29. The Twist
29
THE TWIST
Gunnar
I have two special guests at the ballpark on Sunday. My mom flew up from Virginia and my little brother, Charlie, took the train from Connecticut, where he goes to college.
Owen meets my family and me by the first-base line and gives them a tour of the Comets ballpark, along with the Comets PR guy.
“Don’t even think about changing allegiances and becoming a Comets fan,” I tell my mom when we return to her section of the stands.
She gives me a sneaky grin, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “But this is such a nice ballpark.”
Charlie adopts a serious expression. “Much nicer than yours, Gun,” he says.
Owen clears his throat. “I’m so sorry I arranged for that tour,” he deadpans.
Mom smiles and then brings Owen in for a hug. “That was lovely. Thank you.”
Once he takes off to do PR things, I sit with Mom and Charlie for a few minutes, catching up. Mom shows me pics of the new screened-in pool she enjoys in the summers.
“You’re living the life, Mom,” I say, proud that I could do this for her. She still lives modestly in a standard three-bedroom house. But she owns it outright and doesn’t have to worry about bills. That’s all that matters.
“And loving it, sweetheart,” she says, patting my thigh, currently covered by my baseball pants.
I give her a hug, then turn to Charlie. “I’ll hit you a homer, kid.”
He laughs. “Yeah, right.”
“You doubt me?”
“Um, yeah. Just a little bit,” he says, the way little brothers do. I jump up, ruffle his hair, and head to the steps to get ready for the game. “Just watch me.”
In the seventh inning, I make good on my promise to Charlie, going deep and sending two runners home. When I hit home plate, I turn toward the first-base line and blow a kiss to my family.
After the game, when a local sports reporter pulls me aside by the dugout and asks who the kiss was for, I answer, “Mom and my little bro. Love them to the ends of the earth and back.”
We finish her questions, and I leave the field. But I do a double take when I spot Finn Michaels. The sharp-dressed sports journalist rarely hits the field. He’s not a beat reporter. He’s basically... the most powerful reporter in sports. He knows about every trade, deal, and contract before it happens. He’s uncovered cheating scandals, steroid use, gambling rings, and probably who killed JFK. He’s revered and feared.
Decked out in tailored slacks and a crisp salmon shirt, the good-looking man makes his way to the Comets dugout, then disappears in it.
Interesting . I tuck the oddity away in my brain. I’ll have to ask Tanner what that’s about.
In the morning, I take my family out for breakfast, then we go full tourist and visit Central Park and The Met.
The latter was Mom’s idea. “I always wanted to study art,” she says as we wander past the Impressionists.
“Then you should take a class.”
She laughs. “Or maybe I’ll just get a book.”
I buy her one in the gift shop, then we take Charlie to Grand Central Terminal and put him on a train back to school.
That night, Mom comes to my game, and once more, we win.
“Sweep, sweep, sweep!” I chant in the locker room to Shane, Zane, and the rest of the team. The guys get in on the chant too.
Mom and I grab a late dinner, and in the morning, I take her to the airport. It was a good weekend. I spent time with my family, I spent time with my sport, and I racked up some of my best stats so far this season.
Thoughts of Rafe didn’t distract me a bit, and I think that maybe, just maybe, I can have it all—the man for thirty days and the life I want.
Mom boards her flight and I head to the team plane, still buoyed by the wins.
I drop into a seat next to Zane and slap his thigh. “We are the champions. I can fucking smell the postseason. Can you?”
He lifts his nose and inhales deep. “Oh, yeah! And it smells like recirculated air and victory.”
I crack up.
During the flight home, I chat with the guys, catch up with them on their families and friends, and then Zane and I watch a British comedy we love. Shane joins us for a critique of the accents. In my head, though, I hear my favorite British voice.
The flight home is a stark contrast to my flight there. I didn’t do it intentionally, but I proved I can balance the intensity of Rafe with my devotion to baseball and my family.
Somewhere over Utah, most of the guys have fallen asleep and the plane is quiet. But Zane’s up, so I turn to him and say quietly, “I think I’m going to see Rafe again.”
And wow. A weight lifts from my shoulders at having made a decision and voicing it to my trusted friend.
Zane smiles slyly. “Nice! I knew you couldn’t resist him.”
I lean back in the seat, feeling confident and more like myself.
“I’m not going to fall in love, just so you know,” I declare. “I’m going to win the bet, and I’m going to get laid. That. Is. All.”
Zane pats me on the shoulder, like whatever you say . “Sure, sure. I’m just glad you’re going to get some.”
Me fucking too.
When the plane lands, I send a text to Rafe.
One word.
Gunnar: Yes.
Then I follow it up with a request.
Gunnar: Can I see you tonight?
His reply comes in two minutes. It includes only his address and a time.
I head to my car, walking on air, and my phone rings. I figure it’ll be Rafe, all sexy and dirty, maybe giving me orders in advance. I’m about to answer with a hey babe when I see my agent’s calling.
I pick up. “Hey, Josh. What’s up?”
“You. Me. Drinks. I have deals to discuss with you. Deals that will make you very, very happy.”
Could this day get any better? Thank you, universe, for rewarding me. I am No Distractions Gunnar.
That evening, I meet Josh for drinks at The Spotted Zebra, a bar near my home. I spot him outside the watering hole, and he’s all smiles and swagger as I stride up to join him. “You definitely look like you have all the sweet deals for me,” I say.
“Yes, I do,” Josh says, then claps my shoulder.
We go inside and order drinks, then I can’t wait any longer. “Bring it on,” I say, beckoning for him to tell me the news.
Josh holds up one finger. “First. Boyfriend Material sent me the terms of the deal today,” he says.
When he rattles them off, I whistle. “Hot damn, that’ll cover pretty much a year of medical school.”
Josh looks pleased. “And you want to know why they were so keen on it? Why they wanted to lock it in?”
The server brings our drinks and I thank her. Then Josh and I clink glasses.
“Because of the thirst trap I sent?” I ask, answering him as I take a drink of my bourbon.
“Yes, exactly. But also because Boyfriend Material is the exclusive dating app partner for Rafe Rodman,” he says.
I freeze, the glass midair, the condensation sliding down the side. “What?”
Why the hell did he just mention... my lover’s company?
“Rafe Rodman. The underwear you modeled in the thirst trap. You were flirting with the owner online,” Josh says, like he needs to jog my memory.
Yeah, I know who he is, thank you very much.
“But what does his company have to do with Boyfriend Material?” I ask heavily, an anchor sinking in my gut.
“Boyfriend Material is a corporate partner of Rafe Rodman, and they use the same marketing agency. Not only does Boyfriend Material want you to create some fun content on making a thirst trap, but the agency wants you for a new marketing campaign for the underwear.” He punctuates his deal-making with a rocker salute. “Boom. Who looks out for you, Gun?”
I gulp, the heat draining from my face. “Rafe Rodman wants me?”
The double meaning. Oh, the fucking double meaning.
“Yes,” Josh says.
Still, something doesn’t add up. “Are you sure?”
Josh grins, wide and proud. “I got you two deals, man. Who’s the best agent ever?”
“You are,” I say, but I’m not feeling it. I should be jumping up and dancing on the bar. Sponsorship deals pay mortgages. They fund retirements. They pay tuition.
“They totally want you. Apparently, Rafe’s company is launching a whole new marketing campaign and they want you to be the face of the You Do You campaign.” Josh scratches his chin. “Oh wait, is it the butt? Do they want you to be the butt of it? Or the pelvis? Or the cock of it?”
I can’t even laugh. My head spins with questions like, Is this really happening? And, Did my agent seriously just offer me a deal to partner with my lover’s company?
Rafe’s obsessed with honesty, but he’s been working a deal for me without letting on? Is he trying to buy me?
“Is this for real?” I press. “Are you sure?”
Josh laughs. “I am this sure,” he says, then gives me the dollar amount.
This double offer is real, indeed, to the tune of... a fuck-ton of money. But something else will collapse. I know it. Because there’s no way I can have it all.
Josh and I leave the bar, and when he takes off, I stand on the street corner in a daze, trying to figure out where I’m going next.
My phone buzzes, and I check it with a sense of foreboding.
Rafe: Here’s the code to my building. 5512.
I stare at it for endless minutes, debating where to go, what to do, and how much to say to the man who’s trying to buy me.