A whopper?
Off my confused face, Tess clarifies, “They look like giant idiots.”
Sheetal nods. “Last year, the worst in class created a toothpaste ad. Bright red paste for the holidays.”
“Oh no.” I grimace.
“It was a bloody disaster,” Sheetal says. “Pun intended.”
Salvatore crushes his Fizz Life can and stands up to throw it away. “Let’s just choose from the three we have, they’re not bad options.”
I look at my notebook, our current options scribbled down.
An umbrella
Waterproof sandals
Fizz
“Let’s eliminate Fizz,” Tess suddenly says. “If we choose it, Professor Flynn might dock points because of Willow’s connection to it.”
Wait… She knows?
“Yes, go ‘ed,” Sheetal agrees. She doesn’t seem surprised?
“Um…” I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose. “You all know who I am?”
Tess nods. “Your brother is Loren Hale, so that means your sister-in-law is Lily Calloway. Daughter of the CEO of Fizzle. It’s all on Wikipedia.” Damn Wikipedia.
“We also binged the We Are Calloway docuseries, like, a little towards the end of the summer,” Sheetal says. “But Tess said not to bring it up to you.”
Tess nods. “My mom is a director, and my dad is a location scout. As soon as anyone hears the films they made, I get asked a million questions. It’s just kind of annoying. I thought it might be the same for you, so I didn’t want to make it a big deal.”
That’s actually really sweet. I’m smiling, my cheeks hurting.
Besides the Calloway sisters and their men, there aren’t many other celebrities in Philadelphia. It’s not like LA or Hollywood where you can easily meet other people that go through the same public scrutiny. Paparazzi migrated to Philly because of the Calloways. Finding someone who gets it, even just a little, is a breath of fresh air.
“Thanks,” I say to Tess.
“Don’t worry about it,” Tess says like it really is nothing.
I look to Salvatore, who’s scrolling on his phone. I think he might be looking me up. When he catches me staring, he says, “You can Google me too. Salvatore Amadio.” He spells out his full name.
Sheetal laughs. “Are we about to find out your deep, dark secrets, Salvatore?” But we all brandish our phones.
I do a quick Google search and learn that Salvatore Amadio is the son of two famous Italian actors. He was even in a movie as a baby, but he retired from child acting by the age of four.
Sheetal makes a dejected noise. “Well now I’m proper devoed, like. Me parents are in finance. An absolute snore. I have no famous family or long-lost siblings.”
“You have meeee,” Tess sing-songs and hugs her tight. Sheetal tries hard not to smile, but it’s a lost cause when Tess kisses her playfully on the nose.
Salvatore pockets his phone. “It’s not all great,” he says to Sheetal but doesn’t elaborate.
My cell suddenly vibrates in my palm, Garrison’s name on the screen. Finally.
“I have to take this,” I say quickly and then leave for the hall. It’s empty, but I can hear muffled music coming from some of the dorm rooms.
When I click into the call, my worries just tumble forth. “Garrison, are you okay? Your last video looked like you hadn’t slept in days. And I’m just now realizing that if you were sleeping I probably woke you up and you needed that sleep. I’m so sorry—”
“Willow,” he cuts me off before I spiral. “I’m glad you called and texted and practically shot off a rocket flare.”
Tears prick my eyes. “You are?”
“Yeah. And I’m in one piece. Like you said, I just haven’t been getting sleep. I’m going to make sure I don’t stay in the office past midnight.”
“Promise?” I ask.
“Promise. What are you doing?”
“There’s this group project thing.”
“Right now?” Worry and concern breaches his voice. I know he’s been worried about distracting me, but I’m making time for him in my life. That’s what you’re supposed to do for the people you love.
“Yeah, but I’m taking a break—hold on.” My door suddenly opens, Salvatore, Sheetal and Tess slipping out of it.
Salvatore catches my gaze. “Hey, we chose the umbrella. We figured we’d just decide and call it an early night.”
“I’m going to email the professor,” Tess tells me, slinging her backpack over her shoulder.
“See ya, Willow,” Sheetal adds before she leaves with Tess.
Salvatore stays for a second. Hands stuffed in his jacket. “We think we can advertise to the university students. Cool designs. Small and portable for class.”
It’s simple, but maybe that’s the beauty of it. “I like it.”
“Great.” He walks backwards, eyes still on me. “See you in class, Willow Hale.” He spins on his heels and heads toward the stairwell.
I don’t understand flirting, but I know rom-coms and that definitely was straight out of the movies. Only it does the opposite of causing butterflies to flap in my belly. More like moths dying a slow and unnatural death.
I put my cell back to my ear. “Garrison, are you still there?”
9 PRESENT DAY – September
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
GARRISON ABBEY
Age 20
It was unmistakable. The guy’s voice on the other end of the phone. But there were other voices too, and I’m not about to jump to conclusions like some jealous, paranoid boyfriend. I trust Willow, and she’s allowed to have guy friends.
“Garrison, are you still there?” she asks me.
I lie on my bed in a black hoodie and jeans, staring up at the ugly, stained ceiling. “Yeah, still here.”
“That was just my group for that project I was talking about.”
Intro to Marketing. I remember. All the pieces clicking into place. “You can call me back when you’re done.”
“We just finished.” I hear her shut the door. “I’m going to Skype you.” She must be really worried about me, more than I even thought. Fuck.
I run my hand through my messy hair that touches my eyelashes. I don’t want to scare her. And really, I’m coherent. Fine. I’m just burying myself in work, and that isn’t that bad, all things considered.
Skype alerts me on my opened laptop, and I sit up, placing my computer on my lap, and click into her call.
I see my girlfriend, and I exhale. Willow is sitting on her bed, dorm room dimly lit, X-Men poster hung up behind her.
Her eyes flit around me quickly. “You’re right, you are in one piece.”
“It was touch and go there for a minute,” I joke. A bad one.
She shakes her head, and so softly, she whispers, “Don’t.”
“Okay,” I say. “You look good.” Her olive-green shirt accentuates her warm brown, hazel-ish eyes that practically look like melting chocolate. Willow wore that same shirt on her last day in Philly.
I only remember because I went to the airport with her, and that image of Willow leaving is kind of engrained in my head.
“You’re home,” she realizes. “Isn’t it only—”
“One p.m.” I answer for her. “Connor sent me home.” I don’t mention that I fell asleep at my desk. “He thought the same thing as you. That I looked tired.”
“He’s looking out for you,” Willow says.
I snort. “He’s looking out for his company. I’m not his friend, Willow. I’m his employee.”
She shakes her head like she doesn’t believe that, but instead of carrying on, she asks if I’ve seen the latest episode of Supernatural. We talk about all the things we both love. TV. Pop culture. Video games. I’m suddenly wide-awake, just wanting to extend every second I can.
Willow glances at her clock and grimaces. “Holy—we’ve been talking for three hours, and I’ve sufficiently ruined your nap and the whole purpose of you getting res
t.” She buries her face in her palms with a long groan. “I’m the worst. I’m sorry.” We’re both beating ourselves up.
Her for distracting me.
Me for distracting her.
I don’t know how to fix this.
“You’re not even close to the worst,” I tell her. “I enjoyed tonight—or today—or whatever you call it.” Tonight for her. Still today for me.
She unburies her face and slowly braids her hair. “So do you want to… maybe… um…?” She takes a breath, her eyes soaking into me like she wants something. And then timidly, she slips off her overall straps and pulls off her green shirt, just in a blue cotton bra.
God.
Blood pulses in my dick, and my eyes trace her soft skin and the tops of her breasts. Yeah, I want to. Times a million.
I yank my hoodie and tee off my head. Tossing both on the floor. I adjust the computer, setting my laptop more on my mattress near my waist. I see myself in the screen—what she can see—and my whole body is almost in full view.
I focus on Willow, and I frown. “Hey, we don’t have to do this if you’re not into it, Willow.”
Her shoulders are bowed in, and she’s clutching her elbows. She pushes up her slipping glasses. “No, I want to. I really do. It just feels kind of…” She glances around her dorm room. “It’s really quiet here.”
“I can put on music.”
She nods and rubs her arms.
I play an alternative rock playlist on my computer, so she’ll hear the noise. “Better?”
“Yeah.” Willow exhales. “I’m nervous.” She shakes out her head. “I wish I weren’t this nervous.”
I know her well. I know that she’s pretty shy and reserved. Our relationship moved slow from the start. Like the slowest I’ve ever had. And there wasn’t one day where I wanted to press fast-forward and speed up. She’s also the best I’ve ever had.
In everything.
“It’s okay that you’re nervous,” I assure. “It’s probably because we’ve never had Skype sex before.”
I look her over, wishing I could be at her dorm a billion times more now. To ease her nerves, to make her feel good. Fuck, it’d be easier if I could just touch her…
She speaks so softly this time; I don’t catch the next words over the music.
I hit the volume on my keyboard. “Say that again?”
“Does it turn you off?” she asks in the quietest whisper. “How nervous I am?”
I shake my head, almost smiling. “No.” Honestly, I’m really smiling.
Her lips start to rise seeing my smile. “What?”
“Your insecurities are pretty cute. You always think you’re so lame and meek, but you’re like that daytime soap opera title.”
Willow leans closer to the screen. “General Hospital.”
I push longer pieces of hair out of my face. “The other one.”
“As the World Turns.” Willow grins a bit, knowing that’s not the right one either. We both don’t watch soaps, but we know our television.
“Damn, college is making you stupid,” I say, sarcastic.
She laughs. “You say it.”
I sweep her features. “The Bold and the Beautiful.”
Willow bites the corner of her lip, her smile appearing again.
“You’re beautiful, Willow.” I skim my girlfriend with hot desire that pricks my nerves and blankets my skin. My dick strains against my jeans. “I think you should get under your covers and watch me. You don’t have to get naked or show me anything.”
Her eyes widen. “You’d be okay with that?”
“Yeah. No question.” I’m usually the one who takes the lead whenever we’re in bed anyway. She prefers that, and I’d rather be in control.
Willow slips under her sheets, and the screen goes wonky as her computer falls to its side. After a second, she must prop the laptop on her lap—since the screen stabilizes. I have a clear view of her face, her cheeks flushed and glasses a bit smudged.
I stay in my camera frame for Willow, and I unzip my jeans and kick them off my legs. Left in black boxer-briefs, I palm my hard dick above the fabric. All the while, I watch her pleasure mount on-screen.
Her breath hitches. I strip off the last layer of clothing. Left buck-naked, and I spit in my hand and stroke my length.
My muscles contract. Fuck. Heat blisters across my body, and I look at my girlfriend, aroused flush creeping up her neck. And I imagine sinking my erection between her legs. I imagine Willow beneath me, trusting me—a girl who’s delicate and shy at most touch, and I go slow and rock deep. My hardness filling her tight warmth that clenches around me.
I fist my shaft in an up-and-down motion and buck my hips up into my grip. “Fuck,” I groan. I just want inside her. I just want to be in bed with her.
I just want more than this, and I know I have to be happy with the fantasy and our ocean-apart reality. Like maybe it’ll be enough in the end.
I arch my hips into my clutch again.
Willow lets out a soft, aroused noise.
Fuckfuck. I watch as she adjusts her laptop. She’s slipping further into her bed. Lying down. I think she props the laptop on the pillow next to her. I can’t see below her breasts, but her arm seems to shift…
And move. Her lips part in a short breath. Her eyes shut for a beat longer.
Fuck, she’s masturbating. My muscles flex, sweat glistening along my body, and pre-cum coats my hand.
Desire pulsates my veins like a coked-up drummer banging and banging. “Willow,” I groan. “Willow.”
She gasps and squirms. I strain my ears to hear her whisper, “Garrison.”
I’m an idiot and I reach out at the computer screen like I can touch her. This fucking 2D version is only half of my girl, and yeah, I’d rather be able to pull her underneath me right now.
She covers her face with her hand, nearing a peak. “I want you,” she mumbles into a sharper breath. “I want you in…”
“I’m in you,” I say in a tight, deep voice. I quicken the friction on my length. “I’m so fucking deep in you.”
Willow moans.
My neck strains, blood bursting my veins, and I tilt my head back. “Fuuuck,” I grit down.
She quakes.
I hit a powerful climax, and an involuntary noise breaches her lips, this high-pitched whimper that reminds me she’s completely let go. Out of her head, and I release into my palm. My body on fire as I pump out the tension.
Fuck.
She breathes hard with me, and I try to remind myself that even miles away, intimacy is still strung between us.
* * *
The next few weeks, Willow’s classes get harder, and I back off calling my girlfriend until she can call me. I won’t be her distraction. She’s got shit going for her, and I’ve ruined enough. I’m not going to ruin her.
To not think about her, I just bury myself in work. It’s the only thing that keeps me relatively sane. I’m averaging four to five hours of sleep. Which isn’t too bad, all things considered.
And I haven’t burnt another pizza. So improvement, right?
I grab my backpack off the bed. Normally on Saturday I’d be in the office, but Cobalt Inc. is having a party for the diamond division, and I really don’t want to run into those pricks. They’re the guys who pass me and “cough” out the word nepotism. They’re not wrong. But it is annoying. Coughing words died in prep school. It’s fucking lame—especially when thirty-year-old tools do it.
But I got a call, so I do have somewhere to be.
I’m babysitting.
I lock up my apartment and on the way to the stairwell, I pass the cracked door to the shared “smokers” balcony. I quit smoking a while ago, so I’ve never ventured out there. Voices are muffled from outside, but I can still clearly distinguish Ana’s high-pitched drawl.
“What do you mean he’s never around? Doesn’t he live here?”
“I mean what I said, Ana. He isn’t around much,” Jared replies, freezing me col
d. “Last time I saw him, I helped with his fire detector.” I freeze. They’re talking about me.
“That was weeks ago,” Ana whines. “If we want to make headway into the inner-circle, you need to be nicer.” I almost snort out a bitter-ass laugh. I knew it was all an act. It actually sucks to be right.
“Baby, I’m being as nice as I can be without getting on my knees and sucking him off.”
“Maybe—”
“Ana,” he snaps.
“I’m just saying, we have one chance to be in with the most famous people in the country. Can you not fuck it up?”
I can’t with this shit. I leave, hurrying down the stairwell. I pull my hoodie over my head. My anger surging. I’m babysitting, I remind myself. I can’t go into it with this type of anger. Calm down.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Fucking breathe.
* * *
Superheroes & Scones is hard to walk into these days. Part coffee shop, part comic book store—it’ll always remind me of Willow and all the time we spent working here. Stocking the shelves and serving coffees.
I was shit at the espresso machine. Shit at recommending comics. Shit at shelving the “popular” collectibles in the front and the older ones in the back.
But somehow, I was never fired, and that’s kind of a success.
Lily walks out from the back, hearing the chimes of the front door. Her bodyguard lets me in and then locks the door behind me. After-hours, only soft lights illuminate the store, and it’s eerily quiet. Like walking into a fucking morgue.
I hate being here.
It’s the first time I’ve felt that in a really, really long time.
I hate thinking it.
“Garrison, thankyouthankyou for coming.” Lily bounces a three-year-old in her arms and then sets him down. “I’m so sorry this is such late notice.” I agreed to babysitting her toddler. It’s something Willow used to do when she was here.
“It’s not a problem.” I nod to Maximoff Hale. “We’re going to have a lot of fun, right?”
He stares up at me with big green eyes. “Will you watch Batman with me?”
Whatever It Takes Page 9
