Gumball Watterson Novels & Stories

I heard a commotion coming from some of the office girls across the room which broke me out of my mind swirl. “Have you seen Mr. Hottie out there with the super sports car.” One of them gushed. Please don’t let this be Logan. I thought. The girls were all gushing over some guy outside. I looked over one of their shoulders and sighed. “Leah, isn’t that the guy who was at the bar last week?” One of my closest colleagues asked me a little too loudly, to drop me in it. “Yeah, that’s Logan Carter.”

Samantha I was eagerly waiting for Russell to come out of the dressing rooms. A big smile on my face as I see spectators ask for him, waiting on him to give autographs. I couldn't believe it. Is this really happening? I mean, I thought this wasn't a big fight, it was supposed to be just a small fight. The big show was still happening inside, yet so many people had gotten out of their seats to wait on him. He finally comes out, next to Uncle Fred and his uncle Caleb. Fred looked so happy. But I could see Caleb's fake smile. I've always been able to tell when people are faking it, and this guy was totally faking his happiness for them.

I sipped air and scanned — one, two, three — until my heartbeat ticked a little faster. Mr Watterson. An email thread, older than I expected but alive with recent activity. Plans, RSVPs, a short, smug message from someone named Halvorsen that read, Confirming Mr Watterson’s attendance. He’s bringing a guest. There were attachments: seating charts, a guest list with names that tasted like money. Watterson’s name sat near the top, bold and entitled. I quickly searched up Mr. Watterson. A second later, his photo popped up on the screen — a broad, heavy-set man with eyes that looked like they’d judge you before you even spoke.