“Because,” he said. “I was bored and now I’m not. Plus, I’m not good at giving up on things. You may as well just tell me.”

I pressed my lips into a line, having too much fun with him guessing my all-time-favorite fangirl-crush.

“I’ll figure it out.” The determination in his voice made me straighten.

“You can’t cheat!”

He feigned innocence. “How would I cheat? It’s not like I can hack your brain.”

Why did that sound like he wanted to? “But you could hack my secret Pinterest boards.”

“Oh,” he said, smirking. “Thanks for the tip.”

“Ugh,” I groaned. “You’re impossible.”

“One of those boy band singers?”

“Ew, gross, no.” Not that I had anything against boy bands, but I wasn’t fantasizing about them. I gave that up after the age of twelve.

“Ew,” he repeated. “Good to know.” He sipped his Americano, looking thoughtful.

“This is ridiculous,” I finally said. “Why is it so important to you to know who would make me blush?”

“Well, I already know I can make you blush,” he said, his smile soft, careful. “Now I want to know who and what else does.”

“Why?” I asked again.

“Because it’s adorable.”

I glared at him.

“And,” he added, “I like to hear you laugh.”

I dropped my glare, now just looking at him. Seeing him. This friendship we’d started—the game we’d been playing—it was deepening. I was thirsty for these conversations, needed them in a way I hadn’t realized. Hannah and Jake were amazing, but sometimes I needed to hang around someone who understood me. And Dean was on his way to uncovering everything about me without even trying.

What was it that made him such an incredible friend in such a short amount of time? Was it because we shared the same dreams? Kept the same hours? Laughed at the same things?

“I bet I can guess yours,” I said, ready to put the spotlight back on him.

He raised his brows, his fingers on his chest. “Oh really? You think you can guess my celebrity?”

I nodded, studying him in the same way he had me, enjoying the way he wetted his lips—a nervous tic I’d witnessed several times this week. “Scarlett Johansson.”

He burst out laughing.

“What?”

“You can’t just steal guesses I’ve already given.”

I shrugged. “There are no rules to this game.”

“She’s hot,” he said. “But not my number one.”

I pursed my lips, thinking. I didn’t have much to go on—his lack of previous relationships totally unhelpful. He was gorgeous and smart and hilarious. He literally could have any girl he wanted in a snap.

“Megan Fox?”

He shook his head. “Wrong again, Pixie.”

I breathed a sigh of relief.

A thought crept into my mind, something clicking with the way he curled his tongue around my alias.

Pixie.