I press the phone icon and call her. The phone rings once and then goes to voicemail. She sent me to her voicemail. On purpose.
“Hey, Sawyer, It’s Gunnar. So, I got your texts. I think that we should talk about all this. Can you give me a call, please?” I end the call, pocket my phone, and continue to my building.
The streets are a combination of loud and silent at the same time. Fans that tailgated in the parking lot adjacent to the ballpark meandered the streets and in the dark corners are groups of individuals who are unfortunate and live on the streets. Some try to blend in with their surroundings while others block the sidewalks and create a commotion. This part of the downtown area, there is a significant smell of urine that means this area is heavily populated by the homeless and their discarded belongings. I quickly walk through the area and come upon the street my building is on. Within minutes, I’m opening the heavy door and slipping inside. I nod to the door attendant and head to the elevator.
The smart side of my conscious is telling me that I should go to Sawyer’s and figure out what the hell she meant by her text messages, but I’m an idiot, instead I hurry through my condo and leave again to meet everyone at the Mission. I will wait for her to call me back or something, and hope that she actually does. I do not want to force myself into her space as she’s pissed off. Besides, I think something is up with Melinda and I need to speak to her anyways.
I’M at the bar for twenty minutes before I get tired of the same old crap. My usual night after a game would be to hang out here with the guys, pick up a female, bang one out either at the bar itself or at her place and then head home for a good night’s rest. Right now, I’m agitated by the texts and radio silence from Sawyer and Melinda won’t leave my side.
I finish my drink, stand and pull out my wallet.
“Hey Gun, would you mind walking me home? I don’t want to spend the extra cash on an Uber tonight,” Melinda asks.
This is the perfect opportunity for this conversation. I nod my head and bid farewell to my teammates. Melinda walks in front of me, and then pauses as soon as we leave the bar. Photographers are out front snapping photos and shouting out questions. We swerve around the small crowd and make our way to the street. She crowds my side, but my hands stay in my pockets, so I don’t create any more unwelcome headlines, especially with another woman.
“Mel, I need you to do something about the news headlines happening about me.”
“Oh yeah?” She peers at me through the corner of her eye.
“Isn’t that part of your job, to keep the media on our good side?”
“Well, that’s why I told them you were being played. Didn’t want the ladies of San Diego to think that Gunnar Reynolds was settling down,” she says with laugh.
I stop walking, stunned at her nonchalant admission. Melinda takes a few more steps before realizing that I’ve stopped.
“What?” she asks innocently.
“You can’t be serious right now.”
“I’m not understanding here. Gun, you are one of the most eligible bachelors in the city. Hell, days before you met that girl, you had two women in your hotel room at the same time. Over the summer, I had to clean up what seemed like a opening lineup of walk of shames. Since when do you want to be in a relationship with someone?”
“You said that you told the press that I was being played, why?”
“If you spin a story the right way, even though you’re being a manwhore, you’ll get the sympathy vote.”
“So, you fed the media a pack of lies?” I was appalled by the turn of this conversation.
“I exaggerated. I don’t know what happened between you and that girl, but I may or may not have said to them that she wasn’t only dating you, hence the player is being played.”
“I don’t even know what to say right now.” My hands are fisted, my jaw is ticking, and my heart is beating erratically.
“Thank you?” she quirks her head in question.
“Far from it. I actually like Sawyer, a lot. You know that I barely glance at what the media says, I wouldn’t be asking you to do something about this shit if I didn’t.”
“I see,” she says slowly.
“I need you to retract whatever statements, or spin the story a different way, like a wrong information thing or something. I don’t know, just do your fucking job,” I keep my tone even and calm, even though I feel far from it.
“Listen Gun, maybe it’s better for you to not hang out with this girl, maybe if you guys broke up, or whatever, that would be best. Good publicity for your brand and for the team.”
“My brand? Don’t you fucking dare tell me what is best for me. You don’t know me, Mel. You know the team player, the surface Gunnar Reynolds. Not a single iota of you knows who I actually am.”
She crosses her arms and sighs. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“I mean, I don’t know what I could say to make any of it go away. The news is already out there, just go with it.”
“You’ll figure it out, or I will go to the press myself, and while I’m at it I’ll discuss with the team the slander that came from your fucking throat.” My breathing is ragged. “You need to pull out your phone and call yourself an Uber. If I go anywhere further with you, I may lose it. I’ll wait for the car with you, but we’re done talking.”
She dials and then we wait in silence. She with her arms crossed and pouting a mere ten steps away from me. My body is on edge and I’m just taking in deep breaths to not say anything more to Melinda.
It felt like the longest ten minutes of my life, and I play baseball, the best sport to watch as a spectator live, but the longest game sometimes to watch on Television.
SIX
SAWYER
EARLIER TODAY, I was called into my bosses’ office again. It’s my third week at my new job and even though my boss now understands that my relationship with Gunnar is not affecting my work quality, it is still affecting the office and the random phone calls with photographers who camp out on our steps. I get side-glances from all the staff, and I hear whispers. So far, work sucks.
My phone has not stopped blowing up either, since the latest news story came out. This time a photo from a past relationship surfaced with the article, and some not so nice words about me are spewed across the page. My parents and a few of my friends are worried, hell, so was I.
There was another small story that surfaced in regards to my family life, and identifying my parents as poor and my using Gunnar for money. While my parents and I know the truth regarding that specific story, it’s getting personal and I’m not sure if I can handle it.
I know it wasn’t fair of me to send text messages to Gunnar when I knew that it was a game day. I knew now that he wouldn’t reply to me until much later, and I took that opportunity to just end things with him and then ignore his attempts to get me to listen to him.
He was a sweet talker. His gorgeous smile and his bright blue eyes would talk me into streaking through a crowded area if it came down to it. He made it clear that he didn’t pay attention to the media, and while I give him props for giving no fucks, I can’t do the same.
I give all the fucks.
I didn’t torture myself by watching the game. I binge watched Outlander and then promptly fell asleep as Jamie and Claire were riding horses along the beautiful landscape of a country that I can only dream about.
I wake up to pounding on my door, my television stuck on the menu screen and popcorn sticking to my cheek. I slowly pull myself to a sitting position, thinking that I dreamt the pounding on my door, until it happens again. With a groan, I stand and right my clothes, pluck off the popcorn on my face and shuffle my feet to the front door. I release the lock and open the door to Gunnar breathing heavily on the other side.
“We need to talk,” he huffs, his hands on the doorway.
“No, no we don’t Gunnar. I need to go back to sleep, forget about you and go on with my life full of dating other men, or whatever.” I begin t
o close the door, but am met with Gunnar adding pressure to the door.
“It was Mel. She planted ideas in the press,” he says quickly.
“What? Why?” I open the door further and look to him for answers.
“She had stupid reasons that I couldn’t give a crap about. I ordered her to take it back and to not say any more lies.”
“You ordered her?”
“I may have threatened her with slander, but yeah. Can I please come in? I’m sorry, I just need to be around something good right now.”
I look at him quizzingly and after a moment, I shrug and open the door more as I step aside. He takes a seat on my couch and runs his hands nervously against the tops of his thick muscular thighs. He looks to me expectantly, and I cross my arms waiting for him to speak first. I don’t need to start this conversation, this is his show.
I lean against the corner of the wall separating the living space from the hallway to the bedroom as I patiently wait for him to begin speaking. We look at each other and he soon shifts his posture and begins to speak.
“I asked Melinda to do something about the media stuff that has been posted about us, she flat out told me that she told the press lies.”
“And then what?”
“I asked her to make retractions.”
“And?”
“I told her that if she didn’t, it wouldn’t be good for her.”
“Do you think that she is going to do this?”
“We’ll see. I told her that I would talk to the media myself and let the whole truth out, including the lies that our media team came up with to sensationalize the headlines.”
My arms are crossed, I’m trying to stay firm to my decision of not dating Gunnar anymore, despite my attraction to him and then he comes to the defense and makes me want to melt and run into his arms.
“What do you want me to say, Gun? That I take back what I texted you earlier?” I pull up my big girl panties and ask, despite the need to run into his arms.
“I’m here telling you that I’m taking charge. That I’m doing as you asked. I’m also asking for your forgiveness for not doing anything sooner. I don’t want to make any excuses, but I fucked up and thought that everything would go away on it’s own. I’m not used to giving a fuck about someone else, but I want to. I want to think about you and give that fuck. I want to be with you and I want to put in the work.”
I hold my place against the wall. I keep my expression neutral as I assess him. He’s confident and not wavering in his attitude. We’re both silent before he stands, sticks his hands inside his pockets and looks from his feet to me.
“I’ll just go. I’m sorry that this shit is interfering with your work. I like you, I really like you. But I don’t want to fuck up what you have going for you. I want to be a part of your life, but I also want to prove to you that I’m worth the risk.”
“Worth the risk?” I ask.
“I’m sorry that your family and friends are reading this shit.”
“I want to be with you, Gunnar, I do. But I need this stuff to go away,” I defend my stance.
“I understand,” he says. “I want you to choose me. There were paps out tonight, I’m not sure what will be in the news tomorrow, but the conversation with Melinda happened on the street. Whatever the reports say tomorrow morning, I’m not with her, I’m with you, whether you have me or not. You got me. Not her, regardless of whatever headlines are spun tomorrow.”
“I have you?” I ask.
“You’ve got me.”
The door clicks behind him and I’m left wondering what next will come. Will I have the strength to deal with it?
REYNOLDS STEPS OUT
That was the headline for the local celebrity stories when I open up the web browser in the morning.
There are associating images with the headline showing Gunnar with Melinda a step ahead of him smiling, but the look on Gunnar’s face reflects nothing endearing towards her. Based on his parting words last night, I know what was transpiring in these photos, and it was likely either before or after the conversation where Melinda spewed her truths dressed as excuses to Gunnar.
Caption under the photo states; “Gunnar Reynolds recently reported of dating local Marketing Consultant for a privately owned business in Mission Valley, Sawyer Rotham, currently stepping out of relationship with Hornets Media staff publicist, Melinda Pittman.” I shake my head and click out of the browser as I tidy up my desk when my desk line rings.
I answer it and a pause before someone speaks announcing they’re from the local newspaper, before they even finish their introduction, I hang up the receiver. That happens a few more times, before I leave my cubicle and wander around the office. I catch small conversations here and there and stumble upon random laughter throughout the building. I walk into the staff lounge full of co-workers from all different parts of the agency, the room goes silent, and eyes try to look everywhere but to me. I halt my steps as I walk into the room, and my confidence wavers as I continue past tables of my peers, watching me out of the corner of their eyes, while they shovel food into their mouths with their heads down, blatantly ignoring me, but also alert to my movements.
Without a word or a glance at anyone else, I do what I needed to do and retreat from the staff lounge and return to my cubicle to eat my lunch alone. Since starting this job, I haven’t had a chance to make any friends. Sure, I would make small talk here and there, but I haven’t been able to get the real feel of friendship with anyone that I talked to. The rest of my day continues with the silent treatment from the office. The hushed tones, the covert looks, and the avoidance were uncomfortable, and I couldn’t wait to get home. My cell phone vibrated throughout the day from my purse, but I avoided the device as if it was contaminated.
It wasn’t until I was wearing my flannel sweat pants, and an oversized t-shirt that I glanced at my phone. There were voicemails and texts from my mother, Kim and lastly Gunnar. Gunnar was pleading with me to not pay attention to the news, and for me to call him. I don’t want to talk to anyone right now, and yet the knocking on my front door is telling me that I’m not going to get what I want.
I can ignore the loud knocking, but then my curiosity over who it is will gnaw at me. I slowly stand and tiptoe over to the door. The knocking gets louder the closer I get. Part of me is hoping that it’s Gunnar, and the other part of me just hopes it’s someone at the wrong door.
“I know you’re in there! I can hear the pounding of your heart!” Kim yells from the other side of the door.
I smile and shake my head as I reach for the doorknob.
“It’s about time. Why haven’t you called or even texted me back?” she asks her hands on her hips with an exasperated look on her face that is more humor than annoyance.
“I have this thing, it’s called a job. They pay you to be there and do things.”
“Sounds like you’re a hooker,” she says pushing past me and helping herself to my kitchen.
“You would know.” I roll my eyes and close the door, trailing after her in the wake of her flowery perfume.
“So, what’s this? What’s happening here?” she asks waving her phone in my direction.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say perching myself up on the counter.
“It’s Taco Tuesday, and you look frumpy and pathetic.”
“Wow. Harsh words. Where’s the love? And the tacos?”
“Ask Fergie Ferg.” She shrugs.
“You’re on a whole different level, you know that right?”
“That’s why you love me.”
“What brings you over here?” I ask nonchalantly.
“Are you going to pretend that you aren’t dating the Hornets’ Catcher? The very fine, Gunnar Reynolds? The man who has been rumored to be a playboy, but until recently has been spending spend several nights with just one woman, who also looks like you and has your exact name? I mean the ladies’ man, the guy who would be linked to many chicks in one week alone, is now
off the market.”
“Gee, Kim. You’re sure painting him as a harlot.”
“Well, he was until you came along. I looked him up; he was never photographed on dates with actual women-.”
“So has he been photographed with fake women?” I cut her off from her train of thought and keep a straight face.
“You know what I mean. You suck, you know that?” Kim leans back against the counter and quirks her eyebrow. “You are dating The Gun, the one and only Gunnar Reynolds.”
“You already said that.”
“I haven’t heard you confirm or deny these accusations.”
“I broke things off. We’re nothing anymore.”
“What?” Her jaw drops.
My phone buzzes on the coffee table in the other room. Kim and I eye each other as the buzzing stops. A moment later, it began again, and in slow motion, the both of us darted into the living room and dived over the couch, each landing on the cushions with our hands reached out. Kim has her hand on my phone and she slides her finger on the screen, leans forward out of my grasp and answers my phone.
“‘Ello?”
I do not hear the other side of the conversation; however, from the look on Kim’s face, I know the caller is Gunnar.
I have stopped fighting and lean back on the couch, curious. Kim looks at me, her lips parted and her eyebrow raised.
“Gunnar, I assume?”
Kim pauses.
“This is Sawyer’s friend, Kim. I think everything you just said was really good, and I’m glad that you ran it by me first.” Pause.
“Yeah, she’s sitting next to me. No, she’s not mad at you.”
Pause.
“No, she definitely likes you.”
Pause.
“I’m sure that she would love it if you came over.”
Pause.
I’m waving my hands frantically to get her attention as I shake my head.
Clutch Endgame Page 5