I’m mesmerized by the strong lines of his chest, but even more so by the defined ridges in his abs as they catch the sunlight in just the right way. I need to look away, but I can’t, seemingly transfixed by the beads of sweat as they drip down his body, tracing every last, perfect inch.
And then, of course, as if we’re somehow wired on the same frequency, he looks up. Despite being in the middle of what looks like complicated choreography, he spots me.
A familiar smirk spreads across his face, one that lets me know he saw what I’d just been up to.
Busted.
I give my best not-so-guilty shrug. What does he expect?
He knows he looks good, and the wink he sends confirms it.
I shake my head. It’s time to focus my attention elsewhere as I gratefully spot a different group that is also hard at work preparing for the next game.
Our very own dance and cheer squad, The Boot Scootin’ Boomers, are also practicing their new routine.
They are a new addition this year, and they’ve already been a huge hit. Rather than traditional cheerleaders, we recruited a group of retired dancers from a nearby studio.
The majority of them had been looking for a fun and useful way to spend their retirement, and this agreement worked well for everyone.
“Hey, ya’ll,” I greet them, my once-buried Texas drawl making an unwelcome comeback. So much for thinking it’d disappeared with my move. Seems like the longer I’m back home, the old me seems to fall right back into place. “Mind if I film some behind the scenes content and conduct some interviews?”
“Of course. Whatever you need darlin,’” Bill, one of the most adorable old men I’ve ever seen, assures me.
The rest of the squad nod in agreement.
I assumed they’d say yes, but I’m still grateful to have something else I can focus my time and energy on. A girl can only stare at a shirtless Mason Fletcher for so long before she does something stupid, and I’m just not ready to make any more questionable decisions.
It also helps that these people are a hoot. They're hilarious, and just like with everyone else in this league, they know how to appeal to the fan base.
Usually being on the field in the middle of the action is my favorite part of the day, but as I finish up with the Boomers, I’m eager to head back to my office to start editing.
“You really heading out without even saying goodbye?” an oh-so-familiar voice calls, the sound growing louder, and unfortunately more confident the closer they get.
“I didn’t realize I needed to.”
I keep my eyes trained ahead. Without even having to look, my body senses his still-shirtless torso and that’s the last thing I need to see.
It isn’t even halfway through the day, and I still have lots of work to do.
I can’t afford to lose focus, or get lost in a distraction—especially the kind with a six-pack and dimples.
Focus, girl. They’re just abs. Plenty of attractive guys have them.
“I don’t know, I thought we took our friendship to a whole new level the other day. I just assumed that changed some things,” he says, his voice teasing.
“I thought you said you were just doing me a favor. I didn’t realize it came with certain expectations.”
Against my better judgement, I stop and turn. I stay strong though, keeping my gaze straight ahead, angling my chin upward toward his face. I refuse to look down, even if my eyes would absolutely love the field trip.
“Well,” he continues, stepping closer, “we used to be friends who didn’t do each other favors, but now we do. That has to change some things, don't ya think?"
I purse my lips and tilt them to the side. “Maybe, but I’m still expecting there to be some sort of catch to all this,” I say, placing a hand on my hip. “Because, well, come on, there’s always a catch.”
His eyes widen in mock innocence as he clutches his chest. “Really Hollis? You really think I have ulterior motives?”
I nod, biting back a smile. “As a matter of fact I do.”
“Okay fine,” he says, giving in with a dramatic sigh. “I was actually sort of hoping that after how helpful I was, that perhaps maybe you’d want to do something nice for me in return.”
My face falls. Of course that’s what he’d be after. I really shouldn’t be surprised.
"Sorry Fletch, but if you were expecting me to drop on my knees right in the middle of the locker room, you can forget that right now.” My eyes narrow as I fold my arms. “And what happened to me not owing you anything unless I wanted to?”
He lets out a chuckle, and my stern face lets him know I’m not in the mood.
“Nothing, because I meant it. You have this all wrong,” he says, a grin still firmly planted on his face. “I didn’t realize you had such a dirty mind and that’s the first place your head would go.”
Oh, if he only knew.
“Okay, fine. I’ll bite,” I sigh, not feeling like I have much of a choice. “What exactly do you want in return?”
“Everything.” I shoot him a deadpan stare. “Okay, fine. How about we start off with something more low key first. Like a date.”
A laugh escapes past my lips “A date? I didn’t even know you were capable of going on one of those.”
His face contorts. “Hey, I’ve taken women out before.”
“When? And you better not say all the way back in high school.”
“I won’t say high school, because I’ll have you know I did go on a few back in college days.”
I arch a brow. “And that’s supposed to impress me? Remind me of how old you are again?”
He tries, but ultimately fails to look innocent. “I’m only twenty-six.”
“Sure, you’re only twenty-six, but that also means you graduated how many years ago?” I ask, pretending to count on my fingers. “That was what? Three—no four years ago. That’s practically ancient history now.”
He waves his hands in front of his body. “I think we’re getting off topic. The point is, I want to take you out on a date. A real one, and since it’s obvious I don’t do this shit often, that should be enough to tell you just how serious I am.”
“And that's what scares me.”
His brow knits together.
“I’s because I know you’re serious. For some crazy reason you genuinely believe you want this. Or... me, but that’s the issue.” I pause and take a breath. “I’m leaving as soon as the season’s over. It can’t possibly go anywhere, so what’s the point?”
I’d been hoping my words would scare him off, or at least make him reconsider, but for some annoying reason his smile widens.
I purse my lips, eyeing him suspiciously. “Why are you smiling at me like that?”
“Because if you’re talking like that, it sounds like you’re in danger of falling for me just as hard as I’ve fallen for you,” he says, all calm and confidence.
“No,” I reply a little too quickly. “What I’m actually worried about is you falling even harder and becoming more invested than you already are. You’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass from the very beginning. Do you really think I want to see what happens when you get even more infatuated?”
Because, unfortunately, he's not entirely wrong. The truth is, I am developing feelings for this infuriatingly charming, pushy baseball player. And as much as I refuse to admit it aloud, if he keeps looking at me like that, I know exactly what’s going to happen.
I will fall, and it won’t be the kind with a cushy landing. It will be hard and fast and the kind that leaves lifelong bruising.
“Come on. Just say yes. Please?” he pleads, shooting me what I assume is his rendition of puppy-dog eyes.
“I don’t know… I’m just not sure that’s a good idea.”
“What can I do to change your mind?”
I tilt my head , continuing to weigh the pros and cons. “You need to perform at least three trick plays at the next game, and you need to get a home run,” I finally suggest before I can think better of what I’m offering.
He looks less than impressed as his face falls. “Oh, is that all?”
“Yep. That’s it,” I reply, my grin more than a little smug.
The trick plays will be easy enough, since most guys at least land one or two a game, but even the best batters struggle to get a home run every game. That’s precisely why this feels like the perfect solution to all my problems.
“Fine. Three trick plays and a home run,” he agrees, holding out his hand.
I place my hand in his, trying to ignore the jolt of electricity that zings through my body the moment we touch.
“Good luck,” I offer, pulling my hand away just as quickly.
“Don’t worry, I don’t need luck,” he says, taking a few confident strides backward.
“We’ll see,” I say, doing my best to look as equally self-assured, even if that couldn’t be further from the truth.
Not wanting him to read every single thought on my face, I turn and walk away. I refuse to let him see just how far he’s gotten under my skin, because despite being the one who issued this ultimatum, a tiny, traitorous part of me actually wants to see him pull it off.
What is wrong with me?