“Ha, ha,” he said. “I get it. You’re forced to be here.” He glanced at me. “Well, Dean is, not you. And yet here you are.”

“You know your class is my favorite,” I said.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Regardless of the reasons this club was formed, you two push each other. It’s good. The friendly competition. Makes you stronger.” He nodded. “Be good. Don’t stay too late and all the usual,” he said, heading toward the door.

“Will do,” I replied.

“See you, Mr. Griffin,” Dean called as Griffin left the room, leaving the door wide open behind him. Dean turned his focus back on me. “What were you doing?”

“CTF. You?”

“Besides slaying font changes?” He chuckled. “Practice penetration. Password cracking. Among other things…” His eyes drifted to his screen, a flash of anger that made me tilt my head. A blink and it was gone.

“Better than me,” I said, wondering if I had imagined the look in the first place. Maybe I was working too hard.

“Different.” He grinned. “I have to take the time I can to get ready for the TOC.”

I ran my fingers over the edges of my opened laptop. “Is our challenge getting in the way of that?”

He furrowed his brow. “No.”

I tilted my head.

“It’s not. I’ve got this whole balance thing happening.” He stretched his arms over his head, the motion hiking his shirt up enough for me to see his chiseled abs.

Sweet Loki’s helmet, when does the boy have time to work out?

I knew his brother loved to live at the gym when he wasn’t hacking, but was it the same for Dean?

Sure looked like it. I swallowed hard, trying to remember how to breathe.

“Are you worried?” he asked, and I blinked out of my red-hot haze.

“Huh?”

“About me and the TOC?”

I straightened in my seat, having somehow melted partially in the last five seconds. “No. I know you’ll slay it. We’ll both get our acceptance letters, too. I just want to make sure I’m not getting in the way. We can call it off, if that’s the case.”

Dean scooted out of his chair and came around to lean against my table. “Are you wanting to call it off?”

The thought had crossed my mind. As the questions continued to pile up and my daily posts became a daily reminder that I wasn’t exactly qualified to handle each problem presented.

“No,” I finally said.

“You took a while to get that one out.”

I shrugged. “Big hack. Big thoughts.”

“Touché.”

He stared down at me, easy, patient, but with something behind his eyes. A question.

I looked right back at him, thinking about our non-date, about how much I wished I could redo the end of the night.

“Do you think you might want to help me find—”