His First Cherry Pie: A Double Virgin Valentine

I watch her, and I'm about to take the phone from her, but she holds her hand up. I can hear him going on about something, and it’s obvious she’s waiting for him to take a breath to not interrupt him.

"Mack, sir, the reason I'm calling is because I'd like to write a piece on JD Ryan." She holds the phone from her ear as the man starts to laugh, and I can hear him from my spot across the table. This time when I hold my hand out, she gives it to me.

I put her phone up to my ear and say, "Hello." The man stops laughing, and I introduce myself. “Hello, this is JD Ryan with the Knoxville Knights. I have Miss Willa Banks here, and I’ve offered to let her interview me for a story.”

The man on the other end of the phone, Mack, I believe is what she called him, stutters for a second. "Is this really JD Ryan?"

I resist rolling my eyes. "Yes."

The guy stutters again. "Well, Miss Banks was covering for Jamieson. He'll be back in tomorrow. Can I set up a time for him to come and meet—?"

I all but growl into the phone and interrupt him. "I want Miss Banks."

My eyes jump to Willa’s, and hers widen. No truer words have ever been said, because it's the truth. I want Miss Banks. Not only for her to write a story on me, but just her period.

The man on the phone interrupts my thoughts. "Sure, sure, sure. She can assist Jamieson."

I shake my head because he's not understanding. There's no way I want some guy named Jamieson to write a story on me, and then for that to mean Willa is going to spend more time with said man.

I all but grunt into the phone. "Miss Banks writes it or no one will," I say with finality.

His response is immediate. "Fine. Yes, Miss Banks will do it."

I hand the phone back over to Willa, and she puts it on the speaker phone.

I hate this distance between us. So I stand up and move around to her side of the table and sit down next to her. I swear I can smell the innocence on her. Being this close to her, I feel huge, but I know that if given the chance, we would fit together just right, just like in my dreams.

I hear the douchebag on the phone and tense at the way he’s talking to her. "Are you sure that you can do this, Willa?" he asks, and she says, "Yes, of course I can, but I do have the other story that I was working on."

He huffs in frustration. "Forget that other story. Put it off. Take the rest of this week and whatever you have to do, I want this write-up. This story could put our paper ratings through the roof. Don't screw it up, Willa."

She blushes, and it pisses me off that this man is talking to her like this. I open my mouth to say something, but Willa puts her hand on my forearm and squeezes. Instantly, I feel a calm come over me. It's always been like this with her. She brings this out of me.

She’s shaking her head at me as she answers him. "It's okay, sir. You don't have to worry about it. It's going to be a great interview."

"Okay," he says, then pauses. "But Willa, just know that if you screw this up, you'll be looking for another job." And before I can jump in, he's already hung up the phone.

She looks at me with her big blue eyes, and she looks nervous. "Are you sure that I'm the right one to do this?"

Her hand is still on my forearm, and I turn my hand over and lace our fingers together. I don't know why I do it. It's not like I have the right to or anything, but I need that connection with her. It's like once she's touched me, I don't want her to let go. Her nipples are tight and pressed against her T-shirt. It takes everything I have not to reach out. "You're the only one I trust to do this," I tell her.

She's staring at our hands and then looks up at me. "Why are you doing this?"

"What do you mean?" I ask her.

She shrugs her shoulders, and I can see the confusion on her face. "I mean, you never do interviews. Why are you willing to do this one? Especially with me. I’m not a sports writer. I don’t even know a lot about football.”

She stumbles over the last of it, and it makes me wonder if that’s true. She’s not a good liar. She’s too good for that, but I don’t call her out on it. I decide it’s time to give her some honesty. “I’ve read your work. You’re good, Willa. Damn good.”