Clutch Endgame Page 7

  He closes the trunk and smiles affectionately at me as he wraps an arm around my middle.

  “It’s just a few weeks before we’ll see each other, don’t go falling in love with some suit.” He says nuzzling his nose against my hair as he takes in a breath.

  “And don’t you go falling for any of those cleat chasers. I’ve seen how short their skirts are.” I shoot back at him playfully.

  His hand moves from my waist to squeezing my ass.

  “The only skirts that I care about are yours.” He says kissing the tip of my nose.

  Someone over by the team bus calls Gunnar’s’ name and yells for him to hurry up. Gunnar groans and waves his hand in return then gives me his full attention again.

  “I’m going to miss you,” he states.

  “I’ll miss you too, but I’ll talk to you tonight and every night.” I remind him.

  “Wear something sexy tonight.”

  I laugh at him and swat his shoulder.

  “Love you.” He says leaning in and capturing my lips softly with his.

  “Love you too.” I reply against the kiss.

  TWO

  GUNNAR

  THE DRIVE from San Diego to Peoria, Arizona is a boring six-hour bus ride full of no good scenery unless beiges of the desert are your thing. The bus rolls into the same hotel parking lot that we roll into every year, so we can disperse, as we need to.

  The farm players of the Hornets are all staying here at the hotel, while other players on the team rent or own properties in the area. I used to rent a house with a few of the other guys, but in the past four years since Sawyer and I have been together - I started to rent a small home each year for the weeks that we’re in town, so it could just be her and I. With the weekly allowances that players are given for Spring Training, my savings and Sawyer’s salary - the house was basically free since everything in Arizona was dirt-cheap anyways.

  My best friend on the team and pitcher of the Hornets, Bently Sanders waits by the car that’s parked at the far end of the lot.

  “You need a ride to get your rental car?” He shouts in my direction.

  “I just need a ride to the house. My rental should be there already.” I reply walking his direction.

  “Why didn’t you have the car dropped off here?” He asks opening the door.

  “It was cheaper to have it delivered to the house, besides - I knew your ass would chauffeur me around,” I say dropping my bags in the trunk of his SUV.

  “Entitled prick,” Bently chides.

  “Nah, just confident.” I slide into the passenger seat. “I know you can’t deny me.”

  “I don’t know how that woman of yours deals with your enlarged head,” he tosses back to me.

  “She takes it like a champ.” I joke.

  “I’m telling Chainsaw that you’re talking about her like that.” Bently laughs.

  “Go for it, she would tend to agree with me,” I shrug.

  “You staying in Phoenix?” He asks turning out of the parking lot and towards the freeway.

  “Nah, I’ve got a small place in Glendale, head up Loop 101 through Peacock Village then take West Union Hills Drive, I’ve got a nice little place with a pool overlooking a golf course.” I direct him.

  “Nice, I’m that way too. I’ve rented a townhome in Westbrook Village.” Bently replies navigating the car onto the 101.

  We drive in comfortable silence as I give him directions. When he pulls into the driveway, he whistles.

  “Small?” He looks over at me in question.

  “I’m sure it’s small for Arizona standards.” I shrug opening the door. “Come on in, take a look around.”

  Bently puts the car in park and cuts the engine. As we walk up to the front door, I key in the code to the lock box and then we enter the house. The front door opens up into a large open room, with the floors tiled. Large bay windows line the front of the house with smaller windows along the adjacent wall. As we move further into the house, an arched entryway leads to a dining room, with a large table with chairs and another large window overlooking the driveway of the home. We continue walking through the space to another great room with a fireplace and hardwood floors that seep into the open concept kitchen with French doors that lead to the backyard.

  The backyard looks like an entertainer’s paradise with a large pool, hot tub and a waterfall feature. Beyond the pool is what appears to be grassy area with some lawn chairs and a fire pit- then off to the side is a bullseye and a post about twenty feet away, an axe throwing area.

  “Sweet place. How many bedrooms?” Bently asks.

  “Three.”

  “You know that you don’t need to impress Sawyer with grand gestures like a huge ass house, right? You’ve already got the girl.”

  “No shit Sherlock. I wanted to test out the space. See if one day, something like this would be what we would like. You know with babies and shit.”

  “Babies and shit?” Bently head swings to me his jaw practically on the floor. “Wait, are you guys…?”

  I hold up my hands to stop his train of thought. “I mean, down the road. She’s the baby wanting type, and if my woman wants a baby, you best fucking believe I’m gonna knock her up. I’m going to knock her up so fucking good.”

  “I mean, it would probably suck to knock her up ‘badly’.” Bently smirks making fun of me.

  “Anyways, maybe we throw the farm boys a party too?” I change the subject.

  “That could be a good use to this place. Any rules against it in your rental agreement?”

  “As long as I don’t damage the property, we’re all good.”

  WE THREW a party that first weekend.

  We got the rooks so wasted that they didn’t know the ground from the sky. In the garage of the house was a box of women’s clothing labeled ‘Goodwill’ and decided to make the guys do a fashion show in their drunken state. Eventually, the party calmed down, while some of the guys leave and the rest of them just pass out.

  Luckily, the team has the day off tomorrow - so the lazy and hungover guys all linger well into the afternoon when Bent and I are grilling up some food.

  “Did you hear Skip and one of the team therapists hooked up over the off season?” Bently asks.

  “No shit? I thought the fucker was a priest since his divorce last year. Which therapist? The brunette or the redhead?”

  “Whichever worked on you last year during your PT from that knee injury.” Bently says pointing to my right knee.

  I had taken a hit from a ball being thrown from Denver’s pitcher to third when I was stealing a base straight to my knee. It was an 80 mile per hour ball that almost shattered my kneecap, but luckily, I escaped with a nasty bruise and on the bench for the rest of the series that week. The PT that worked on me had amazing hands that rivaled my own and could kill me if she really wanted to. I’m thinking she was a Russian hit woman in her previous life. She’s hardcore scary looking.”

  “That’s Deidre. She is the redhead, fucking crazy strong. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she added to the bruising that I had from that injury with her super human strength. I’m sure the Skip is loving it.” I laugh.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if he was into some kinky shit.”

  “Who’s into kinky shit?” Hendrickson, the center fielder asks siding up to the BBQ.

  “Your mom.” I reply.

  “So original, Gun,” he replies sarcastically.

  “Dude, I was up late. I have no witty comebacks, so you get all the old re-processed shit.”

  “So, I overheard one of the coaches talking and they mentioned your name.” Hendrickson says to me.

  “Oh yeah, and what were they saying?”

  “You’re a free agent, right?” He asks.

  “Yep. I broke ties with my old agent, as he was shady as fuck. Why do you ask?”

  “They were talking about trades.” He says.

  MY MOVEMENTS FREEZE as I hear the word ‘trade,’ and with my beer against my
lips, I take a long

  CHUG AND CLEAR MY THROAT.

  “WELL, FUCK.”

  THREE

  SAWYER

  MY PLANE IS DELAYED and I feel as if I’ve been sitting in this terminal all day.

  Which is completely true.

  There's a monsoon alert at Sky Harbor Airport in Phoenix which is preventing the flight my plane is supposed to start from, to arrive- as it’s still sitting on the tarmac.

  My phone vibrates with a text from my boss, Mr. Lyons.

  Lyons: we're canceling your flight and a car is coming to pick you up.

  Me: ugh. I hate driving that far by myself.

  Lyons: you don’t have to. I need to get to AZ for a last-minute family thing, so lucky u

  Me: Lucky me

  I groan and put my laptop away as my phone buzzes again. While my boss is a nice guy, I’m not too excited to be stuck in the car with him for six hours.

  Him: pulling into the terminal right now.

  I grab my stuff and head down to the roadside pick-up and wait for my boss to arrive with my chariot.

  Halfway thru the trip, we stop in Dateland and grab milkshakes and a pizza from the new addition to the location of Pizza Hut.

  As we are enjoying our meal, I note that my boss is looking at me strangely.

  “What? Do I have something on my face?" I ask.

  "I heard some chatter, not sure how true it is, but news just broke out this morning. You’re not acting as if you know it already, so I’m contemplating whether or not I should say anything,” he says dryly.

  "What is it?" I ask hesitantly suddenly nervous.

  "Has Gunnar mentioned anything about a potential trade?"

  That catches my attention.

  I finish chewing the bit of my pizza and set down the rest of it.

  "I'm sorry, what?" I lean in after a moment to make sure that I heard him right.

  "Shit." he says.

  "Yeah, shit. Please fill me in." I plead.

  "It’s just chatter, but Gun is a free agent, right? He only signed on for a three-year contract - his contract is reviewed annually - so basically, he can go anywhere. Some big teams want him, so management is quietly discussing his options. He’s a type-A free agent, so he’s likely going to get some good offers.”

  “Apparently not quite enough. Wouldn’t he be involved in these conversations?” I ask.

  “He’s currently on the 40-man roster for the team, and he can request to be released at any time or at the end of the season.” Mr. Lyons continues.

  “Wouldn’t that mean he would go down to the minors if traded in the rule 5 draft?” I ask, remembering reading up on baseball when I first started working with the agency.

  “That’s a rule for the minor league mainly. But since Gun is on the 40-man roster, the team has to keep him abreast of these kinds of conversations.”

  “So, then why is this chatter without confirmation?” I ask.

  “Chatter is always happening. However, I think a few teams like Chicago, Arizona, Seattle and New York are all circling your boy, willing to offer him in arbitration the biggest number. He’s a great catcher, and some teams need a good one like him.”

  I’ve spoken with Gunnar every night for the past two weeks and he hasn’t mentioned anything about this information. Could the team management not have discussed these things with him on purpose?

  Shit! I can’t move to another city.

  I have everything in San Diego.

  San Diego is my home.

  THE REST of the drive was spent with small talk, even though I wanted to be a good passenger - I was in no mood to chitchat when now the weight of my future laid on my shoulders.

  We arrive in Phoenix and I pull up the maps for where Gunnar rented a house. As we pulled up to the front of it, Mr. Lyons blows a faint whistle.

  “Quite the palace for Spring Training,” he observes.

  “Go big or go home.” I reply with my hand on the door. “Thank you for the ride, it would have been shit to sit any longer in that airport. I don’t even see any signs of a monsoon. Stupid weatherman.”

  “That’s the thrill of a monsoon. Here one minute, gone the other,” he smiles. “Get some work done. I want some new information on the farm boys, sprinkle in some with the usual guys and don’t forget to have fun.”

  “Thanks boss!” I reply getting out of the car, removing my suitcase from the backseat and rolling it up to the front door.

  I knock on the door, hoping that I got the right address because this place is intense. As I’m looking at the stucco on the outside of the house, the front door opens up to a massive inside with my man standing right in front of me.

  He’s wearing a navy-blue sweatshirt and basketball shorts. His hair looks like it’s still wet from a shower and that he’s ran his hands through a million times. He hasn’t shaved in a few days, but he looks gorgeous with a little stubble. My heart leaps as his eyes crinkle with his smile. All my worries have melted away with the warm smile on his face as he pulls me into him and breathes me in.

  “Fuck, I’m so glad that you’re here. I’ve needed you here like you couldn’t believe,” he says into my hair as he pulls me further inside the house and closes the door with his foot.

  “This place.” I start.

  “What do you think? Cool, right?” he asks.

  “I mean, for just you, it’s a little much, don’t you think?”

  “Well, you’re here now - so it’s not just me. I’ve also had a few of the guys come and go. We had a party that first weekend and I wanted to test out a bigger space.”

  He led me in the house while trailing my suitcase behind him. The house was insanely huge and had an open floor plan inside. I wasn’t sure where to even look. It was also the complete opposite of our modern condo that we live in with more grays and stainless steel surfaces than beiges and creams, but this is Arizona, so likely that’s a staple in every home here.

  “Bent is going to come by for some grub tonight, I hope that’s cool. He said he wanted to pick your brain about something.” Gunnar says as he leans against the kitchen counter.

  “What’s for dinner?” I ask.

  “I was thinking some tacos. I’m craving some freaking guacamole and I know you love my tacos - so why the heck not, right?”

  I smile in agreement.

  “Good. Now, we have approximately forty-five minutes until Bently gets over here, I plan to ravage you and rock your world upside down within that time. Phone sex and FaceTiming our dirty moments just don’t compete with the real thing.”

  He pushes off the counter and wraps his arms around my middle and pulls me flush against him. He trails kisses from the top of my shoulder, up my neck to my ear with his lips lingering as he whispers to me.

  “I want to make up for the lost time that we’ve been away from one another.” His voice drips with pure sex, sending shivers across my body as his teeth pull on my earlobe. My hand travels down his body and I cup his erection through his shorts, emitting a low groan from him. Still standing in the kitchen, we waste no time peeling off one another’s clothes. Once we’re both bare naked, he strokes his cock twice and turns me to face the counter. His fingers graze the space between my legs, with his fingers lightly dipping into me, causing my body to tingle from the contact. With tenderness and a loud groan, he slides into me. He pulls out and we both groan from the friction. With perfect control, Gunnar begins to thrust into me until he can’t hold onto it anymore. His rhythm picks up and he squeezes the sides of my hips.

  “Fuck! Gunnar!” I groan. “I’ve missed you.”

  His hands move from my hips to my shoulders as he braces himself and pushes in and out of me. I reach down between my body and the counter to find my clit and rub lightly on my pleasure nub.

  “I need to feel you come on my cock babe,” he hisses.

  As if he was directing my orgasm, I felt the tingly sensation, and then the stars were erupting, all sound was muted and I lost my breath. W
ith my pussy pulsing and his cock twitching inside of me, I felt content. I’ve missed him.

  The real thing sure was a lot better than doing it over the phone, I will agree with him on that one.

  FOUR

  GUNNAR

  BEING AWAY from Sawyer for two whole weeks, made me insane. Only talking to her through video chat was killing me and I knew that I would have to bring up the topic of a potential trade in person. While the discussion was an important one, it wasn’t one to have in the presence of Bently.

  So, the topic would have to wait - but I didn’t want to wait long, especially since Sawyer has likely learned of the topic since she has a direct line to all chatter in the field.

  Bently was popping another guacamole-coated chip into his mouth and talking around his chewing.

  “So, you know me Chainsaw, I’m fucking private. While, I know that you’re like a reporter kind of, I trust the hell out of you and want to run something by you,” he starts.

  “This is scaring me. That was one hell of a start. Are you going share something important with the group?” I joke.

  “Fuck you Reynolds.” Bently laughs shooting me daggers with his eyes.

  “Ignore him, I do,” she smiles as she leans toward him.

  We are seated at the huge table in the dining area, Bently is sitting across from Sawyer and she and I are on the other side of the table. My hand is resting on her bare thigh and trailing light patterns up and down, causing goose bumps to dot along her skin.

  “There’s this lady that I’m somewhat feeling. But I’m not sure if I can tell if she’s a chaser or someone that’s genuine.”

  Sawyer looks to me and I return the confused look.

  “You’re asking me for relationship advice?” She asks pointing to her chest.

  “You’ve managed to put up with dip shit here, and you know the scene and the life that we all live, so yeah - I mean - I haven’t had a relationship in years and I would be a shit judge of character.”