She blushes from the top of her head all the way down her chest. “You’ve read my work?”
“Yes,” I tell her, leaving it at that. There's no way that I can tell her all of it and why I’m doing this. If I do, then I'll be telling her that I've stalked her since high school, that she's all I've thought about, and that she could ask anything of me, and I would give it to her. No, I don't think that would go over well. She didn't want me then, and chances are, she doesn't want me now ... but I can't resist trying again.
Chapter 6
Willa
I can’t be this close to him. I can feel the wetness in my panties, and my breasts are heavy. I rub my legs together underneath the table. I need to put some distance between us. So I pull my arm back. And as soon as I do, he frowns at me. He sits back in his seat and stares at me.
I fidget under his scrutiny, but when I raise my eyes and look at him, he looks nervous too. It reminds me of the look he had in high school, not the one that he carries today on the football field anymore. He’s cocky and self-assured. Back then, he was always shy. He was the handsomest guy at the school, to me, anyway, but he would never talk to anyone, especially not me. I tried to be near him, but he never wanted anything to do with me. Sometimes it felt like as soon as I would walk into a room, he would walk out of it.
I ask him again, “Why are you doing this? And don’t tell me because I’m a good writer. There are plenty of good writers.”
He shrugs his big shoulders. I point at him. “You haven’t done one interview all season long. You don’t even come to the interview room. Even when you broke your first record, you didn’t do an interview. Why now, and why me?”
His forehead creases as he looks at me. “I thought you didn’t watch football.”
“I remember reading it somewhere. I’m sure there was a write-up in the paper on it.”
He shrugs his shoulders again. “I’m doing it because you have something I want.”
I lean back in my seat. I don’t understand. What could I have that he’d want? He’s rich and can probably get whatever he wants from anyone. I know that he has women falling at his feet all the time.
“I don’t understand,” I tell him.
He doesn’t answer my question. Instead, he says, “Do you have plans tonight?”
It’s quick, and I’m not that best at thinking on my feet. I hate to look like a loser, but I don’t have it in me to lie. I’ve already stretched the truth when I told him I don’t know anything about football. “No, I have no plans.”
He stands up and holds his hand out to me. “Have dinner with me.”
I look up at him. “That’s what you want in exchange for an interview?”
He grabs on to my hips and helps me out of my seat. “I want you to have dinner with me, and we’ll talk about what I want.”
I grab my tote bag and stuff the pad of paper and pen down in it. This whole thing is confusing, but I can’t tell him no.
“Okay,” I tell him. He looks surprised, but he gets it together quickly.
“Okay,” he says.
He holds the door open and lets me through it as we walk side by side, down the hallway. Everyone is gawking at us, and I can’t blame them. The hallway is filled with some players and some other people that are just standing around. JD is still in his uniform, and his cleats are clumping loudly on the concrete walkway.
We pass the gated area, and the security guard nods at JD, but even he looks at me skeptically. I can’t help but think how ridiculous we probably look together. He’s a football god, and, well, I’m ... I mean, I guess I’m pretty, but I’m plain. Curvy because I enjoy food too much to give it up. I can’t help but start to fidget, and when I do, he grabs on to my hand and continues walking. My hand is tiny compared to his, but he has a firm hold on it. And even if I wanted to let go, I couldn’t.
We stop outside of two double doors with a sign that says Locker Room. He looks as if he’s debating something when he peeks in the door, and then back at me.
“Come on,” he says. He pulls me through the locker room, and we pass a few of his teammates.
They all nod at him and say, “Good game,” or different accolades like that. He stops next to his locker and starts to undress.