Clutch Endgame Read online

  I was not sure how to feel about the radio silence from him when I have to deal with the public.

  I pull up his contact information, and my finger hovers over his number as my phone vibrates in my hand and Gunnar’s name shows up on the screen.

  “Hello?” I answer thankful that he called me first.

  “Hey. How was your day?” he asks, his voice quiet.

  “Well, my first official day on the job, and I already got called into my boss’s office.”

  “That sucks. What happened?” he asks.

  “You don’t know?” I scoff.

  He laughs. “I don’t have a hidden camera on you, so how would I know?” he asks innocently.

  “Our time together, was in the newspaper, two whole pages worth of photos.”

  “No shit?” he sounds surprised.

  “No shit,” I deadpan.

  “Shit. Is it bad?” he asks.

  “Do you not read the paper?”

  “Who reads the paper anymore? Besides, there are people for the team that take care of all media stuff.”

  “Do they ever tell you about what’s in there?” I ask.

  “They used to but stopped when it was clear that I wasn’t listening. I got in trouble for that and kept the majority of my shit out of the public eye. So, is it bad?” My call waiting beeps through, I pull the phone away and see my mother calling. With an eye roll, I tell Gunnar that I will have to call him back and answer my mother’s call. She has question after question about the newspaper and reports of me taking advantage of the catcher for the Hornets or vice versa. Halfway through the phone call with my mother, Kim calls and I answer her call with the same questions that my mother had.

  After an hour of phone calls, I’m exhausted and tired. Nevertheless, I torture myself a little more and open up one of the local gossip sites, to see if anything else has come up. When I search for Gunnar’s name, it pulls up pictures of him, some of his teammates and a few random girls at a bar in Denver. He’s not touching them in any ways, but whoever wrote the article was clearly playing on him being a player and that the weekend’s festivities with me were just another notch. I stop reading, shut down my laptop and get ready for bed.

  THROUGHOUT THE NEXT FEW DAYS, there was little communication between Gunnar and myself aside from texts, which I was expecting since he had day practices and night games. No additional reports come out about the possibility of our relationship, but there was a piece that went into the background of my life. It brought up personal bits and pieces of my family and personal life. Gunnar did not seem to read any of the tabloids, and the team publicist, Melinda, did not squash any of the allegations of my being an alleged gold digger. So, I felt helpless.

  I knew that Gunnar was getting back from Denver this evening, but I’m not sure of what to make of what was going on with us as I feel that it would be best for distance. I was unsure whether or not this was a normal thing or just a special occurrence. I never paid any attention to any news with the Hornets’ players before, because I wasn’t personally involved. I pull up his schedule for the season and note that he has a packed schedule. He had games every day until mid-next week.

  I ran my hand through my hair and groaned in frustration.

  My desk phone rings, when I answer there is a hesitation and then a woman’s voice came on the line.

  “Hello, Ms. Rotham. My name is Belinda Jones from Channel-.” I didn’t even give her time to finish before I hung up on her. Not the most professional, but this was the tenth call today. Since the team was due back in the city today, reporters have been calling to get any sort of update on the situation. The crowds have died down in front of the company, but calls have been coming in steadily on my work line and my cell phone.

  “Don’t worry; you’ll be last week’s news in no time. They just need to have some sort of scandal and you’ll be forgotten,” Bethany, my cube neighbor, says peering over the side.

  “Yeah, but the reports are out there. Black and white text on paper. With photographic evidence forever,” I reply unhappily.

  “You shouldn’t be so down about this. It’s not as if you are what they say you are. You and the guy seemed to have a fun time. Are you going to see him again?” she asks.

  “We made plans for either dinner tonight or lunch tomorrow. Depending on when they get in tonight.”

  “See! You should orchestrate the press to be there somehow.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “That way they can see that it’s a blossoming relationship, not a one-off. That neither are being played,” she says matter-of-factly.

  I think about her idea and shake my head.

  “If the press is so hard up for a story about us, then they’ll find us. I don’t want to add any fuel to the flames.”

  MY DOORBELL CHIMES, a sad excuse for a bell if you ask me. It sounds like the wires are shorting out and instead of a clear chime; it’s a static sound with a hum. That’s how I know it’s the doorbell, after years of living in this apartment; you would think that I would tell my landlord about it. However, it’s at the bottom on my list of things I need to do.

  I straighten my shirt and tuck any loose hairs behind my ears before I stand straight and open the door to a smiling Gunnar Reynolds. His hands are shoved in his front pockets. He is wearing a gray V-neck t-shirt and black pants with Converse sneakers. He is wearing his hat backwards and I feel my ovaries bursting.

  I’m a sucker for backward hats!

  “Hey, Gorgeous.” He smiles stepping into me and kissing my cheek.

  I smile and step aside to let him in.

  “Want anything to drink before we head out?” I ask.

  “No thanks,” he says politely. He doesn’t move far past the door, turns and crowds me as I turn around after closing the door.

  His lips press against mine and his tongue licks at the seam of my lips asking to be let in. Both palms are holding the sides of my face, angling my head to match his kiss. My hands fist the end of his shirt as his mouth makes love to mine. We pull apart, gaze into each other’s eyes and are both breathless.

  “I missed that while I was in Denver,” he whispers.

  “What are we doing, Gun?” I ask meekly, searching his eyes as I ask the burning question that is at the forefront of my mind.

  “What do you mean?” he asks, releasing me and taking a step back.

  “I mean there are news reports about me playing you and there’s nothing in the news from you or the team to refute it. Then new reports with you in Denver with other women. And here you are, here we are, doing whatever this is,” I motion between us.

  “I told you, I don’t pay attention to that shit,” he shakes his head, shoving his hands back in his pockets.

  “You may not, but a lot of people do. My boss was one of them, my parents, and my friends. To you being played may sound great, but I’m not a player, Gun, and this has been a shit few days because no one has said that the headlines were bullshit.”

  “I know you’re not playing me. You know you’re not playing me. The last thing that I want to do is play you. I didn’t know it was that big of a deal. I’m sorry. Look, I’ll see if Mel can make a statement or something.”

  “Thank you,” I say quietly looking anywhere but at him. That was too easy.

  Gunnar steps into my space, and places his hands on my hips. He waits until my gaze meets his again and smiles.

  “Let’s go enjoy some food and each other’s company, yeah?” he asks as I nod.

  We jump in his Jeep and he drives us to Gordon Bierch, after valeting the car, with his hand on my lower back we walk inside together. The hostess’ eyes light up when she sees us, and she elbows her companion who stands straight with a cheesy smile on her face.

  “Table for two please?” Gunnar asks, holding up two fingers.

  “Of course, Mr. Reynolds. This way.” We’re lead over to a corner booth where we slide in and sit closely. Gunnar’s hand lands on my thigh, jolting me at firs
t as he accepts our menus. As soon as she leaves, another staff member arrives at our table.

  “Mr. Reynolds. Thank you for joining us tonight. As our guest this evening, please enjoy appetizers on the house. My name is Gerald, I’m the manager. If you need anything for yourself or your companion, please let me know.” Gerald extends his hand with a smile plastered on his face.

  “Thank you for your hospitality,” Gunnar says.

  Our drink and appetizer order is taken and then we were finally left alone.

  Gunnar’s hand leaves my thigh and drapes across the top of the booth as he turns his body towards mine.

  “Tell me more about you?” he asks.

  “I’m not nearly as exciting as you think,” I start. “I graduated from State last year, work in marketing and am a new Hornets fan.”

  He smiles at my admission. “What do you like to do?” he asks.

  “A part of me feels like I’m describing a dating profile.” I smile.

  “C’mon,” He urges.

  “I like comedy shows, like standup comics. Babysitting for my neighbor. The typical stuff, camping, music, movies - you know standard things.”

  “How old are the kids you babysit?” he asks.

  “Four and almost eleven.”

  “Cool. Kids are awesome.” He smiles.

  “Now tell me about you?” I ask.

  “Nothing to tell. I’m sure all my likes and dislikes are common knowledge.”

  “Don’t play that. Humor me, I gave you mine.” I cross my arms playfully and pout.

  “Alright. I too, like comedians. I like movies, but usually I go by season. Obviously, I’m into baseball and I don’t know - usually I keep to myself. I help coach a peewee football team in the off-season, so I keep busy and give back to the community. There’s also a lot of charity type things that I take part in and endorsement deals that I work on to keep relevant and busy.”

  “That’s cool. What’s your life like during the season?”

  “Well from March to sometimes October, I’m playing ball regularly. We have something like 162 games during a season, some weeks I don’t get a day off. We sometimes get a travel day, but we do a lot of back-to-back games. There’s weekly series that we play, like we’ll play the same team three to four days in a row. I have training, promotional events and then practice.”

  “So, in other words, baseball is life,” I state.

  “It definitely is a large portion of it, yes,” he replies while nodding.

  “So how do you find time for your personal life?”

  “I make it all fit,” he says as our table is approached.

  We discussed surface items throughout dinner, it was comfortable conversation mixed in with small touches here and there. By the end of the evening, we had gotten to know more about one another than I was thinking that we would. He pulls up to my apartment, kills the engine and turns to me.

  “I don’t want the night to stop here,” he says simply.

  “You can come in if you want?” I ask hesitantly.

  “I have an early practice tomorrow.”

  “I have work in the morning,” I retort, hoping for another sleepover.

  “I don’t want you to feel ashamed to be with me. News reports will come out here and there, not all will be true though. I want to spend time with you and be with you.”

  “The news is already out there. You said that you were going to get your people to dispute it, I trust that. So why don’t you come inside, and we can get to know each other more?”

  “I hope you’re saying that we can get to know each other better while naked?”

  “I definitely want to get to know more about you while naked.”

  FIVE

  GUNNAR

  I WAKE up this morning in Sawyer’s bed, with her leg wrapped around my own, her arm thrown over my torso and her long hair tickling my neck as it covers half of her face, and each breath she takes makes the strands brush against my skin. If I play my cards right, we could do the horizontal limbo again before she has to leave, but that plan was squashed as soon as Darth Vader’s march rang through her room from her night table besides the bed.

  She slowly disentangles herself from me, her knee brushes lightly against my morning wood. She rolls to her back, stretches her limbs, and lightly groans with the movement.

  “What time do you need to be into work?” I ask her gruffly, rolling to my side with my hand finding her hip under the covers.

  “In a few hours,” she says lazily, turning her head to look at me.

  She looks mussed and content. With no make-up on her face, her hair unperfected and the softness of morning in her voice, I’m struck by her. Other women that I’ve been with would wake up purposely before me and put makeup on their faces, brush their hair, whatever it took to look like they woke up like that naturally. Sawyer is the first woman that I have been with, where she does not do that, and she looks beautiful. A natural beauty.

  “So, does that mean, we can leisurely lay in bed together, and I don’t know, roll around?”

  “You can just say what you want, you know.”

  “Okay. Can we fuck?”

  “I thought you’d never ask!” I say as I drag her closer to me and hover over while leaning down and gently kissing her soft lips.

  I WALK into the clubhouse and set my bag down in front of my cage. I sit down and begin untying my shoes. Bently comes up beside me and claps me on the shoulder.

  “That chick you were with last night is fine. Same chick from the newspaper spread?”

  “How did you know I was with her last night?” I ask.

  “You really need to start paying attention.” Bently shakes his head and pulls out his phone, scrolls on the screen and then hands it over to me. I take it from him and then look at the headline.

  HORNETS CATCHER, REYNOLDS OUT ON THE TOWN and below the headline is pictures from dinner last night, from a distance. Then two box photos of Sawyer with another guy with the caption of her dating someone else with the subtitle questioning Sawyer’s intentions. I shake my head, this is why I do not read the news, and it prints false information. I hand the phone back to Bently and resume changing for practice. Remembering that I need to fix this.

  “So, is she a cleat chaser, or is she actually someone that you’re going to be spending time with?” Bently asks me.

  “I’m spending time with her.”

  “Then you should quash these rumors man, you don’t want to start out on the wrong foot and plague whatever this is between you two with misinformation.”

  “Since when do you know anything about relationships?” I joke.

  Bently is the one man on the team that stays away from all female contact. He isn’t gay, but he just focuses on the game year round. He’s like a monk. I’ve never seen anyone with as much dedication to one single thing as him. I admire that in a player, but I know that there’s no chance in hell that I wouldn’t be able to indulge myself. Whether it’s in the company of a woman, or other vices.

  “I’ve had relationships before, Gun,” he says within a sigh. “Plus, I have three sisters.”

  “What I don’t understand is how this is newsworthy?”

  “You’re a star player for basically the only pro sports team this town has. You’re a local celebrity.”

  “So?”

  “So, that means if you’re out and about, especially with a beautiful woman, there will be peering eyes. C’mon man, you’re not a rookie anymore. This is shit you should have learned in one of your training sessions when you joined the big leagues, man.”

  “You really think I retained any of that shit? I was too busy thinking about buying fancy shit and how much ass I was going to get.”

  “Figures. Lucky that Melinda knows what she’s doing.”

  “Do you ever get a weird vibe from her, man?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know, like she’s a little too close for comfort?”

  “Newsflash, asshole. N
ot every chick wants to bone you!” Bently snaps his towel at me one more time and begins to walk away.

  “Says who?” I laugh following him out.

  TONIGHT’S GAME was quick and painless. Bently was on fire tonight with several three up, three down innings resulting in our opponent only getting one run in. I had two three baggers and one homer with the overall score of the game being 9-1. The clubhouse was buzzing, reporters, management and players talking excitedly all at once about our win. Brad Masters, our first baseman, and Bently were finishing up with speaking to reporters as I finished dressing.

  “You ready to head over to Mission? I’m feeling like celebrating,” Masters asks.

  “Yeah, let me just grab my shit,” I say stuffing my practice clothes into my bag.

  “Hey guys, good game,” Melinda says. “Hey Gun, nice run.”

  “Thanks,” I smile as I pull my bag’s strap over my head.

  “We’re heading over to the Mission, you want to join? Maybe invite a few of your girlfriends?” Masters asks with a wink.

  Melinda’s eyes quickly divert to me, searching my reaction that I find as odd. I shrug, what does she want me to say? She’s come out with us after the games before, so her presence wouldn’t be anything new. She’s her own person and what I think means nothing.

  “I’ll meet you guys there. I’m just going to drop my bag off at my place and make a few phone calls.” I say stepping away.

  Without looking back, I exit and make my way through the tunnels to the players exit. Once outside, I turn my phone back on and pull up Sawyer’s information. My finger hovers over the call button as several text messages pop up from her from hours ago.

  SAWYER: There’s even more stories out there now.

  Sawyer: I think we need to stop seeing each other. I’m sorry, but I can’t do this. Can’t have whatever this is between us interfere with my work or what my family thinks of me.

  Sawyer: Goodbye Gunnar.

  WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED? I left her place this morning and everything was great. Yeah, that article came out today, but seriously, she’s got to understand that I was busy all day. I hope that’s not the reason she’s ending things.