“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 rest.” 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.”