Chapter Six

Dean

NightLocker: Crash before 2am?

PixieBurn: Does it look like it?

NightLocker: Didn’t mean it like that

PixieBurn: Sure

NightLocker: I didn’t stop coding until 4

PixieBurn: Over achiever

NightLocker: Have to be to beat you

PixieBurn: Flattery won’t help you win

NightLocker: DC!

I frantically typed our standard code word for killing an illegal chat—DC, aka don’t chat, don’t code—when a teacher was too close to walking by one of our screens.

Amber quickly clicked off-screen, allowing the Spanish assignment to fill the space. Mrs. Francesca wasn’t the strictest teacher at Wilmont, but she’d be pissed if we were caught.

After she’d taken an unexpected walk around our quiet classroom, I flashed Amber a smile. She was six rows away from me, and we’d adapted this way of chatting a couple years ago when we’d gotten bored during Computer Science class. It was a good, solid class. It simply was teaching us things we’d known for years—it wasn’t until we’d accelerated to the more exclusive coding courses that we were actually challenged. The one saving grace of this school were those higher-level computer classes. And though Amber and I had always been in competition with each other, we’d come up with the code word to let each other know when push came to shove, we hackers had each other’s backs.

Or, at least, Amber and I did.

The word had saved me plenty of times—even when I hadn’t been actively chatting with her. A few times she’d thrown it in a chat box on my screen when I’d been coding or locked into another hack.

Amber yawned as she tried to return my gesture.

I chuckled under my breath, giving her a too-knowing look.

She’d been up as late as I was last night. Working on our challenge. Not that she looked like she was tired, like she’d implied, but I could see it in her eyes. The heavy way they gazed at the assignment on the screen—seeing it but not computing. The same way I was, because I’d stayed up entirely too late and gotten up way too damn early.

A tremor of nerves rolled through me. I didn’t have a clue what she was preparing, but I was sure it’d be incredible. The girl knew her shit. Born with a gift. And I’d have to up my game in order to fully beat her.

Once Mrs. Francesca returned to her position behind her desk, I opened another chat box, completely unable to resist.

NightLocker: Will I see you tomorrow?

PixieBurn: Why wouldn’t you?

NightLocker: Didn’t know if you were going to come again

PixieBurn: Wouldn’t leave you to host and empty room

NightLocker: Ha. Ha.

PixieBurn: Think you can beat me in a round of CTF?

NightLocker: Name the time

PixieBurn: Code Club. Tomorrow

NightLocker: God, we have to come up with a better name

She snorted quietly and shook her head.

PixieBurn: You do. I’m just a dutiful member

NightLocker: Not fair

NightLocker: I thought we were in this together?

PixieBurn: I thought we were always competing to see who would wind up on top?

The last line made a deep ache wrench in my stomach. Flashes of her on top of me, smiling with those perfect lips, her short hair falling gently across her forehead as I held her.

Barely able to escape the involuntary fantasy, I was typing a response before I could get the feel of her phantom-self out of my head.

NightLocker: I think it would be fun with either of us on top

The sentence repeated in my mind the second I hit enter, and I jolted. Fuck, that sounded so wrong.

Or completely right.

I hushed my inner voice and risked a glance at her.

She stared at the screen, her once-tired eyes wide and alert, a beautiful rosy color flooding her cheeks.

NightLocker: Calm down, Pixie

NightLocker: You’re blushing

PixieBurn: It’s hot in here

PixieBurn: Don’t flatter yourself

NightLocker: I rarely do. You’re the one clearly dreaming of me in all sorts of naughty ways

NightLocker: Cause you know I didn’t mean it like that.

I tried to make light of my blunder, but I was equally surprised that was where her mind went first.

Did that mean she was thinking about me, too?

Damn.

Why did that make my heart race?

A sweet smirk shaped her lips as she reached for the keyboard.

Well, as long as we were playing.

NightLocker: Or did I?

She paused her typing, hitting the backspace button over and over again as she read my message. Her shoulders dropped but didn’t make a move to respond. The smirk had left her face, the joking gone from her eyes.

Shit. I crossed a line.

I clicked the keys in a hurry.

NightLocker: Hey

NightLocker: Pixie

NightLocker: I was only joking. I promise

PixieBurn: It’s moot either way

NightLocker: Reasoning?

PixieBurn: I’ve sworn off boys.

PixieBurn: Scratch that. Love. I’ve sworn off all forms of it.

I glanced at her, swallowing a lump in my throat.

What happened to make you say that?

It was written all over her face. The pain. The regret. And…fear?

Brandon. He must’ve torn her heart to pieces.

Dick.

I cleared my throat, straightening in my chair with my fingers on the keys.

NightLocker: That’s a shame...

I hit the backspace.

NightLocker: Too bad...

I deleted that one, too. Because even if I hated seeing those words—that she’d shut down her heart for good—it was for the best. I could joke around all I wanted, tease her to get her a little out of her head, but in reality? I’d never want to cross a line she’d drawn. Especially when the relationship she’d just gotten out of was so clearly hard.

So I typed the words I didn’t want to say but knew I needed to.

NightLocker: I understand. Who has time for that anyway, right?

PixieBurn: Not me.

NightLocker: Not people like us

PixieBurn: Truth

She closed the chat box, slowly turning her head to glance back at me.

The breath knocked from my lungs at the direct look in her eyes. So much brewing there—laughter and understanding and fear and…something else I couldn’t quite figure out. I sure as hell wanted to. I wanted to know her story. Wanted to know what had turned the once-outgoing pixie I watched from a friendly distance into a timid, internal being.

I wanted more than the passing convos we had during class, mostly revolving around coding or hacks or techniques.

I wanted to be a real friend.

I gave her my most understanding smile. I could be there for her without actually being hers. I could spend time with her without losing sight of my goals. I could have fun with her without falling for her.

Friends.

Finally…maybe we were ready to cross over that gap.