Clutch Endgame Read online

  A BASEBALL ROMANCE

  BY

  CONTENTS

  I. Let’s Play Ball!

  1. Gunnar

  2. Sawyer

  3. Gunnar

  4. Sawyer

  5. Gunnar

  6. Sawyer

  7. Gunnar

  Chapter 8

  II. 4 years later

  1. Sawyer

  2. Gunnar

  3. Sawyer

  4. Gunnar

  5. Sawyer

  6. Gunnar

  7. Sawyer

  8. Gunnar

  9. Sawyer

  10. Gunnar

  11. Sawyer

  12. Gunnar

  13. Sawyer

  14. Gunnar

  15. Sawyer

  16. Gunnar

  17. Sawyer

  18. Gunnar

  19. Sawyer

  20. Gunnar

  21. Sawyer

  22. Gunnar

  23. Sawyer

  24. Gunnar

  Epilogue # 1

  Epilogue

  Epilogue #2

  Dear Friends,

  Also by Tarrah Anders

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  COPYRIGHT © 2019– TARRAH ANDERS

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the email address below.

  Tarrah Anders | Tarrah Anders, LLC [email protected] |www.tarrahanders.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Book Formatting: Tarrah Anders, LLC | Cover: Tarrah Anders, LLC | Publishing: Smashwords, inc /Tarrah Anders

  Ordering Information: CLUTCH Endgame

  ISBN:9780463697689 | ISBN: 9781073769728

  PART ONE

  LET’S PLAY BALL!

  ONE

  GUNNAR

  I LAY on the hotel bed; my feet on the wall while the team publicist, Melinda, sits on the chair beside the bed with the binder that she always carries around. The night before the opening day game, I have a superstition that if I stay in a hotel room the night before, my game will be better and not just my game but also the season will be better as well. It has worked for me the past three years, so my motto is why mess with a perfect system. My first year playing in the big leagues, my condo had a flood from the one and only neighbor on my floor, so I was relocated until the flooring of my place was redone. My game was enhanced the next day at our home opener, and I made staying at a hotel stick with me moving forward.

  “Gun, we set up a marketing plan for the team this season, it’s a contest for one lucky fan that will spend an entire day with a player. They will get to live the life of a major leaguer for the day and ending with a night game. Fans won this contest at our Fanfest in December. The team will be working with a new marketing firm and this will be a monthly event that the team will do. You’re the lucky one to go first.”

  “Cool. Just let me know where I need to be,” I say tossing the ball at the wall and catching it as it comes back to me only half-listening.

  “That means that none of your chasers can be hanging with you, and you’d have to be PC,” Melinda reminds me with a roll of her eyes and pure disdain for my attitude.

  This is a weekly conversation we have. I like to call it the ‘Coming to Gunnar’ moment, where I’m supposed to remember that I’m a role model and not just a self-professed sex god.

  “I can curb my extra-curricular activities for a day, no fear. It’s not like I’m that bad.” I smile not even looking at her.

  “That also means, no getting wasted.”

  “Dude, it’s only a day. And it’s not like I’m an alcoholic.”

  “Says the guy who nearly got a DUI this summer.”

  “That doesn’t mean I’m an alcoholic, just that I made a shit decision. I got out of it, didn’t I?” I question.

  A knock echoes through the hotel room, and Melinda answers the door. With a groan, she opens the door all the way and then lets in two blondes, twins.

  “Gun,” Melinda starts her voice full of disdain as she juts her hip out. “Really?”

  “I can’t help it if I’m a popular guy.” I stand up to greet my guests. Each kisses me on the cheek, so I’m a sandwich between them.

  “You need to be resting up, tomorrow starts the series against the Chicago Skylines, you’ve got to be on top of your game, it’s the season opener, and it’s here at home. This is important to the team that we get a win and Coach expects you guys to kill it for the next few days. We need these wins to start out the season on a good foot.”

  “It’s the start of the season, there are 162 games, and we’re not going to win all of them, you know.” I remind

  “Gunnar, that’s not the type of talk Coach likes.”

  “You aren’t the skipper,” I retort.

  “Just make it an early night. We don’t want any bonehead plays this season from your extra-curricular activities,” she says opening the door, eyeing my guests and exiting.

  “You know as well as I do, that my focus is always on the game out there,” I shout after her.

  The girls haven’t moved from my side and are giggling as Melinda leaves.

  “Now ladies, what are your names?” I say turning them around and leading them to the sitting area of my suite.

  I STEP out of the dugout and onto the warning track. The dirt crunches under my cleats until I hit the chalk of the foul line as both sides of players line up on opposite sides for the national anthem. I pull my cap off and place it over my heart, the music starts, and this signals the start of opening day.

  My mind wanders as I look out along the crowd. My eyes drift over the faces that are singing along, fiddling with their already impatient kids, and people with their cell phones up. A moment later, the song wraps up and cheers erupt throughout the park.

  It’s game time, and I’m ready to rock this day. I wave to the crowd before I jog to the catcher’s box behind home plate. I stretch my hamstrings a few reps while I wait for my buddy Bently to take his place on the mound. Derek Casters, the second baseman of the Skylines practiced his swings fifty feet from me. Bently approaches the mound and rotates his shoulder, nods to me and takes his position to throw a few warm up pitches.

  THE BREEZE of air from a swing of the bat, the whoosh of a ball landing in my mitt, the blue calling the plays and the roar of the crowd - it’s all part of my blood. I come from a middle class family, one that put all their money on their only son and faithfully followed me around the states once I made it to the big leagues. I have lived and breathed baseball since before I could remember. This is my third season with the San Diego Hornets, and I am finally out of rookie status.

  I am known on the team as a playboy, and the cleat chasers know this. In the tunnel. I have a steady stream of them lined up eagerly waiting for me to choose one of them to take home with me after a game. With my crazy schedule during the season, it’s almost impossible to cultivate any sort of relationships, so those women who know the score, who are down with a little fun here and there and who don’t ask for any commitments, are the type of women that I spend time with.

 
; We end up winning the game and rush to the locker room to shower the game off us. Victory smells sweet and we are all on a high as the clubhouse is full of chatter.

  Bently whips a towel in my direction as we stand in front of our side-by-side cages.

  “Fucker, I heard you’re first on this PR stint?”

  “PR stint?”

  “You know, fan for a day and shit.” Bently wipes off the residual shower water off his shoulders.

  “Oh that! Yeah, I guess so.” I shrug. “I wasn’t really listening when Melinda was talking about it yesterday. I had two chicks on their way over and my mind on the game for today, so I would have agreed to give her a foot massage and wouldn’t have known it.”

  “Starting this season off right, I see.” Bently smiles.

  “I’ve got to. So many women not enough time,” I joke trying to keep a straight face.

  “If only these women knew what a sentimental fuck you really are, I’ve seen your Blu-Ray collection.”

  I snap my towel in his direction and make contact with his thigh as he tries to move out of the way.

  “Any clue when this PR thing will happen?” I ask.

  “Reynolds!” the coach yells from his office at the far end of the room.

  I drop my towel, head over to his office, and knock on the doorway as I enter. Skipper motions for me to sit at the chair in front of his desk without looking up. A few moments of uncomfortable silence fills the room as he finishes whatever he is writing before he drops his pen and looks up at me.

  “Fine game, Gun,” he says in his commanding voice.

  “Thank you sir, it was a team effort,” I say with a nod.

  “Tomorrow, a fan will follow you around. Do the normal, do something fun.”

  “Normal. Fun. Got it,” I nod.

  “Melinda will draw up a tentative schedule and email it to you tonight. I don’t know who the hell the fan is, but make sure you’re on your best behavior, I need your A-game here son.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Make sure you are here at eight sharp tomorrow morning to meet with this kid.”

  “Do we already know who it is?” I ask.

  “No, but I assume it’s a kid. If it’s an adult, same thing. No bars, no chicks and give your best side.”

  “You got it Skipper!” I give him a thumbs up.

  “Dismissed.” He says as he gets back to whatever he was working on when I first got here.

  I ARRIVE on time and even early just in case this fan did, too. I wait in the clubhouse just as the email directions instructed me to. I was killing it in Candy Crush when I hear a door open.

  Melinda enters first, followed by a petite female. Melinda is talking loudly explaining to her about the day as they approach me. I stand, pocket my phone and wait for her to introduce us.

  “Gunnar Reynolds, this is Ms. Sawyer Rotham. She will be spending the day with you. Sawyer, you have my card; call me if you should need me at any time. Gun, behave.” she points her finger and then retreats.

  “You’re my Ultimate Fan?” I ask her in disbelief, my eyebrows shooting to my hairline. I turn to Melinda, “I thought these things would be with a kid?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t call me your ultimate fan, but I like baseball,” she shrugs her voice soft.

  “Do you like baseball? Do you know who I am?” I ask incredulously as she wrinkles her nose at me.

  “Sure, you’re The Gun. Everyone in San Diego knows who you are, and your face is on some of those streetlight banners around town. You are popular with the ladies, and you are one of those do-gooder players. It’s nice to meet you,” she says as she steps forward and offers her hand.

  “Nice to meet you. So, this Ultimate Fan thing is a chance to give our fans a glimpse at our world, kind of like a day in the life sort of gig. I hope that you didn’t have any manicures set or anything,” I joke.

  “I’m all yours.” she smiles.

  I take in her appearance, and note that she is breathtakingly gorgeous. She has long dark wavy brown hair, honey brown eyes, pouty pink lips and flawless olive skin. She’s dressed casual in a V-neck white tee, jeans with holes at the knees with a flannel wrapped around her waist and white chucks. She smiles as my eyes reach her face again, and I should feel like a pervert for giving her the up and down. But I honestly don’t. She’s absolutely beautiful.

  I’m all yours.

  “Right. So, I won’t bore you with working out, or drills. Let’s do my next favorite thing.” I wiggle my eyebrows, turn and signal for her to follow me.

  “Um, a little presumptuous buddy?” she says following me through the halls.

  I slowly turn with a smile on my face. “Little lady, you have no idea. But I’m talking about food. What you will learn today is that I like to eat. Food is my favorite pastime aside from the game. I do a lot of working out too, more so practice type things, but I won’t bore you too much with weights.”

  “Oh, okay,” she says almost dejectedly.

  Since we are behind the scenes of the stadium, I rattle off the rooms as we pass and try to keep my nerding out about baseball to a minimum.

  We walk out of the stadium gates, I click the fob in my hand and the alarm sounds off on my Jeep sitting at the curb.

  “Special parking accommodations come with being a player?” she asks.

  “No, I actually live up there. I walk to the games usually.” I point to one of the nearby buildings as her gaze follows. “I just parked here for today, I have no real clue as to how today would work, so I figured we needed wheels.”

  “You don’t have a driver?”

  “We’re baseball players, not movie stars, babe.”

  “Whoa buddy! No calling me babe. I’m not your babe,” she stops and crosses her arms.

  “You got it, didn’t mean to offend.” I say holding up my hands.

  “I mean, you barely know me, you have to buy me breakfast first.” She loosens her arms and smirks as I open the door for her.

  I have a good feeling about today. I smile brightly, stare at her ass as she gets in and fastens her seatbelt, then I round the Jeep to get in and start it up.

  We eat at a restaurant that has amazing pancakes and a line outside the door. As we finish our meal. I lean back in my chair.

  “So, what did you do to win as the ultimate fan?”

  “Nothing,” she says as she picks up her glass and then takes a sip.

  “Nothing?” I ask with frown.

  “I just got hired on at a marketing team for a small company in Mission Valley. My boss had a last minute personal engagement come up that he couldn’t get out of so he gave it to me. He doesn’t have a kid, so it was kind of like a ‘welcome to the company’, type of thing,” she says using air quotes.

  “So you really aren’t a fan?” I ask her.

  “Make me a fan, Gunnar,” she leans across the table and smiles.

  “SO, you go to the batting cages to practice? Why not just go back to the stadium; I’m sure you guys have the same machines.”

  “We do, but today is different. You’re going to bat today, too.”

  “Question still stands.”

  “This place is fun.” I shrug handing her a bat. I steer her to the direction of the cages and when we get our designated spot, I set my bat down and fumble with the machine. I set up her pitches to be slow and then watch as she sets herself up. A ball releases, she shrieks as she swings and the ball flies past her.

  “Here. Let’s adjust your stance that way the ball and bat will kiss perfectly.” I hit the pause button and come up behind her. I position her hands and then with my leg, I tap her toes to spread her legs. I go around to her front and look at her stance, I bend down, take her foot and turn it then with my hand on her upper thigh, I move her leg again – just a futile attempt to touch her. When I get back behind her, I mold my body to hers and breathe her in, she smells like flowers and mint and I can feel my cock hardening.

  “Let’s do a practice swing, let you get com
fortable with this position,” I say quietly, my mouth close to her ear.

  Her breathing has changed, and I see goose bumps forming on her arm from the new contact. I place my hands on her forearms, down to her wrists and then covering her hands. She swings and as her front leg moves, her ass pushes slightly into my straining cock and I groan aloud.

  This is not a date. This is not a date. I remind myself as I step back and adjust myself.

  “How did that feel?” I ask her not at all implying to the wood between my legs.

  “Can you show me the flow of the swing again?” she asks in a sultry voice with a smile and a tilt of her head.

  I move back into position, knowing that my erection is obvious as I pull our bodies together again. She releases a shaky breath when I assume she feels how hard I am, and her body melts into mine. I have almost full control of her body and move her arms to swing away as her ass pushes again into me. I step back again, adjust myself and walk to the machine again to restart our pitches.