Not that he knew anything about my past, but still. The blog had eaten so much of my time recently—I hadn’t even seen Hannah as much as usual because of it. The idea of taking a night off from the site, the comments, my gear, was beyond tempting.

PixieBurn: Sure

PixieBurn: I could use a break

PixieBurn: Where we going?

I resisted the urge to turn my head and look at him, worried he’d see the blush on my cheeks or the hope in my eyes.

NightLocker: It’s a secret

NightLocker: I’ll pick you up at 6

He closed the chat like he was afraid I’d argue or take back my answer. I hurried to catch up on my workbook, having a wicked difficult time conjugating verbs while thinking about what Dean had up his sleeve for tonight.

Honestly, he could take me to the coding room, my work, the taco shop, any of the places we’d already hung out before and it would be a good time. Something I’d slowly realized about Dean—we had fun no matter what we did. He made me laugh, made me smile, and challenged me.

Another gasp shook my chest as I closed out my workbook.

Dean was one of the best friends I’d ever had, and I didn’t know it until now. Until Tanner had forced him to run a club that allowed us to have one-on-one time.

Time that had actively helped me create a site that was rapidly growing—and helping students.

Helped me see Dean as not just competition on the hacker circuit, but as an ally.

“Can’t wait for tonight,” he said, stopping at my desk after the bell rang.

I smiled, gathering my stuff and standing next to him. “You really won’t tell me where we’re going?”

A smirk shaped those impossibly perfect lips. “Nope,” he said. “Too much fun to watch you try to figure it out.”

I huffed. “How am I supposed to know what to wear?”

He laughed, turning toward the door. “You always look amazing, Pixie. Come as you want.” He winked, disappearing into the steady flow of students in the hallway, heading toward their next class.

Come as you want.

Damn him. Damn this boy for being so perfect.

He didn’t care if I was in the school’s atrocious uniform or in my ripped-up jeans. It didn’t matter, as long as I was there. As long as I was me.

He should be running his own blog—teach people around here how to properly treat their partners or romantic interests. How to really earn someone’s trust.

The walls around my heart shifted, wobbling with each time Dean’s kindness shook me to my core. I forced them to steady, re-laying the bricks I’d carefully constructed months ago.

He was a great friend.

And that was all I needed.

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