Pitching for Her Love Read Online Free Page B

first thing he had said since Stan had ushered us toward the outfield, and it jarred me from my thoughts.
    “Oh,” I said. “Very well. But I’m sure the pictures are what most readers are going to be looking forward too, so the most important part is still to come, I guess.”
    “So, no pressure then?” he asked with a dimpled smile.
    “None at all,” I laughed as we continued to walk.
    “All right,” said Stan. “Here we go.  Here is the photographer.”
    Grayson introduced himself to Peter, one of the Top Press photographers.  I knew Peter well enough to know he would make this as quick and painless as possible.  He was a no-nonsense, get the job done quickly kind of guy, but was a perfectionist when it came to getting the best shots.  Part of me was thankful I didn’t have to talk to Grayson anymore, which was odd.  I was never uncomfortable with any of my interviewees, but I think Grayson was the first interview I had ever had that broke down the wall and allowed us to speak as people rather than in the forced way I tended to endure.
    “Okay so,” Peter began, “should be no surprise that we’re going to need your shirt off. This is for Top Press after all, no offense, Grace.”
    “None taken,” I said, wanting to mention that Peter had been at Top Press much longer than I had.
    Grayson laughed good naturedly and peeled his black spandex off, revealing wide, muscled shoulders, a firm chest, and sculpted abs that had been visible through his top but I had done my best to ignore.  He seemed only slightly self-conscious, but that faded as soon as Peter handed him a bat.  It looked natural in his hand, like an extension of himself.  His whole body seemed complete.
    “It’s going to feel weird at first, so just try to act natural and then we’ll do some more posed, but for right now just talk to us,” Peter said, putting the camera to his face and snapping.
    “Any more questions for our man?” Stan asked me as Grayson stood in the mid-morning light.  The sun seemed to glow off his tanned, perfect skin.  I caught a glimpse of Peter’s screen, and the photos were fantastic.  Despite how unfamiliar Grayson was with this, he seemed to be a natural.
    “Are you sure this is your first time?” I asked Grayson.
    “I’ve been on the cover of Sports Illustrated a few times, but those are all candids usually,” he said.  I admired his arms, the same arms from the picture Megan had shown me, but somehow much more impressive in person.  I continued to watch from a distance, Peter working meticulously and efficiently, taking hundreds of shots of Grayson in athletic motion, candid laughter, and pensive contemplation.  The readers would eat this up, and Bernie would be pleased.
    Just as we were about to wrap up, Megan sent a group text to me and our friend Amanda reminding us of the wine bar opening we were attending that evening.  Amanda immediately texted back an excited selfie.  Amanda may have been the most beautiful person I knew.  She was taller than me but just as curvaceous, with long ringlets of golden glass falling well past her shoulder blades and piercing blue eyes that would give Grayson Hunter’s a run for their money.  She also managed Chicago’s only Simona Beck store, whose namesake was one of the most acclaimed up-and-coming designers in the world.
    Megan quickly texted back that she would need my help with her makeup for the evening, and Amanda agreed.  It was commonly known among the three of us that Megan supplied the invitations, Amanda the attire, and me the makeup.  We worked well together, and we were affectionately known as the Chicago Heartbreakers to those who knew us well.  The first time we saw that name referenced in the entertainment section of the Tribune was a big deal, and we never forgot it.
    Megan and Amanda continued the conversation without any of my input as I slipped the phone back into my bag.  Grayson was crossing the outfield toward me, pulling