“That reminds me of my senior year,” Dad was saying to my enraptured boyfriend, who’d just finished recounting the final relay. “I knew the guy next to me would be far and away my biggest competition, so I ignored everyone else and stuck neck and neck with him the whole way, then with the last few seconds to go, boom, I sprinted with everything I had, and got in front of him by a hair. And, of course, it turned out we’d been in the lead, and the crowd went wild!” Dad waved his half-eaten sandwich in the air for emphasis. A pickle fell out the bottom and landed on the floor.

“That’s awesome, Dad, but can we please continue this in a bit?” I asked, grabbing Brougham’s arm to steer him away. “We were just about to do something.”

“You have my blessing as long as ‘something’ is PG-13 or lower.”

Brougham snickered as I flung around to glare at Dad. “Um, can you not, please?”

“Go, get out of my hair, you’re bothering me,” Dad said with a mischievous grin.

Brougham’s smile faltered, and he scanned my dad’s face. To make sure his lighthearted tone wasn’t hiding a threat, I guessed. I was getting familiar with Brougham’s micro-expressions—with a face like his, I had no choice but to get fluent in them. I squeezed his arm reassuringly, and we headed to my bedroom. “He’s joking,” I whispered as we got inside my room.

He waited in place as I turned around after closing the door, and his hands went straight to my waist, his eyelids lowering. I was also becoming well-acquainted with this expression. My breath immediately started feeling thick in my chest.

“You did so good today,” I gushed, cupping my hand around his cheek. He leaned into my touch and kissed me. Though I kissed him back, my mind wandered instantly.

How would I get the word out about it, I wondered? Maybe I could do a mass BCC email with my locker email to all my previous contacts. That way, everyone who ever cared would know, and word of mouth would do the rest … but was that ethical…?

I didn’t even realize my body language had changed as I drifted off, but Brougham pulled back. “Are you all right?”

I cringed and gave him an embarrassed smile. “Yes, totally. I was just thinking about my website.”

Brougham touched his head to mine and groaned, laughing. “You’re dying to get started on it, huh?”

He took my laptop to the bed, and I nestled in beside him and leaned against his shoulder to watch as he worked.

“What are you doing now?” I asked.

“Just … registering you … a domain name.” He navigated to a search tool with a flashing cursor. “Any idea what you wanna call it?”

“Is Dear Locker Eighty-Nine free?”

“You want it?” he asked.