by Molly E. Lee
I’d learned that much when we’d had tacos together. The way he talked about wanting to be friends, and how rare true friends were. He didn’t want anything from me. Didn’t demand things from me or give me flack about how I spent my time.
We were the same, and yet different.
The Clue table roared with laughter, the clinking of mugs and metal spoons drawing me back to business. Not coffee business but blog business. I scrolled through a few more comments, my eyes glazing at the fourth dude to ask me if I preferred thongs to bikinis to bare.
Bells chimed, and I called my usual, “Welcome to Comic Brew,” not bothering to look up. Usually people were comic-bound more than coffee, and I didn’t want to hound them as they searched the endless selection.
“Whatcha working on?” Dean asked, his voice jolting every single sense I possessed.
I bolted upright from my leaned position over my laptop, slamming the screen closed.
“Nothing!”
He cocked a brow at me, his gaze widening. “We legit were just working together an hour ago.” He glanced at my closed laptop, my palm still lying protectively over it. “You’re already up to something that merits that kind of reaction?” He tsked me teasingly, wagging his finger.
I chuckled, calming my nerves. “What are you doing here?”
He leaned against the counter, his blue eyes scanning the shop. “I finished updating the school’s website with the list Tanner had emailed me, and it got boring in Code Club all by myself,” he said, returning that gaze to me. “Figured I’d finally come see where you worked.”
He came here to see me?
The breath caught in my throat, my heart filling my lungs, my stomach melting.
Relax! Friends, remember?
“You were lonely?” I teased, hating that my voice hitched at the thought of him missing the time we spent together.
“Maybe,” he said, flashing me that damn smile.
“Coffee?” I asked.
“Ah,” he said. “So you missed me, too.”
“What?” I furrowed my brow. “How’d you make that leap?”
“You just invited me to stay.”
My lips parted, then popped closed. I shook my head, storing my laptop in my cubby. “I work here. I ask everyone if they want coffee.”
“Just admit it,” he said, laughter in his tone. “You like having me around.”
I gaped at him. “You’re so full of yourself.”
“Full of truth. I see everything.”
I froze, the words sinking beneath my skin.
Could he see me so easily? Sense that there was something dark sucking at me from the inside and that only recently I’d started to gather and toss tiny pieces of it away?
He must be able to, because the longer I stood motionless, the more the laughter left his eyes, serious concern taking its place.
“Americano?” I finally managed to ask.
“Sounds perfect.” He cleared his throat, pushing off the counter to stand straight.
Damn, he could sense it. My fear over the fact had killed his playful mood. Something twisted inside my stomach, desperate for it to come back. I turned away from him, happy to not have his penetrating gaze on me as I pressed the espresso into the machine and waited on it to brew.
“So, what were you working on?” he asked as I slid the mug toward him.
Heat pulsed in my cheeks as my mind circled back to the last comment I’d read—a girl asking if I’d ever fantasized about being with another girl. It was a solid question, one I was sure both sexes pondered, but I wasn’t sure if it was the question for the next blog. I wouldn’t know until I’d made it through the latest batch of comments. I made a mental note to file it under my starred section so that if the blog continued to be successful, I could address it later. I’d need as many valid and vital questions as I could to post daily.
“Damn,” he said before I answered, and I snapped out of my thoughts. “Were you looking at shirtless photos of Ryan Gosling or something?”
A laugh ripped from my chest. “No. Why?”
He took a fast sip of his Americano before nodding toward my face. “You’re blushing.”
“I am not.” I covered my cheeks. “It’s warm in here.”
“That’s the only excuse you ever have,” he teased, referring to our chat from two weeks ago.
“I wasn’t.”
He pressed his lips together, mischief in his blue-gray eyes. “Ryan Reynolds?”
I shook my head.
“Chris Hemsworth?”
“No.” I laughed.
“Evans?”
“Nope.”
“Pine?”
I chuckled.
“Pratt?”
“No.”
He sighed, setting his mug down. “Scarlett Johansson?”
“This is a fun game.” I smiled but shook my head.
“It’s not as fun as I thought it’d be.”
“Why?” I asked, leaning over the counter. “Because you’re losing?”
“Because you’re cheating.”
I scoffed. “I am not!”
“There is no way you’re not attracted to one of those people.”
“I never said that.” I smirked. “They’re all insanely gorgeous and I love them in their characters for different reasons.”
“But,” he said, wrinkling his nose like he was trying to figure me out. “They aren’t enough to make you blush.”
I shrugged.
“Give me a hint.”
“Why does it matter?”
“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 we
tted 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.
I shivered, a warm chill racing down my spine, then snapped my fingers. “I’ve got it.”
“I doubt it.”
“Natalie Portman.” She was stunning, smart, and favored pixie cuts on occasion. I was either on the money or totally off base.
His mouth dropped, and he glared at me. “Cheater.”
I clapped my hands together. “Yes! I love winning.”
He growled, a low rumble that resonated deep in my chest. “How in the hell did you guess that?”
“I’m a genius,” I said. “You’ll learn this.”
He grinned, but defeat was clear in his eyes.
“She’s in a movie with mine.” I dropped the hint he’d been asking for and he perked up.
“I already said Chris Hemsworth.”
“Do you think I only watch superhero movies?”
“Is it bad to say that I like you more because I know you do?”
I chuckled. Sure, I favored the Marvel and DC universes, but I liked other movies, too. I was sure of it.
“Ugh,” he said. “Not that French guy from the swan movie.”
“No.” I sighed. “Maybe you should give up.”
“Never.” The finality in the word shot sparks across my skin. Or maybe it was the way he gazed at me, his attention fully on me in a way I’d never seen before. Brandon had rarely been this tuned in, unless he…
Flashes of his lips on mine, his tongue in my mouth, the kisses I’d given him willingly, twisted like sharp bits of metal in my mind.
“Pixie,” Dean said, his fingers over my hand. “Where’d you go?”
I opened my mouth, ready to tell him, I was that lost in my head.
Luckily, I stopped the admission on my tongue. The confession of what robbed me so many times of my train of thought I couldn’t keep up.
“Nowhere,” I said, glancing down at his hand on mine. A friendly gesture—comforting and warm and enough to stop the ice that had formed in my veins.
“Someday,” he said, drawing his hand back, “I hope you’ll tell me.”
“Tell you what?” I asked, my voice coming out a whisper.
He leaned down on the counter so that he was eye level with me. So close I could smell him over the espresso scent that filled the shop. My mouth watered.
“What’s eating at you.”
I shrugged off his too-perceptiveness.
He sighed, standing straight again, so tall I had to look up to meet his eyes. “It’s not our challenge, is it?”
“No, of course not.”
“Good,” he said. “I’d never want to cause you that kind of strain.”
I swallowed hard. Damn him, he really could see through me. How did he get so perceptive? Was it from growing up with a sister? Did Tessa give him insight into the female mind or was he just good at seeing…me?
“Dean,” I said. “You really don’t have to…to worry about me.”
He flashed me a soft smile. “Too late for that.”
“Why?”
“We’re friends, right? Isn’t that what friends do? Worry about each other. Talk to each other. Vent?”
I smirked. “You want to be like Hannah?”
Another low growl. “I am so much better looking than Hannah.”
“She’s pretty gorgeous.”
He tipped his chin. “Is Natalie Portman yours, too?” He waggled his eyebrows, the look successfully launching me into giggles I couldn’t control.
“And if it was?”
“Add it to the list of other things we have in common.”
“You have a list?” I teased.
“I’ll never admit it.” The smile on his lips was tempting, warm, and completely at ease. These little moments he’d continued to give me, they made me feel…normal.
The realization only made me understand just how long it’d been since I’d felt normal—months—and my shoulders sank. I hated that I’d let Brandon rob me of that ease.
I grinned at him, my sides aching from the way he made me laugh.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I’m just really glad we’re friends.”
He raised his brows. “Am I in your circle now?”
“Wouldn’t go that far,” I said. “It took Hannah two years to get in. Jake twice as long.”
“Well, you know how much I love a challenge.”
Heat rippled through me. I siphoned it, curled around it in an attempt to hold on to that feeling a little longer.
“Never thought your celebrity crush would be such a hard thing to pin,” he said, backing away from the counter. “I’ll think on it, and let you get back to…whoever it is you were staring at.”
I chuckled, taking his empty mug and placing it in the sink. If you only knew what I’d been looking at before you walked in.
I wondered what he would think. I hadn’t given him a chance to voice an opinion at the taco shop—it was too fresh in my mind. Too new.
Would he forfeit, knowing it was a win? Or would he tell me to burn it before it burned me? Or would he be offended? Would he think I was insane for believing I could possibly help people when I had no real clue what I was doing?
If he brought it up again, I’d let him talk.
Turning back around, I watched him walk to the door, the muscles in his back rippling underneath his black T-shirt.
Damn, I have the hottest…“friend.”
That was okay, wasn’t it? I knew Hannah was gorgeous. I could think he was hot without crossing a line that would inevitably lead to heartbreak.
Totally.
“Locker,” I called as he reached the door.
He glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Portman and mine have a scene together. One where she tries to break his grasp.”
He cocked that damn eyebrow at me, and I swore I felt myself melt.
“Good to know,” he said. “Night, Pixie.”
“Night,” I said as he let the door swing shut behind him.
I had to fan myself from the heat racing over my skin. The way my friend kept looking at me, kept making me laugh, kept making me feel…he was rapidly competing for my number one anything spot.
And the scariest thing?
The walls I’d so carefully constructed after Brandon? They felt wobbly with each hour I spent with Dean.
If he had the power to bring them down…
Then maybe I’ll be happy again?
No.
He’d have the power to crush me.
Question of the Day
Sk8er4Life2416 asks: “My girlfriend and I have been together more than nine months. We’re smoking hot together and have hit every base but one. I’m ready to round home, but I don’t know if she is. How will I know? Is there some secret signal you chicks use?”
Well, Sk8er4Life2416, I’m going to let you in on a total “chick code” secret. While we may have many unbreakable rules like joining your BFF on any bathroom break or watching dr
inks while the other dances, we don’t have a secret universal symbol that spells out “we’re ready for you to stick it to us.”
Picture me rolling my eyes on that one.
Now picture me smiling at you, maybe even saying “aw.” Because I will commend you on actually thinking about what your girlfriend wants and when she’ll be ready even though you’ve already hit that marker. Good for you, dude. Please let all your bros know about this. It’s a big deal. Waiting to make sure your partner is ready and respecting their timeframe goes a hell of a long way in making a “smoking hot” relationship work.
This chick applauds you.
As for knowing when she’s ready, the best piece of advice I can give you?
Ask her.
And in a way that doesn’t make her feel cornered or pressured. Speaking as one of the girls, there is already a ton of pressure on her. I don’t even know her, and I know that much. Be supportive, and if she says she’s not there yet, it’s not because of something you’ve done. It’s simply that she hasn’t hit that mind frame yet. And that’s okay. Sex is a massive step in a relationship, but with the right—consenting—partners, it can be off-the-charts amazing.
So, keep being the good guy. Talk to her about it. And be willing to wait.
It’s worth it.
In the meantime,
Stay Sexy. Stay Healthy.
Chapter Eleven
Dean
Monday morning and at school an hour before it started.
Kill me now.
The past month had been a blissful blur of chat boxes, coding, and the club that shall not be named. The image of Amber, a crease in her brow from concentrating so hard on trying to beat me at CTF, made me goofy-grin. Every. Single. Time.
Even now. When it shouldn’t. Since I was headed to the principal’s office.
Principal Tanner had emailed me early Saturday morning to “request” my presence here today. We both knew it wasn’t a request—if I didn’t show, there would be repercussions to deal with. He still blamed me for not catching the video soon enough, and I didn’t need him forgetting to recommend me when MIT admissions emailed him about my grades and performance. I didn’t have time for that. I barely had time for the punishment he placed upon me, although, to be fair, Code Club had turned out more incredible than I could’ve ever imagined. Sure, maintaining the school’s website was something I could do in my sleep, but the club? It had become something I looked forward to.
