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the recording of Joey’s interview a few times, jotting down notes in the margins about his posture and body language while I remembered them, so that the reader would feel more in the moment. It had taken me a while to get it all into coherent prose, but it was always like that. I had to mold it, like clay. Now all that was left was the editor’s hands on it, and the layout.
    Neil had sent me the pictures that he’d taken after he’d made any adjustments that he saw were needed. He’d marked the ones that he’d thought would go over best with the article, so that was where I started. The first one he’d marked was one of Joey with some of his teammates. I smiled at the picture of the three of them, their arms thrown over each other’s shoulders casually. Almost like the picture hadn’t been staged, like they were out in some park somewhere, tossing around a ball and someone had caught them at just the perfect moment. I moved that picture into the ‘yes’ pile: it showed a comradery that I loved and wanted the readers to be able to see.
    The next picture looked to have been from before I’d arrived, because I sure didn’t remember him taking it. How far in front of me had Neil been? They looked to have been taking a break from the heat, and most of the guys in the background of the shot had pulled off shirts and were downing water. Joey had his shirt off as well, but he was pouring a bottle of water over his head. My eyes followed the ribbons of water down the muscled slope of his chest and over the chiseled abs.
    “What are you doing?” Isobel’s voice came out of nowhere and startled me out of my ogling. I turned, swallowing my pulse.
    “Picking the shots to use for Joey’s story,” I said, turning to face her in my chair since she was apparently right behind me.
    “You’ve been looking at that one for quite a while; are you sure that’s all you’re doing?” she said with a smirk. I stuck my tongue out at her.
    “Are you stalking me now?” I asked with a laugh. She crossed her arms across her chest and flopped down in my guest chair.
    “I’ve been standing behind you for at least a minute, and you didn’t even notice. You always hear when someone comes up behind you,” she said.
    I stopped. She had a point.
    “You have not been standing there for a minute,” I said. She rolled her eyes.
    “Just admit it: You like Joey Parker. It’s okay, every woman who’s ever laid eyes on him does; he’s gorgeous! And you have the added benefit of knowing that he’s not a jerk, which makes him even more attractive,” she said. I snickered.
    “I’ll admit, I see why they picked him as the sexiest man in sports, but I do not have some sort of crush on him or something. How old are we, 12?” I asked. Izzy grinned.
    “Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” she said as my desk phone started ringing.
    “Hush,” I said with a laugh as I grabbed the handset. I’d have to remember to thank whoever was on the phone for saving me.
    “Charlotte Rivera,” I said as Izzy started rooting around for snacks that she’d probably hidden over there in my cube. That was her way of not eating too many of them. It didn’t help me, though.
    “Well, hi there, Miss Rivera, just the pretty reporter that I was looking for,” the voice said. I paused for a moment. Then frowned a bit.
    “Joey?” I asked. He laughed softly.
    “You recognize my voice. I’m flattered,” he said. I grinned and turned away from Isobel, who had gone from looking for snacks to bouncing around in her chair.
    “Well, it hasn’t been that long since the interview, and I’ve been listening to it so I could write the article, so it’s been in my ear quite a bit,” I said.
    “What does he want?” Izzy whispered. I waved at her to shut up and tried not to laugh at the fact that she was acting like it was the President on the phone.
    “How is it coming along? Am I going to sound like an amazing guy?” he asked, the