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Willow nods like she gets it. “Lily has the best puppy dog eyes. They make you crumble.”
I pull up the hood of my black jacket. “So hey, I… um, I came up with my project for Cobalt Inc., finally.”
Her smile explodes. “Garrison!” she exclaims in a quiet voice, since Maximoff is sleeping. Her enthusiasm emits from the core. “That’s amazing. And see, you didn’t have anything to worry about.”
I shrug. “I’m not going to tell Connor about it yet. He’ll probably think it’s stupid and pull the plug. I’ll ask for forgiveness later or whatever.” Which, I know, isn’t something you should probably be doing when you’re an employee of a multi-billion-dollar corporation.
But I’m too invested in this project to risk losing it. Plus, when I have a prototype, I can better sell the concept to Connor.
I think about not telling Willow the details either. So she doesn’t have to keep this secret from her family, but in the end, I can’t keep it from her, so I just say, “I want to create a video game based off Sorin-X.” He’s a character from The Fourth Degree comics, the same titles that Loren’s company, Halway Comics, publishes.
I need the rights of these comics in order to adapt them into a video game, but I’ll jump through that hurdle later.
Willow looks like she could hug me through the screen. But we can’t touch, and that realization tunnels through me like a freight train at full speed. It’s excruciating. I wish I just told her the news in person—whenever that would be.
“Garrison,” she breathes deeply. “That’s perfect. And you really are the best person to create it. I won’t tell anyone, promise.”
I nod, knowing she won’t, and I quickly change subjects. “How’s your project going?” I’d rather talk about Willow because the more I talk about the game, the more I’m probably going to curse the thing to hell. I can already see the project combusting in flames.
She grimaces. “I mean—it’s a silly school project. It’s not like yours.” She pushes up her glasses that have fallen down her nose.
I’m about to tell her she’s wrong. That her school is just as important and meaningful than a stupid video game, but someone stops in her doorway.
“Hey, Willow.”
My jaw tenses.
It’s that guy. The one I heard over the phone. I recognize his Italian accent.
He leans against the doorframe. In direct view of her webcam. He grabs her attention, and Willow turns her head to meet his gaze.
I glare. Yeah, I immediately hate this guy for no real reason other than he’s showing up unannounced at my girlfriend’s door.
Also: he looks like all the assholes in every prep school that I’ve ever attended. Khakis. Fluffy, styled hair. Sports coat. And I’m thoroughly ashamed to say that I attended three prep schools because I flunked out of two.
But it’s whatever. I can’t really read the expression on this guy’s face because he’s standing too far away from the camera.
That doesn’t stop me from squinting at my screen.
“Hey, Salvatore,” Willow greets. “Is it six already?”
“On the dot,” Salvatore says. My brain starts processing more. This is the guy from Italy that Willow was telling me about. He’s in her group for her marketing project. Willow also told me his name is spelled the same as Damon and Stefan Salvatore from The Vampire Diaries, even though they’re not pronounced the same. She said it was kind of amusing, and at the time, I agreed.
I don’t think it’s amusing anymore.
“Shit,” Willow says. “Time just slipped by. Can you give me a minute?”
“No problem. I’ll be on the steps outside.”
“Thank you,” Willow calls out and then glances back to me. Apologies heavy her eyes. “Garrison—”
“It’s not a big deal.” I do my best to soften my glare. “Go.” I don’t even know what I’m telling her to go to. My chest is tight.
I don’t want to be a possessive asshole. All I know is that I trust her. Don’t trust him. Don’t know him.
He looks like my brothers. No, he just dresses like a douchebag, like they do. But he’s not them.
I swallow hard, my nose flaring. My insides twist, fighting with these feelings. I can’t be the paranoid, controlling boyfriend who forbids her from talking to her own goddamn group partner.
I won’t do it.
I don’t even want to appear like I’m jealous or worried about him. She doesn’t need that stress. I’m trying to be cool. Everything is cool.
Everything’s fine.
She scratches at her arm. “I’m really sorry. This is when I wish I was Hermione and had a Time-Turner. But I am…sadly a mortal.”
“A muggle,” I rephrase for her, which is something I rarely do for Harry Potter references. She’s usually correcting me.
She smiles, but it’s a sadder, weaker one. “A muggle.” She nods and then shakes her head, conflicted. Like she wishes she had time for me and school. Without me asking, she offers more details. “It’s a group thing. We’re going over to Barnaby’s to come up with a slogan for the umbrella ad.”
