Pitching for Her Love (5 page)

The sincerity in her voice made me giggle, and the promise of no more gymnastics talk was tempting, as little as I believed it.

“Fine,” I said.

“Yay!  Can I listen?” she asked.

“Absolutely not,” I said, picking up the phone.

“Fair enough,” she said, backing up, but still with the massive smile spread across her face.

“Grayson?” I said. “So sorry I kept you waiting.”

“No worries. So how about Saturday?” he asked.

“I”—I caught a glimpse of Megan in my peripheral vision—“I would love to.”

Her hands shot up in the air in victory, and I could see her spinning.

“That’s great!” he said.  Was that relief in his voice?  Was he seriously worried I would say no?  If what Megan said was true, he could have taken any woman in the city. “I’ll send a car for you.  Should we meet around seven o’clock?”

I agreed, said goodbye, and laid the handset in the cradle gingerly, exhaling for the first time in what felt like ten minutes.  I purposely didn’t look to my right, because I thought for sure Megan would be staring at me with the biggest “I told you so” look I’d ever seen.

She was, however, on the phone with Amanda.  Her yells of excitement came through the phone clearly and actually did make those around us turn and stare.

“That’s right!” Megan said, her voice the same hushed hiss she had used before.  Though in her excitement it didn’t have the effect she was intending, and many were looking at her curiously now.  I reached over and took the phone from her with no protests.

“Amanda?” I asked.

“Oh my god,” Amanda said.

“It’s not that big of a deal.  But you can’t say anything,” I said.

“Oh my god,” she said again.

“Stop it.”

“I will not!  This is incredible!  Do you even
know
how hot he is?” she asked.

“Well, yes. I mean, I interviewed him so—” I started, but I don’t think Amanda heard me.

“Okay, well I’ll find you something to wear. Don’t worry about a thing. Simona will love this. Great exposure.  I’m sure you’ll be photographed. Do you want us to come over that day?  We will.  I’ll talk to Megan about it.  So exciting. Ask if he has friends.  He must have friends!”  Amanda rambled on and on, and eventually I just handed the phone back to Megan, who listened for a few more minutes, interjecting her own thoughts sporadically, before hanging up.

“Just keep it quiet,” I said when her gaze found me again.

She mimed zipping her lips, but Amanda’s mention of the paparazzi made me worried that Megan might not be the one I had to worry about.

T
he remainder of the week flew by in a haze.  I was extremely productive to the point of overworking, and Bernie seemed pleased with my submissions.  She asked me to lunch on Friday, and I was grateful for the opportunity to escape Megan’s ever watchful eye. I had asked her after my phone call with Grayson if she was sure she was okay with me going.  She had, after all, been the one who’d had a crush on him.

“Please,” she had said, waving a hand.  “This isn’t some cute guy from the bar.  This is
Grayson Hunter
.”  I had heard his name so much that it was starting to lose any meaning, like when you repeated words over and over in your head until they no longer sounded the way they should.

I had spent Friday night with Megan, Amanda, and some of the regulars at one of the nicer clubs we frequented.  It had been a crazy, stressful week, and I was looking forward to unwinding, but Amanda and Megan had insisted I only have a few drinks; I didn’t want to be hung over for my date, did I?

Having found it impossible to relax in anyway, I had left the party early and was in bed by midnight.  It seemed I was making a habit of this.  Both Megan and Amanda had been great about not telling anyone about my date, which they both thought was a much bigger deal than I did.  They didn’t want to tell anyone because they were afraid I would be hated by the entire female population of the city; I didn’t want to tell anyone because I wasn’t sure about him at all.

The next morning, the day of the big date, my doorbell rang before I had even opened my eyes.  I groaned and checked my phone, eight thirty.  Stumbling sleepily down the hall, I pressed the buzzer and went to the kitchen to turn on the coffee maker.  I had just managed to pull down the mugs when there were two soft thuds on the door.  Amanda, I thought.  Megan always banged incessantly with both her fists.  Amanda had a more courteous elegance about her, despite being as insanely excited about today as Megan was.

“Here, take these,” Amanda said as she walked through the door, handing me a stack of dresses in plastic sleeves.

“Good morning to you too,” I said, closing the door behind her and throwing the dresses on a nearby chair.  “I didn’t realize you were coming this early.”

Amanda ignored me and poured coffee into the mugs I had set out, adding a drop of cream in mine and taking hers black.  She dug around in my cabinets and refrigerator for a few minutes before bringing out a small platter of fruit and pastries that I forgot I had to go along with our coffee.

“I wasn’t planning on coming over this early,” she said, “but I ended up staying somewhere closer to the store than I thought, so I slipped in this morning.”

I raised my eyebrows at the mention of staying somewhere else, which I knew was most likely her ex-boyfriend’s place, which lead to a relatively long discussion on the pros and cons of their on-again, off-again relationship.  I was grateful to be talking about something other than Grayson Hunter.

“So anyway,” she said as she wiped the corner of her mouth with a napkin, “I have a couple really great things for you to try, and then we’re meeting Megan for brunch.”

“Do I have to go?” I asked.

Amanda looked startled.

“Well no, I guess not. We could just see if she wants to come here or—” she started.

“No, I mean,” I interrupted, “on the date.  Do I have to go on the date tonight?”

The expression on her face was one of confused concern.  Then her usually cool gaze warmed and she finally smiled sympathetically.

“Why don’t you want to go?” she asked.

“It’s not that I don’t get that he’s a catch,” I said. “He just seems so different from every other guy I’ve dated recently.  He seems more real, I guess. He even said during my interview that he was looking to settle down soon.  That’s not me, so is that really fair to him?  Is it fair to me to even go on a date with someone who could have anyone they want and could find someone better for them?”

I realized that I was just exploding verbally, and what I was saying probably made very little sense, but Amanda kept her understanding smile.  She sat in the armchair nearest the window, her knees under her chin, and listened, her hair wrapped in a fishtail braid over her right shoulder.  When I was finished, she just nodded and pursed her lips.

“I think you should go,” she began.  I rolled my eyes and she held up a finger to hush me. “But not because he is famous, or he’s rich, or because Megan and I want you to.  I know you, Grace, and even if this doesn’t work out, it will be a fun experience.  Don’t worry about what he wants, because it seems like he just wants to get to know you.  He’s just another guy.  We do this all the time.”

She was right.  I knew she was right, and it did make me feel a lot better to talk about Grayson like he was just another regular, just another guy.  I finished off the last of my coffee in a long sip.

“Thanks.” I said. “I know it seems ridiculous. I guess I’m just a little nervous.”

“Now
that’s
ridiculous,” said Amanda. “We go on dates all the time.  There is nothing to be nervous about.”  She reached behind her and pulled the garment bags onto her lap.

“What did you bring for me?” I asked her.

“A lot, but I already know what you’re wearing,” she said.

Fifteen minutes later Amanda had me in my dark jeans, an off-white tank top, and a fine black blazer she had procured from
Simona Beck
.

“This actually doesn’t come out until next season,” she said, holding it up and helping me slip my arms in, “but that will be great actually.  If you’re photographed it’s like free publicity.”

The blazer really was great.  It nipped in my waist and didn’t exaggerate my hips or chest too much, but it still showed off my signature curves.  However, the idea of photographers alarmed me.  As if she had read my mind, Amanda continued, “Not that I think you should worry about that. People tend to not even recognize athletes when they’re out of their uniforms.”

I didn’t know how true this was, but it made me feel better regardless.

“Shoes?” I asked her.

“I’d go with a pump,” she said. “I know it’s fall and everyone is all about the booties right now, but I think it will be too closed off that way.  He’s tall, right?”

“Very,” I said.  She took a thoughtful minute looking through my closet.

“Try these,” she said, pulling out an understated pair of Christian Louboutins.

“Those are the first shoes I bought when I moved to Chicago,” I said.  “I didn’t even realize I still had them.”

“They’re perfect.  You won’t fall and you’ll be comfortable,” Amanda said matter-of-factly. “I think my job here is done!”

She fell back onto the bed and closed her eyes.

“What about my hair and makeup?  What should I do?” I asked.  At this, she opened her eyes and raised one brow in my direction.

“No way. That’s your area of expertise.  I’ve done enough work today,” she said and closed her eyes again.  I stood looking at myself in the mirror, imagining a dark smoky eye and some loose waves in my dark hair, mentally calculating the time it would take to get ready.

Amanda’s phone began to vibrate and she picked it up without opening her eyes or sitting up.

“Hello?” she said.  “Oh hey, Meg. Yeah, we’re just finishing up.”

Amanda gave Megan the rundown while I undressed and got ready for brunch.

I
sat in my car a few blocks from the venue and watched the clock.  It was 7:06. I decided at the last minute to take my car, even though I appreciated Grayson’s offer. My day with Amanda and Megan had made me feel better about tonight.  It was just business as usual, but I couldn’t help the pounding feeling in my chest.  I decided it was time; I knew Grayson would be on time, that was just the kind of guy he was, but I still hadn’t wanted to risk showing up even a moment before him.

The walk to the arena was easy. Orange and yellow banners advertising tonight’s event hung from poles on the sides of buildings lining the streets.  The gymnasts’ bodies angled and contorted in effortless, fluid motion, and I began to get excited for the actual event, momentarily forgetting all about Grayson and the potential implications of this date.

I saw him almost immediately, which wasn’t hard to believe.  He stood taller than most others in the crowd who were huddled against the cold.  I pulled my coat around me more tightly, bending my head and keeping the click-click of my heels steady.  When I knew I was about ten feet away I raised my head and smiled.  He smiled back.

“Ms. Taylor,” he said formally, extending a hand.

“Mr. Hunter,” I returned, giving him my hand, which he kissed.  I laughed at this, and he laughed at me laughing.  It made the air immediately more comfortable.

He looked different outside the ballpark.  His dark hair had a bit of gel in it but not enough to make it look crunchy, one of my pet peeves.  He was wearing jeans and a simple black button-down, but I could tell from one look that the shoes on his feet were Prada.  He must I have a stylist, I thought.

He offered me his arm and we walked toward the main entrance.

“How has your weekend been so far?” he asked.

“Not bad, actually,” I said and recounted the night before, up until my friends told me I wasn’t allowed to have any fun and I went home.  I was surprised how easily the conversation flowed.  Out here he was just another guy, and though some people had done a double take, he seemed to blend in very well.  This was much better than I had expected, and I found myself relaxing more than I thought I would.

“You all sound like you have a great time,” he said, laughing and steering me away from the crowd and toward a seemingly closed-off entrance.  I was confused and looked from left to right, wondering where we were going, but he seemed sure, his hand lingering on the small of my back as he guided us along.

“We try.  Are you sure we—” I began, but before I could finish, a tall, dark man walked out from behind a curtain and held it open for us to walk through.  I looked up at Grayson’s face before crossing through and disappearing into the darkness together.  As we walked, I could just make out the angle of his jaw, covered in a fine, dark stubble.  His eyes were fixed ahead for a moment before he looked down at me and smiled.

“Sorry,” he said.  “It’s just, well sometimes it’s easier to go in the back way just in case, you know, I get some attention or something.”  He was embarrassed, and I found it endearing that he was so concerned.  Before right now I had known he was attractive, but in this moment I found him very sweet.

We reached another set of curtains, and we could hear the performers preparing for the show but could not see them anywhere.  If I wasn’t mistaken, we had come in behind the stage and were walking around it in order to access our seats without being seen.  I knew Grayson was a bit embarrassed, but I found it exciting.  The tall man opened this next set of drapes, leaned out, looking left and right, and then held it open for us.

“Right there, Mr. Hunter,” he said, pointing to two open seats in the front row.

“Thanks a lot, Jay,” Grayson said, shaking his hand, slipping a fifty into his palm.  “Appreciate it.”

“You just bring us another World Series, man.  That’s all I ask,” he said and gave us a wide, toothy smile.  Though I couldn’t be sure in the darkness, I think Grayson blushed.  We came out on the left side of the stage and crossed quickly to the seats that Jay had pointed out, just to the left of center stage in the front row.