His First Cherry Pie: A Double Virgin Valentine

A few of the other players and I stop when we get to the tunnel and see the children that are there with their families. I sign some autographs, ignoring the women that are blatantly showing their breasts, shoving them into my face. It still amazes me when things like this happen. How I went from the dumpy kid I used to be to now having a choice of any woman I want is beyond me. The funny thing about it is none of them interest me, not one. The only woman that I think about didn't want me then, and most likely wouldn't want me now. She probably thinks I'm some dumb jock.

I scribble my name on the picture the boy is holding out and hand it back to him. He tells me thanks, and I ruffle the hair on his head. I take my time with all of the kids, mostly just biding my time. I know what it means to these kids to get to meet us, so I don’t take it for granted. But today, I make sure I stick around until the very last minute because I’m dreading what’s coming next.

This whole season I told them that I am not going to do interviews. I'm a rookie for the team, and I didn't think it would be an issue, but no one else, especially me, had any idea how much reporters would want to talk to me. The owners have tried many things to get me to talk. At first, they fined me when I didn't do the interviews, but I didn't care about losing the money. My peace of mind was more important to me. But it's different now because now they're saying that if I don't go to the interview room, they're going to suspend me. It means I’d have to sit out the first two games next season. I want to call their bluff, but I’m not willing to risk it. No matter how much I don't want to do an interview, I know that my team needs me, so I begrudgingly agreed that after today's game, I would go to the interview room.

I follow behind our quarterback Dylan Sutton and our running back, Boone Jennings, and sit in the last seat in the corner. I have a scowl on my face as a hush goes through the crowd when I come in. I told them I'd come, but I didn't say that I would answer anything. Instead of like every other time where they've started asking Dylan questions, they all start with me. Dylan looks over at me and laughs about it. He’s a good friend of mine, has shown me the ropes so to speak, and I know he’s going to bust my balls after this.

However, with each question the reporters ask, I say the same thing: "No comment."

"How did it feel to go against the best defensive end in the league and defeat him, JD?"

"No comment," I respond.

"JD, how does it feel to have the record for most blocks and to have zero holding penalties against you?"

"No comment," I answer.

The questions continue, and with each one, I say the same thing over and over: "No comment."

I lean back in my chair, arms crossed over my chest. If that doesn't stop anyone from asking me things, the scowl on my face should do it because it deepens with every question I get.

Finally, the reporters get bored and move on. They start hammering questions at Dylan Sutton and Boone Jennings.

I sit here for 20 minutes staring at the table in front of me as I listen to Dylan and Boone discuss the game and the highlights. They’re both good teammates and shove off any praise to the team, never taking the credit they could easily say they’ve earned. I hear them mention my name a few times, and I can all but feel the hopeful stares of the reporters that I’m going to comment or something, but I don’t. I stare at the table, wondering what Willa’s doing. She’s probably on her way to the gym right now, and if I get out of here in enough time, I’ll be able to get there when she’s done to make sure she makes it home safely. My body stiffens just thinking about it.

I get poised and ready to go when our communications manager asks the crowd of reporters, "All right, are there any more questions?"

I’m about to stand up when there’s a tickle at my neck, and I reach up to rub it. I’ve experienced it before but it’s always when I’m stalking Willa, watching her on her way to work, the grocery store, or the gym. I lift my head because the sensation intensifies, and then I hear it.

A voice in the back of the room asks a question. Her tone is soft and timid. But when I hear my name on her lips, my eyes go wide. I know that voice. I look up, and in the back corner of the room is Willa. I blink twice to make sure I'm not seeing things. It wouldn't be the first time that I've imagined seeing her when she’s not there. But fuck, it's her. I know it's her by the way my body reacts to that voice. My cock is already lengthening in my tight, nylon pants, and I adjust myself in the seat. I sit up straighter and uncross my arms, gripping the table in front of me. If there's anyone that can get me to talk, it's Willa. She can ask me anything.