The Frame-Up (The Golden Arrow #1)(30)
“It’s not like that.” Then I realize that it is like that and that I sound stupid. “Well, I mean, he’s already met them.”
I might as well have announced I’m selling all my electronics and living an unplugged life—Ryan looks that weirded out.
“He already met them because I left my wallet at the coffee shop, and he returned it to me at my office. Then he fixed this chair, so Kyle has a man-crush on him now and invited him to a movie thing. It’s not a big deal.” I’m being disingenuous about more than just the wallet. I like Matteo. He’s funny and smart and makes me laugh, and even though he’s not my type, he just . . . sneaks up on you. I remember the flash of heat in Matteo’s eyes and wonder if after all this hoopla dies down, maybe I should invite him out for a drink. Sure, he wouldn’t know Trogdor from Smaug if they bit him in the butt, but he sure is cute. And now I’m thinking about his butt. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.
Maybe it’s time to change the type of guys I date. I haven’t had such great luck with the geek crowd. The last con party I attended, a guy walked up to me five or six times before finally telling me my Codex outfit was “neat,” then followed me into the bathroom, resulting in me threatening to beat him with my papier-maché staff.
Ryan stares at me as I mull through my thoughts, then calls me on my bluff. “Right. No big deal. Because you always invite people over to read comics in your bedroom when they return your wallet at your office.”
Lawrence doesn’t look put out like Ryan does. He looks gleeful. “Girl, that man is Atlanta, Georgia, in Ju-ly, and he can come and build me a tower anytime.”
“Oh come on, give me a break. We’ll probably never see him again.” Lie. I seem to be lying to everyone these days.
“You didn’t see how he looked at you.” Ryan crosses his arms.
My pulse quickens in my veins, but a familiar anxiety washes over me, breaking down the hope spawning in my stomach. Dating a non-geek means they might want to normal-fy me. I am terrified of someone constantly telling me my shows or comics are dumb, wishing I’d “tone down my hair a bit,” or asking me to give up my job like my mom. I did the normal-guy thing once. It took a botched engagement to wake me up. No, it is better to continue flying solo, and far fewer entanglements for the police case this way.
I shove my reaction back into the padlocked box it belongs in. “Let’s all go back in the living room. I have something I want to show both of you.”
I reemerge from my room several minutes later with a stack of papers, which I present like a trophy on the coffee table while standing in front of the TV.
“You make a pretty crappy window—aw, sonofa, L! You’re supposed to kill the aliens, not our team members!” Ryan leans around me, and I hear the sound of video game gunfire at my back. More specifically crossbow fire.
“Well, I wouldn’t if somebody wasn’t standing in front of the television.”
They both throw their controllers down and grumble.
“You guys can go back to killing imaginary—”
“We’re working on a real project. This is my job, MG.” Ryan still sounds like a petulant four-year-old.
“I know. I’ll keep this brief. But I want to show you what I just finished filling out.” I hold out a paper to Ryan.
“Congratulations, you learned to fill out a form.” Ryan barely glances at the paper as he takes it. This drives me crazy about Ryan and is why I can’t date a gamer. His job is all-consuming at times. It’s like pulling teeth to get anything out of him when he’s focused. And how much he identifies with his gaming heroes verges on unhealthy. Like a lot of guys who game, I feel like he wants to be heroic in real life but decides it’s safer to be a hero in a fake world rather than face judgment. Plus, the regulations for crossbows are murder, I hear.
Lawrence, thankfully, isn’t acting like a toddler and takes the sheet of paper. “Girl, is this what I think it is?”
“Yes! I got in!” I can’t contain myself any further. “And, L, I would so be honored if you would be my model. I only have two months to come up with the best costume design of my life.”
Ryan finally glances up and grabs the brochure off the top of the stack of papers on the coffee table. “San Diego Comic-Con, Miss Her Galaxy,” he reads out loud. Realization dawns on his face as he flips through the pages. “Oh, this is that fashion show you were talking about entering.”
“Yes. And thanks to L’s encouragement and my drawings for his costumes, they’ve accepted me! More than fifteen hundred applicants, and they only select twenty!” This couldn’t have come at a better time. I entered on a whim, but now I need to see if I’m really any good at fashion and costume design. If I win, I’ll get a deal designing for Hot Topic stores . . . I wouldn’t have to get the promotion. I could give a one-fingered salute to Genius . . . but that is a big if and something I don’t want to bank on quite yet.
As good as my ideas are, my presentations at work haven’t been going so well. The more worked up I get about them, the worse they get. I am the better writer—of this I am certain—but maybe, just maybe, Casey’s favor of Andy doesn’t have everything to do with the ideas themselves. I’m concerned that even if I try harder, nothing will change. That this is how Genius is, take it or leave it. And I’m contemplating leaving it, which is something I never thought I’d do.