Main Bonus #70: MLB x Fizzle Collab (Patreon)

IMPORTANT: Please do not screenshot and post any part of this bonus scene to other sites or share with non-patrons. All of the Patreon content is exclusive to Patreon and for current patron's eyes only.  Thank you!! xoxo Krista & Becca

RESOURCES:  Check out this narrative timeline graphic to visually see when this bonus scene takes place.

SPOILER WARNING: There are major spoilers from NOBODY LIKE US in this bonus scene. We highly recommend reading this bonus after you've read NLU. 

BASEBALL. NOT MY FORTE. I’m clumsier and gangly in my skin as I position myself on home plate. Sun blisters on an April afternoon, and I just watched Ben crack three bats as he swung at 70 mph pitches and hit them. The board oohed and awed just as much as the Phillies’ batting coaches.

The MLB x Fizzle collab isn’t a little production. Camera crews are on the baseball field with heavy-duty equipment and lighting to shoot promotional ads that’ll likely be used on billboards and social media posts. Maybe even a fifteen-second commercial. Charlie holding a baseball bat alone would elicit millions of views. Adding Xander in there would skyrocket that number.

So Fizzle is getting a lot out of this competition. Regardless of who the successor ends up being.

At least the ballpark’s stands are empty. No one can see me whiff a thousand-and-one times. Doesn’t mean I won’t try.

“Like this.” A twentysomething bat boy positions my hands on the wooden bat. He’s standing a little too close for comfort, so I bow slightly away.

“I think I’ve got it,” I tell him, squinting at the harsh sunlight. Sweat trickles down my temple more from the bat boy than the audience behind the cameras. Filming We Are Calloway has kinda prepared me to be in front of a professional lens.

“Your stance is all wrong. Here.” He tries to move my leg instead of directing me.

I lower the bat a little, my face blazing. Does he think I’m promiscuous? Is that why he’s so easily touching me without even asking for permission? Is that the consensus here? Anger flares. “I’ve really got it,” I say more quietly than I mean to. “I don’t like being touched.”

“What?” He makes a face like I’m lying. “Come on, this’ll help you.”

“Girl said she doesn’t like being touched by you.” My boyfriend’s easygoing voice has a near-imperceptible bite.

I beam seeing Paul Donnelly in the ballpark sunlight. His Phillies shirt molds his chest. His presence is so very sexy, and these days, a vivacity glitters his blue eyes with greater intensity and life. It’s no coincidence this dark sheen has washed away around the same time his family was sentenced to prison.

The bat boy zeroes in on the mic cord attached to Donnelly’s collar and the wire running up to his earpiece. “You’re security?” He must not follow celebrity news too much.

But also, Donnelly can’t be here as my bodyguard. Or else Quinn or Frog would’ve rushed out to protect me first.

The bat boy points out, “I doubt this production company wants a bodyguard in the photos. You should probably step back.”

“Nah,” Donnelly says like it was a question. “You should though.”

“What?” the bat boy snaps. “I’m literally hired to help the talent—”

“Thought bat boys were just supposed to collect flyaway balls?”

“That’s not what…I…they told me to help her since she didn’t hit the last ten balls…”

“Doesn’t really matter.” Donnelly places a palm on the bat boy’s chest, slowly pushing him away from me. The bat boy follows the movement, stunned. Like he’s expecting me to intervene on his behalf.

I loosely hold the bat. “I’d actually like a new instructor.”

The bat boy chokes on a sound of disbelief.

“I choose him.” I point the bat up at Donnelly.

“He’s a bodyguard.” The bat boy looks around at the camera crew, like he’s being punked.

“He’s my boyfriend, actually.”

Donnelly grins, then peeks over at the dugout where MLB players are posing for pics with Xander. He's left Quinn to watch over my brother.

The bat boy lets out a laugh. “Yeah…okay.”

My nose crinkles, and I block the bright sunlight with my hand to stare at him. “Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Because you’re…you are…” His face reddens.

A slut?

I guess he’s read something about me in the media.

“She’s a catch. Number one fish in my sea,” Donnelly says and pushes the bat boy even farther away from me, walking him backwards. “Back it up. Keep going.”

“She’s your girlfriend?” the bat boy challenges.

“Yeah. I’ve got her name tattooed on me if you need proof. But I don’t think Fizzle wants me dropping my pants.”

He inked space babe on the top of his thigh, near the pinky promise tattoo. He’s yet to tattoo Luna, but I wouldn’t mind if it’s something he wanted to do.

“It’s not…” the bat boy stammers, embarrassed. “It’s not on her socials. There’s nothing about you two being in a relationship.”

We’ve posted some photos together and been in each other’s IG stories and TikTok videos, but there are those who still believe it’s not a serious relationship. More along the lines of friends-with-benefits.

It doesn’t have to be confirmed for it to be true. That’s what we’ve always said to each other, and even declaring it to the bat boy now, among cameras paid to promote Fizzle, the rumors will probably just escalate because we won’t vocalize it online.

We still don’t feel the need to.

Donnelly quietly says one more thing to him, and the bat boy lifts his hands like he’s cleaning himself of me. He scuffs the dirt on his angry march to the stands.

When Donnelly joins me at home plate, there is a goodbye in my eyes, thinking he’ll have to return to Xander. I give him a Vulcan salute. “Live long and prosper, planet partner. Until our interplanetary paths cross again.”

“Trying to fly away from me, Hale?”

I smile a little. “It’s tough work. But it must be done on account of my brother. He needs you.”

“He’s the one who told me to come over here,” Donnelly confesses.

“Oh.” My brows spring, and I cast a quick glance back to the dugout. Xander tries to smile for the camera, but he’s observing my interaction with Donnelly with bated breath. Maybe he’s hoping all goes well between me and my boyfriend—that no emergency landings will occur, no caustic detours.

My brother wants us to last for a long, long time.

“Think he didn’t like that bat boy either,” Donnelly tells me.

I smile wider and twirl the bat like a lightsaber. “Or he’s putting you in my orbit.”

“Best wingman,” Donnelly nods with a grin.

“It’s a good thing you’re here since I still need an instructor. It’s imperative. My mortality depends on it.”

“I can’t have you dying on me, babe.” He clicks his mic and whispers a few words, his grin rising all over again. Then he says, “You’ve got me for eternity.”

“‘Eternity is not long enough,’” I murmur, quoting one of my fics that Donnelly must recognize. His chest rises in a deeper breath, and I add, “Don’t be surprised when I steal more time.”

His gaze sinks deeper in me, his hands sliding around my hips. “Don’t be surprised when I give in.”

Yes. Our noses brush before he kisses me on home plate. Cameras go wild with click, click, clicks, and it’s not the first time we’ve ever been caught lip-locked. There are tons of photos posted online of Donnelly groping me. With my arms and hands all over him. Yet, the public is still so slow to actually believe we’re serious—even after four months being seen together.

I thought by April, they’d finally believe.

Some fans on Fanaticon think he’s a bad decision I’ll dump in time. Like Donnelly is a rocky chapter of my life that I’ll eventually close. Others think we’re kinda cute.

It’s not that I need them to love us, exactly. I just wish people could see the whole of Paul Donnelly. Even if he doesn’t care about external validation, he deserves to be beloved by all and not just a few.

“Am I teaching you how to kiss or to swing for the fences?” he breathes against my lips, his smile teasing.

“Both. Everything. My bones thank you.”

“Your bones are very welcome.” He positions himself behind me, helping me grip the bat—one hand over the other. “Gotta admit, space babe…”

“Yeah?”

“I suck at baseball.” He lifts me around the waist, and I squeal into a laugh when he twirls me three-sixty. I’m soaring. My lungs flood with pure happiness—I can’t catch my breath. I don’t want oxygen. I want to shoot through the stratosphere with him.

Donnelly’s laugh rumbles against me, and with the camera flashes and the blur of the ballpark, I pretend we’re being beamed up off home plate together.

Away we go.

“Wait right there for a moment,” the photographer says while I’m halfway up the stairs in the ballpark stands. He already introduced himself as Lewis Trout. A middle-aged, fluffy brown-haired photographer that Fizzle hired for this event.

Coordinators have ushered us off the baseball field and guided me, Xander, and the three Cobalt boys to the stadium stands for extra pics.

I rip open a cardboard box of Cracker Jacks. Just waiting for further instruction.

Xander is on the cement stair below me. “My sweat is sweating,” he mutters to me and chugs a Ziff sports drink. At least it’s shadier up here than on the field. He swallows a gulp. “I don’t know who wants a photo of me with pit stains.” He’s wafting his Phillies T-shirt.

“Not everyone thinks sweat is gross.” I shrug. “I’d lick Donnelly’s.”

Xander almost spits out a sip of Ziff. “Fuck.” He wipes the dribble off his chin with his wrist. “And I should’ve prepared for that.” He starts to laugh with me. “Knew you’d say something like licking his…whatever.”

“Sweat,” I nod.

“Yeah. That.” We share a bigger smile.

I bet I’m more predictable to Xander because we’re hanging out more. It makes me feel good. Another reason to love today.

He peeks up at Donnelly before I do. My boyfriend is at the top of this section with more bodyguards. Frog, Quinn, and Epsilon. They’re all posted in the aisle between the blue stadium seats.

I smile in remembrance of Donnelly flirting with me on home plate. Heat flushes my cheeks. Before I look away, I catch Donnelly signing something to Xander.

He’s picked up a wee bit of ASL so Xander has someone to practice with.

“He’s cool as fuck,” Xander says like he’s noting a trait on an NPC in a fantasy game. “Cooler than Farrow, too—”

“Xander and Ben,” Lewis interrupts. “If you two would please come sit there.” The photographer motions to the empty row of stadium seats.

“Yayyy,” Xander mumbles, pulling away from me.

I give him two thumbs up, and soon, he’s sinking down on a blue seat and Ben is joining him. I wish I could chart this moment as friendly and harmonious between Xander and Ben. A moment worth glitter and silver star stickers in the scrapbook of our lives.

Except, no one would believe they’re friends right now. Tension stiffens my brother’s entire six-two build, and Ben seems too uncertain. He shifts forward in his chair like he can’t get comfortable. They hold new bottles of Ziff Soar. The cloudy white liquid tastes like lemonade.

“My brother and your brother,” Eliot observes, slipping beside me on the stairs. “They’ll be best friends in no time.”

“With the help of a time machine?”

“With the help of me,” Eliot counters. Then he cups his hands around his mouth to shout, “You love each other!”

Their heads swerve to Eliot. He is drawing a whole lot of attention from the event organizers. I munch on a handful of Cracker Jacks. He’s not committing a crime, but I feel complicit standing beside him—and yet, I’d rather be carted away with my best friend.

“You two are the most handsome of us all!” Eliot calls out, then whispers to me, “Right behind me, of course.”

“Of course,” I sing-song.

Eliot steals a Cracker Jack. “As you were!” He waves at them to look at the camera.

Ben faces forward.

Xander slumps down in his seat, his neck beet-red.

“Uh-oh,” I whisper. “I think you embarrassed him.”

“Hmm,” Eliot muses while chewing, then swallows. “A minor setback.”

Charlie descends the stairs, stopping only a step above us. He’s the only one who rejected the baseball merch. Just in khaki slacks and a white button-down. He hooks his dark sunglasses to the collar of his shirt, and we all watch Ben and Xander avoid each other’s eyes.

They both act like the other doesn’t exist.

“This isn’t awkward at all,” Charlie says dryly, only loud enough for me and Eliot to hear.

“Move closer together, please,” Lewis instructs while peering through his camera. He’s not happy with the angle and keeps directing them to shift their arms, their bodies.

Ben acknowledges Xander with a side-glance, but my brother is still evading. Ben seems to be gauging Xander’s comfort-level, and I wonder if he’s not encroaching for his sake.

“Is this good enough?” Ben asks the photographer. “We’re already pretty close.”

“It’ll do. Xander, can you stop jostling your leg?” Lewis asks. “Actually, let’s have you both stand up.”

Ben complies. He’s a few inches taller than Xander, who’s on his feet too. From my vantage, most of the crew are fixated on my brother like a rare, fascinating species has emerged from hibernation. To the point where Lewis asks Xander to step forward to be in the foreground of the photo.

Xander dips his head, his eyes flitting to the lens, then away. I don’t know what he dislikes more, being an inch from Ben or being the sole focus of the camera.

After Lewis snaps several shots, he says, “Take off your shirts, please. Both of you.”

Charlie audibly sighs and rolls his eyes.

Eliot smiles over at him. “Realizing you don’t have me beat in looks, brother?”

“Who’s the most attractive is subjective, brother,” Charlie retorts, still clearly annoyed.

Ben strips off his shirt and tosses it to the photographer’s assistant, and I crunch slower on a Cracker Jack while Xander assesses his options.

“Hey…um,” my brother says to Lewis. “Can’t you like edit the sweat stains out in post? You don’t really need my shirt, right?”

“I’m sure you look great,” Lewis encourages. “Think of it as you just got done working out. It’s hot here. You need to shed your shirt.” He motions for Xander to execute this.

“Does he need backup?” Eliot is asking me.

“Uhh, unsure at the moment.” I can’t tell if Xander wants to handle this himself, or if he’s hoping one of us steps in. I didn’t think we’d be in another situation like when Mr. Wagner asked me to take off my sweater.

Tabloids rarely ever catch photos of Xander without a shirt. This type of pic would explode on the internet, and the Reddit dedicated to him would likely go nuts.

“That’s…that’s not…” Xander sighs out heavily like explaining himself is exhausting. “I know I look good.” He blushes. “I mean, I’m not trying to be cocky. It’s just a fact, I guess…” His eyes suddenly widen at me like abort, abort, I need to abort.

“Mr. Lewis,” I call out.

He startles like a bird chirped in the corner. “Yes?”

“Can’t he keep his shirt on?” I ask.

“He’s going to keep his shirt on,” Charlie forces out.

Lewis lowers the camera. “The company would prefer—”

“I don’t care,” Charlie snaps. “I’d prefer you all ask before you tell us what to do.”

“My apologies.” Lewis is flustered.

Xander feels badly. “I can, maybe…?”

“No,” Charlie says in a bored tone now.

Lewis rubs the spot between his eyes. Then Ben hurdles a row of chairs, climbing down to the photographer. Quietly, he speaks to Lewis, and after several minutes, all seems to be smoothed over, and they even shake hands into a bro-pat-hug thing.

Once Ben returns to Xander, the photoshoot is back on. Lewis never asks Xander to take off his shirt again, and they pose for several shots. Our turns come and go just as quickly, and then coordinators have us sit in the same row side-by-side.

An editor at Fizzle sits sideways on the seat below and hoists his phone to audio-record us. “I’m going to ask several rapid-fire questions. It shouldn’t take more than ten minutes of your time, and then you’ll be free to go.”

“Great,” Charlie says. Something about this event has bugged him more than the mock panel and the meet-and-greets.

The editor reads his notes. “What’s your favorite Fizzle drink? We’ll go down the line.” Ben and Charlie are on complete opposite ends, and he nods for Ben to start.

“Ziff,” Ben answers.

Eliot grins. “I love them all.” A convincing lie. “But you can’t go wrong with Fizz Life. A classic.”

Now me. “Lightning Bolt!”

Xander slumps more. “Um, I guess Fizz. Or Lightning Bolt!”

Charlie looks ready for this to be over. “Cherry Fizz.”

Eliot bows forward to look at him. “Funny, brother, I’ve never seen you drink Cherry Fizz.”

“Can we not make this last an hour?” Charlie snaps at him.

Eliot cocks his head. “Somewhere important you need to be?”

“Anywhere but here.”

I’m not in such a hurry, but I won’t hold up the group since Xander probably also wants to go home too.

“What’s the next question?” Ben asks the editor.

“What’s your go-to ballpark snack?”

“Water ice.” Ben is quick.

Now Eliot. “I’m a baseball purist, personally. I have to have a hot dog.” He hates beef franks, especially since he dissected one in science class and found a hair and a beetle’s leg.

“The soft pretzels are pretty good,” I tell the editor.

“Chips and dip,” Xander nods. “Or the tater tots and chicken fingers. I don’t know—there’s a lot here.”

“Peanuts,” Charlie says in a tone that sounds like he’s the liar.

The editor pauses on him. “A particular kind of peanuts?”

“Does it matter?”

“Why are you being so rude?” Ben cuts in, annoyed too.

Charlie rubs his temple with a middle finger.

Ben tightens the cap on his Ziff bottle. “If Moffy were—”

“He’s not here, Ben,” Charlie retorts. “You’re stuck with me. Get over it.”

“We’re all friends,” Eliot decrees loudly, as if this declaration will thwart the storm clouds. It hasn’t worked yet.

I give Xander some of my Cracker Jacks. He eats a handful and picks himself out of a slumped position. We’ve been literally and figuratively stuck between the Cobalts fighting, so this is sadly becoming a routine.

Charlie slips his sunglasses over his eyes. “Shelled. Salted,” he tells the editor. “Write whatever you want. I don’t care.”

“Thanks,” the editor nods, then asks Ben, “Last question. If you could choose one person out of you five to go to a baseball game with, who would it be?”

Ben stares down at our row, then answers, “Luna.”

Me? I internally inflate with pride like he presented me a trophy. But then I realize he didn’t choose Eliot. If my best friend is hurt, I can’t tell.

“My little brother Ben,” Eliot says without a beat.

My turn. “Xander.”

“Luna.” Xander chooses me.

And then Charlie is already standing to leave. “Luna.” Whhhaaa? He’s also picking me? Okay, now I kinda feel like I’m hoarding trophies and I want to pass some around. We can all be winners! Except, that’s not exactly right.

There can only be one successor, and as the editor thanks us and stands and I’m hoping I aced this tiny Q&A portion, I wonder how much I want that successor to be me.

We hope you enjoyed this month's main bonus scene! It's the first bonus after Nobody Like Us released, so it's super special. This scene was one of our "deleted" scenes that didn't make the cut for NLU due to tone. But we thought it would make a great bonus, so we ended up extending it for all of you :D 

And thanks so much for your patience with the bonus this month! Release months are always super difficult for us to get bonus done along with all of the marketing and behind-the-scenes stuff that goes into an indie release, so we really do appreciate your understanding. The extra bonus is still coming today! We're finishing up our edits on it, but we should have it to you all later tonight. 

xoxo Krista & Becca

"MLB x Fizzle Collab," Copyright © 2024 by K.B. Ritchie