Clutch Endgame

by Tarrah Anders

  “I’ve known him for coming up six years and he’s never had a lady. In fact, I’ve always referred to him as the monk,” I say to the room.

  “Okay, so - wow how would I even approach this?” She says under her breath. “Who is the woman?”

  “Her name is Sicily, just like the city in Italy,” he returns.

  “Interesting name, and how do you know her?” Sawyer asks leaning in towards him.

  “She’s someone that travels here to spring training every year, focuses heavily on me and she comes to all our home games too. That’s what confuses me about her; die-hard fans come to spring training. But then when she and I have had opportunities to chat in length, she was … different.”

  “She lives in San Diego?” I ask and Bently nods.

  “She holds season tickets that used to belong to her pop.” Bently states.

  “How did you guys get to talking, if she’s more on the fan side rather than the business side of the game?” Sawyer asks.

  “We ran into one another one night last week, we were both dining alone, so we combined tables.” Bently shrugs. “I recognized her, approached her even.”

  “So you’ve only talked with her once?” Sawyer asks.

  I observe the back and forth and smile, watching my two favorite people talk, listening to Bently ask for dating advice - from my woman.

  “No, well kind of. I’ve seen her in San Diego at the field. We just never really spoken until the other night. I liked her, and I just don’t know if she’s one of those fans or the real deal - you know - like you are.” He compliments. “Like how you knew that Chainsaw was legit?” Bently directs to me.

  “She didn’t know who I was. She also put herself first; she just started her job and didn’t want my shit to sour her reputation there, even after we started something. I like that she knows who she is and while I may not like it, she can do amazing without me. But she won’t ever get that chance, because she’s stuck with me like gum is stuck to the bottom of a shoe.” I reply with Sawyer’s fingers interlaced with mine.

  “See, he’s annoying as shit sometimes, and you still put up with him.” Bently laughs.

  “He makes up for it in other areas.” she shrugs with a hint of a smile as she squeezes my hand.

  THAT NIGHT, Sawyer lays across my chest with her fingers tracing the chainsaw that I had tattooed on my right bicep. The tattoo that I got for her a year after everyone started calling her by her nickname.

  “I’ve missed this,” she says to me.

  “You have no idea. I’m just happy that you’ll be here the rest of the time I’m here, and we can go home together.”

  “You’re not going to ride home on the team bus?” She asks.

  “About that, have you heard the rumors?” I ask, broaching the subject.

  She’s silent for a moment and then quietly says; “I did.”

  “I have a meeting back at the offices when Spring Training is over. The team doesn’t want to let me go, but there’s something about draft picks and I’m not sure what else. I think there’s several offers on the table and I’m willing to give each a chance to consider.”

  “That would mean moving.” She sits up, the sheet of the bed falling to her waist granting me ample viewing of her luscious breasts.

  “It could, yes. Nothing is determined; hell I could still stay in San Diego.” I say to try to assure her.

  “But, what if you don’t? What if the best trade deal is all the way across the country? Then what do we do? Long distance relationships never work out and I’m not completely sure that I can give up everything that I have accomplished in my career to follow you around from city to city, every time that you get traded. It’s hard for me to say that, but I need to be my own person too. I don’t want to lose this, us – but I also can’t sacrifice my career. I know that there are agencies everywhere, but that terrifies me, starting over.”

  “Let’s not worry too much just yet. We can weigh all the options as they come. We can discuss our steps. I don’t want to lose you, and I also don’t want you to lose yourself in our relationship.”

  “Okay,” she says quietly.

  “You know what I love about you?” I say, likely confusing her with my change of subject and when she doesn’t reply, I continue anyways. “I love that you are fierce. You don’t care about my status and what that status can do for you. You want to blaze your own path, have your own identity and career. I fucking admire that. And I think that no matter how successful that I get, you won’t ever lose that. I love that about you.” Her body language relaxes, and she smiles, pushing the hair that had fallen into her face.

  “When this whole trade talk begins, I will keep you abreast of everything that is discussed, I will not make any decisions without you and I just need you to promise me that we keep out minds and options open. I’m not asking you to sacrifice yourself for me and my career, but know that if I’m traded, I have the choice to turn it down. You can be my sugar mama.” I continue with a smile.

  She slides on top of me to straddle me. All that she’s wearing is underwear, and I’m commando with my hardening cock in between us.

  “I love you Gunnar Reynolds. I love you with every ounce of my being and whatever path we choose to take, I want to take it together. I want to be your equal and you know that I can only do that by having my own career. I know it may not be optimal, but I have to do that for me. I will not shut out the possibility of moving out of San Diego, but I’m not going to lie and tell you that that possibility doesn’t scare the shit out of me.”

  My hands go to grip the top of her thighs as she slowly brushes her pussy against me.

  “It scares me shitless too, but I know that together - we can conquer anything handed to us.” I groan out as she moves the panel of her panties to the side leans up on her knees and sinks down on me with her fingers lacing with mine on her thighs. She circles her hips and slides up and down on my cock as I watch it disappear in and out of her.

  Her eyes are hooded with desire as they latch onto mine as her mouth drops open with my cock plunging in deep with each push and pull. Her hips crash down as she begins to pick up her speed, leaning down so both her hands are on either side of my head as she lifts her ass up and down.

  “Don’t.” I plead to her when she starts to slow.

  “Don’t what?” She asks panting.

  “Don’t stop.” I whisper in response. She continues with her ministrations, bringing herself to the peak of her own orgasm.

  Later that night, with Sawyer asleep draped across my chest, I move my fingers through the strands of her hair. Without much information pertaining to a possible trade for me, I don’t have the slightest clue what will happen for the future that Sawyer and I were planning on having in San Diego. I’m just hoping that where I go next, she will be with me.

  FIVE

  SAWYER

  “YOUR FARM STATS tell us that you have a batting average of .221, do you have a particular set of practice routines that you complete to have such an average?” I ask one of the new recruits that the team has this year.

  He is young, cocky with golden skin and shaggy brown hair, hanging out of the sides of his ball cap. He spits his sunflower seed shell out before answering my question, it landing beside my foot. Gross.

  “No ma’am. I just hit ‘em whenever they look like they need to be hit,” he winks at me.

  I ignore the wink and look to my next question, while fighting an eye roll.

  “You were drafted in the middle of your senior year of high school, any aspirations to continue with your education?”

  “What would I need to do that for? All I wanna do is play ball.”

  “You know, for a backup plan, in case baseball doesn’t last forever or pan out.” I say in a parental tone of voice. I’ve seen enough guys in baseball injure themselves and never play again to know it’s always smart to have a back-up plan, hell with anything it is.

  “Nah, I’ll figure it all out if somethi
ng comes along. I was born to play ball, and I’ll play ball until I can’t no more,” he replies throwing another sunflower seed into his mouth. He works his mouth around to crack the seed and then spits out the shell.

  “You’re from Tennessee, correct?” I ask.

  “Yes Ma’am,” he says nodding his head.

  “And how do you feel about coming to San Diego?” I ask.

  “I’m looking forward to being surrounded by beauty. Beautiful women, as yourself,” he nods to me. ”Beautiful weather, and beaches and landscapes.”

  “It really is a beautiful city.” I agree with him.

  “So, tell me…” he spits out another shell. “What has you interviewing baseball players? You like the sport?”

  “I do.” I nod. I rustle through my gambit of notes that I ask each player.

  “Who is your baseball idol?” I ask carrying on with my rounds of questions.

  “That’s easy. Mark McSweede. He carved the way for guys in Tennessee to become what they idolized, and I’m no different.”

  I make a mental note to ask Gunnar about McSweede later. I continue with my interview and then move to the next person. I ask different questions to make sure my write-ups don’t all sound the same. By the end of the morning, I’m talked out.

  I’m sitting a table in the back of the stadium cafeteria, when Gunnar and Bently come to join me. I close my laptop and move aside some of my notes so the guys can sit with me.

  “Busy day?” Bently asks as I offer the guys a quick smile.

  Two more players join our table and wave in greetings as they sit down. Soon, the table is full of big guys with too much food on their plates, all talking animatedly about their day. They have a practice game tomorrow that they’re all talking about to drown out my thoughts and the attention away from me.

  “You okay?” Gunnar whispers.

  “Some of the interviews today have been like pulling teeth.” I reply.

  “Do I need to put anybody straight?” Gunnar puffs out his chest in jest.

  “No, not at all.” I shake my head and take a bite out of my sandwich.

  The door slamming open and then shut at the opposite side of the room directs everyone’s attention. As the team coaches walk into the cafeteria and the room goes silent as they all stand in a line just inside the door, demanding attention.

  “Listen up!” The coach shouts. He waits for everyone’s attention to the front of the room and to quiet down.

  With his hands on his hips, his stance rigged and his expression stern. He waits several moments before speaking up again.

  “We have a week and a half left for Spring Training; some of you guys still have a lot to prove to the team if you want a spot in the line-up. If you want to be on the roster, then man up and show us your shit. We are getting tired of waiting around for you guys to show your stuff. We’re not waiting around anymore. See the board for the line-up for tomorrow’s game. I want everyone to be on their A-games. We’ll be keeping a watchful eye on each and every one of you.” The group of guys hoot and holler, some of the grumble under their breath and the rest of them are silent. “Chainsaw!” he shouts locking eyes with me.

  I stand and wait for him to continue.

  “My office,” he shouts and then turns on his heel.

  A slew of “Oh’s” echo as if I’m getting sent to the principal’s office. My eyes on Gunnar with a confused look on his face as I shrug. I bend and peck Gunnar on the cheek before I say my goodbyes to the table, zigzag through the cafeteria until I’m in the hallway, and make my way down to the coach’s office.

  I knock gently on the door and hear a muffled enter greeting and as I open the door - he’s sitting down behind his desk. He folds his hands and leans forward as he waits for me to sit down.

  “You know that I enjoy the thorough coverage that your agency does with the team,” he starts immediately. “I don’t want this information to reflect on my thoughts of you and all that you’ve done for us. This was by no means my decision, but the ownership. They have signed a contract with another agency for all our media relations.”

  Panic engulfs me.

  “I’m sorry sir; I’m not sure what you’re saying here.” I clear my throat and say.

  “The Hornets are discontinuing services with your agency.”

  SIX

  GUNNAR

  THE FRONT DOOR to the house slams and I hear Sawyer’s heavy footsteps as she walks through the tiled front of the home and into the kitchen.

  I’m cutting a tomato in slices for a sandwich and just about to slice again when she bursts around the counter.

  Her eyes are puffy, and her nose is red. She slams her shoulder bag onto the top of the counter and blows out a long breath as she looks at me with her bottom lip trembling. I didn’t see her after lunch for our afternoon practices, so I didn’t get a chance to speak to her.

  “Babe?” I ask.

  She holds up her hand and looks down to the top of the counter.

  “I’m no longer working with The Hornets,” her tone is void of emotion with her bottom lip trembling.

  “You got fired?” I ask.

  “No, yes. I guess so. The team is going with another agency. Your coach said that it had nothing to do with me. The owners made the decision and didn’t give him full details.”

  “Fuck. You have helped the team so much the past few years. What other freaking agency could do a better job that what you guys are doing? Where’s my phone?”

  “No! Don’t’ call. That would be unprofessional of the both of us. I don’t want to think about it anymore. I want to drink. I need to drink, and then I want you to take me to bed and have your wild way with me.” She leans forward and asks.

  MY ARM IS FIRMLY around Sawyer’s waist as I walk her into the bedroom and pull her to my side when she almost face plants into the wall beside the doorway.

  I let her go when she’s close enough to the bed and she lands with an ‘umph’ and runs her hands along the comforter of the bed.

  “I love furniture,” she slurs. “Furniture is a funny word. I love that too. Do you think that the word road is pronounced weird…? It should be ro-ad. I love words, they’re nice.”

  I hold in my laughter and go to the closet to grab something for her to change into. Once I turn back around and I see that Sawyer is passed out, half on and half off the bed.

  I shake my head, carefully remove her pants and then pull her up to the top of the bed and under the covers. I grab a glass of water and some aspirin and place it beside her side of the bed, with a wastebasket. I leave the light on in the closet just in case and turn off the bedroom light.

  I walk back into the kitchen, grab my phone from the countertop and dial the Skipper, knowing that I shouldn’t be, but I know that I need to hear it from him myself.

  “Listen son, I know why you’re calling and I had nothing to do with the Chainsaw’s agency being replaced, I’m sorry.” he says as soon as he answers.

  “How long ago did you find all this out?” I ask.

  “You know I cannot discuss anything further with you Gun. In fact, I don’t know anything more than you do. But besides that, it’s a discussion between management.”

  “I get that, but with all due respect sir; she’s been a huge asset to the team for the past four years.”

  “I agree Gunnar, but again - this matter was a decision that was made by a pay grade higher than myself and again, it wouldn’t be a decision that we would have discussed with players,” he says sternly. “It’s business, son.”

  “Understood. Thank you though, for picking up the phone and speaking with me.”

  “Get some rest; even though you won’t be playing tomorrow, you need to be in prime shape just in case. What I’ve seen from these farm boys is that they need a lot more work if they want to play this season.”

  “What about Bellows sir?”

  “Bellows is going to have a lot of catching up to do this season; he’s doing his own kind of conditioni
ng. More on that later though. You’re still set to head back to town early for the meetings we discussed this afternoon, correct?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Good. Get some rest, and again - I’m sorry about the Chainsaw.”

  I hang up the phone and run my hand through my hair.

  This brings a completely new level to the possibility of being traded. This means that Sawyer will start up with a completely new main client and that would be another reason that it would be difficult for her to come with me.

  Suddenly, I’m feeling uncertain about everything and like my life is about to get out of my own control.

  SEVEN

  SAWYER

  THE FACT that I lost my number one and only client is still a reality when I’m sobered up and dragging ass today. I laid in bed all morning not wanting to come to terms with the fact that I would need to do some adulting today. To call my boss and ask him what I’m supposed to do next.

  Do I need to be back in San Diego?

  Will I have another huge client like the Hornets or multiple clients?

  I’ve spent the last few years, notably the length of my employment at OPS focusing solely on The Hornets as requested from the team management, so this will be the first time that I could have more than one client at a time, and I’m not sure what to expect.

  I’m not completely sure if I am more nervous or if I’m scared of starting something new. Which also goes hand in hand with whether or not Gunnar is traded, what do I do then?

  I scrub my face in the shower and get lost in the routine. In circular motions with my fingertips, I exfoliate and take in the peach scented face wash when I realize that I’ve already smelled that scent today. I’ve already washed my face. I turn toward the water and rinse off my face again. I shut off the water and quickly dry myself. I flip over and rub the towel over my hair and then come back to a standing position and grab my moisturizer from my traveling kit.