I stared at the screen for a moment. Then typed, Yes. And for some reason my fingers added, More than I should.

There was a pause. A long one.

You still there? I typed.

We should meet.

I froze. Staring at the words. A mix of excitement and fear washing over me. I had never intended to meet Black. He was my secret. My escape from real life. My fantasy.

But as I looked at that little blinking cursor, I realized he’d also become the closest thing to a best friend that I’d ever had. Cal was wrong. I wasn’t all hard armor, and I did let my guard down. With Black. I’d confided in him, been comforted by him, was more honest with him that I probably was with anyone in my life.

So, as much as a protest was backing up in my throat, I felt my fingers typing, When?

Tomorrow. Noon.

I swallowed a dry gulp. That was soon.

Where?

Griffith Park.

How will I know you?

There’s a bench. On the south side of the merry-go-round. Wait for me there.

This was so You’ve Got Mail. But I found myself nodding at the computer screen anyway. I took a deep breath. My stomach churned like I’d just eaten bad Mexican. And I typed the word, Okay.

No sooner did it show up on the screen than Black signed off, his little online now icon quickly disappearing as if afraid I might change my mind.

He was a very perceptive man.

I turned off my laptop, setting it on the floor as I snuggled into my empty bed. Only I didn’t go to sleep. I was way too keyed up.

Tomorrow I was meeting Black.

I awoke early the next morning, a mix of fear and excitement still churning in my belly. I padded into the kitchen to find a note stuck to the coffeemaker from Aunt Sue. Apparently the entire complex was buzzing with the news about Lani’s arrest, and Aunt Sue’s presence was requested at the senior center for breakfast. I smiled, picturing Aunt Sue as the belle of the senior ball for the foreseeable future.

I made myself a cup of coffee and took it into the living room, dragging my laptop with me. I booted it up and began typing up all of my notes from the day before. But instead of formatting it into the killer story it was, true to my word, I emailed the whole thing to Allie. As much as it pained me to give the blonde my story, I actually had a feeling she’d do it justice.

Instead, I pulled up a screen and focused on my own column, typing out the headline:

DISNEYLAND SECURITY NOT UP TO SNUFF WHEN IT COMES TO CELEBRITIES